Blue Five Notebook – (August 2012 / 12.16)

Blue Five Notebook – (July 2012 / 12.13)

The Crack Up Xing 1 by Leslie Marcus

Artist, Leslie Marcus: Born and raised in New York, Marcus maintains her cutting edge with passion and sensitivity. After her B.F.A, Marcus immersed herself in the Fashion World, creating exclusive & exotic textile designs. Marcus now integrates her textile designs into her paintings of sensuous female figures. In 2012, her artwork was installed in the permanent collection at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital. Her work is currently featured in a Solo Exhibition at New Birthing Center at Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital through December 2013. Marcus teaches private painting classes in her studio.  More here


Michael Keenan

A Song for Delicate Spiders

             Anar, safely
             quiet in

her room, one

                       over the window barely
             open, so quiet, the

moon left ajar—

Tennessee, catapults, kissers in
the bar, and I
was one, I was, no
one will

Believe me, but I was
with a beautiful
woman and a friend from

Home, to the left of the wind, inside the last dark.

Michael Keenan received his MFA in Literary Arts from Brown University. His first chapbook,Two Girls, was published by Say No Press in 2009. His poems are forthcoming in Poetry International, Inter|rupture, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Umbrella Factory, and Negative Suck. His poem, “A Sexual History Of Binghamton, New York,” featured in A-Minor Magazine, was recently nominated for a Pushcart prize. He currently drives a waffle truck in Northern Florida.


Cheryl Anne Gardner

A Lukewarm Glass of Milk

She liked eating the lint she found under the furniture cushions. Liked chewing the paint off the bedpost when we made love. Everything was always beginning with her. Predawn. Fresh cut flowers sans the morning dew. She was double-jointed, and when she hit me, she said it was just a reflex.

“I can’t find my jacket. You know, the brown one with the fancy leather flowers on the lapels,” she said, then she gave me the stink eye as she cut a banana into her morning cereal.

The sun was just coming in through the kitchen window, and when it lit on her, her whole face sparkled from the pancake makeup she always applied too thickly. She said her life was in miniature, carved of Chinese jade then photographed in black and white and tacked to a light post in a parking lot. Everything was brilliant to her, always in the fake British accent she’d learned from watching too many foreign films. She sipped her coffee, said I wasn’t flexible anymore. I told her, “The jacket is in the basement closet.” I’d put it there because it stunk of cigarette smoke, even though she’d said she quit. The newspaper says the forecast for today will be hazy with a heat index of 101 degrees. I don’t understand the heat index. How do they know how hot it feels to me?

When she isn’t writing, Cheryl Anne Gardner likes to chase marbles on a glass floor, eat lint, play with sharp objects, and make taxidermy dioramas with dead flies. She writes art-house novellas and abstract flash fiction, some published, some not.


Jeanne Marie Spicuzza


The Maroons struck
in the dark
like darts.

You suffered injustices
too inhuman
to utter.

after dictator,

until Aristede,
who later
became exiled.

The earthquake
left you

Your daughters

No place
was ever


The saints
ride white
under God.

Snakes gather,
and coil,

before the sun.

Colors make
from shadows.

The dust
swims up
under your feet.

Se pou Bonye
beni-w anpil.

May God bless you.

Y’a viv ak kè
poze pou tout tan.
Your hearts

live on forever.
Pòv yo va manje
mezi yo kapab.

The meek
shall be

Jeanne Marie Spicuzza is a writer, actress, filmmaker, herbalist and the founder of Seasons & a Muse, Inc., a seven division arts and entertainment corporation. She is published in Shepherd Express, Poetry Motel, Poetic Diversity, Quill & Parchment, and others. The recipient and nominee of several prestigious awards, she performs internationally.


Zachary Scott Hamilton

Kill the fingers. Kill the clock. 

I am early bird. Unraveled from a mechanics torso.

A piece of the puzzle is a piece of me, forming somewhere beneath my fingertips. I am dressed in a system of wires, packed in Amber, winterized nostrils, while ice enters my mattress. It is in glazed donuts (like hats) that I see the strangers and strange lights exiting my forehead. An effortless heavy air mixed with grease occurs. This is all very confusing for the witness already being inbred for the mechanic family values. Twelve fingers kill the clock. Orange thumb, plastic pointer finger. Red gloves. They tear it to shreds , down to the very second it stops ticking. Brutal. No warning, the digits are maimed somewhere at the turn-of the eye. (between cups of coffee.)

When the helium enters the room, the malfunction begins. Opened, the orange plastic thumb relinquishes it’s grip. A ringing from somewhere inside its housing is heard and the bits of the clock fall onto a vintage door next to my head.

You left the portal on again. I mutter and roll over. I haven’t even began to get into the mirror effect I used to manipulate the rest of the maimed digits in the clock or the piece of chewing gum I pulled apart and studied.

I am early bird! I am an early bird! I shout, watching the eleven pointer fingers stretching apart and being understood from every angle the way the chewing gum had been.

I am party train! I am early bird! I shout, watching the nail of the thumb crack open and get stuffed into a can of shitty beer the way you would a cigarette butt. This is option one for the twelve fingers that killed that poor clock. This is doom, a judgment, a sentence, fate. Ruin and death. When I wake up at the wheel, the party train is already running throughout all of the hosts, devastating option number two which is recognition, a recognizing or being recognized. Identification of a person or thing as having been known before. I turn and see it. The crack where all of this is coming from under the park bathrooms. This is where it is all happening from. These twelve fingers killing the clock. April, 8 2033 when it occurred.

I am early bird! I am vintage fucking early bird!

Zachary Scott Hamilton is the author of fourteen ‘Zines, including Temple of Sinew, The Orchestra of Machines, Wallet of Hexagons and HAIR LAND which won the IPRC zine of the month award (2008). His work appears in various magazines including The Portland Review, Trigger Fish, and HOUSEFIRE. He recently  went on tour with the band Holy! Holy! Holy! and installed artwork with partner Molly Pettit for a photo series, which appears online at his website


JoAnn Anglin

Axe & Knife

“Trust that you are exactly where
you are meant to be.”

– an emailed blessing

Sent to me with love. ❤
But I think of another
friend, diagnosed, stage 4,
maybe two years (2 months
it becomes). Where she

should be? South of the city,
a teenager kills his father using
axe and knife. That boy. That
father. The place to belong?

Comfort words for lost jobs,
lost money, a bad haircut. 😦
Rejection slips. All the 9/11
people? That adopted girl
who hanged herself?

I accept the well wishes,
the kind intent. What am I
supposed to do? :o)

JoAnn Anglin, published in several anthologies, is a member of the writing group Los Escritores del Nuevo Sol (Writers of the New Sun), the Sacramento Poetry Center, and California Poets in the Schools. Her chapbook, Words Like Knives, Like Feathers, was published by Rattlesnake Press. She currently works in the Poetry Out Loud program.

About bluefifthreview

Blue Fifth Review, edited by Sam Rasnake, Michelle Elvy, and Bill Yarrow, is an online journal of poetry, flash, and art.
This entry was posted in Flash, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Blue Five Notebook – (August 2012 / 12.16)

  1. I enjoyed every word. Thanks for all that you do.

  2. 534mu5 says:

    brilliant as always. love cheryl anne’s work and nice to find new writers to enjoy.

  3. fabulous writings,
    as always~
    I am
    to be
    a part of~

  4. Pingback: Archives for 2012 | Blue Fifth Review: Blue Five Notebook Series

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