NOTE: thesquawkback.com is temporarily messed up because of Google's policies, which are always changing, when they'll stop nobody knows. Our team of idiots is working round the clock to fix it. If you have a problem with this, call Google. However a more feasible course of action would to just stop trusting Google. Thank you for your patience.

173 lede

Another Cat Poem. by Ian C Smith

Overheard in the early stages of these beige days,/my last challenge, trekking the desert/far from a ruinous prime when oases always shimmered,/two women walking laps refer to a dog named Smooth/reminding me of our cat dubbed thus as a kitten/for his velvet pelt that shone, catching the sun,/later regarded by our gang as an operator
...click here to READ MORE

Memories of when you (my brother) were 6 and I was 8
by Caitlin Farrugia

You remember that time? When Dad left. He’d hit Mum but she was cool. She wasn’t cool but she was cool, you know what I’m saying.

The Channel U Poems by Jessie Janeshek

She Who Gets Slapped

I guess I would have heard if she were dead
         hanging hankies from the clothesline
it’s the fear in the red dress
         complicity/complexity                keeping me away
or my misunderstanding             of hot consomm√©
a rose-colored marquee      and silent movie faces
         and why was she trying to woo him
with a ripped silk shawl       and pilgrim imitations
         as a little girl watched the screen
and left to pick some violets glass slicing through her ligaments
         almost lost a finger.

Permanent Brightness. by Bhupender K Bhardwaj

When the ribbed smell of semi-ripe guavas strikes you like a presence.
When the panther is in its element and the parrots screech like rusted wheels.
When you are locked by the gaze of a bull and come to be suddenly situated
In an eternal summer.
(Summer of table-top mountains that is circled
By the floating gondolas and schooners of memorable clouds)
Then, it is time for the spirit to leap from one glorious stone to another
Like a spotted frog.
Can you dare to know what lies on the other side of the
Velveteen curtains of the butterflies that slice the sun-lanced air?
Whether the chattering of the cicadas points to possibilities of what could be.
Whether we can ever replicate the creepers
steady in their progress towards an airy outpost.