Gnashing Teeth Publishing

| words that get in your teeth

Feast of Fools by John Roche

Bare-chested, face-painted, KKK-tattooed, 

Viking-horned, raccoon-hatted trespasser

poses for photo in the Senate chamber

standing behind the Vice President’s

flag-draped dais

with velvet curtains behind 

and “E Pluribus Unum” on the frieze above

He’s known as the Q-Shaman

 

‘Twas a time you might see a character like him

wandering a rock festival or Rainbow Gathering

mulling about at a Yippie rally or at The Fugs’ levitation of the Pentagon

but he’d be harmless and few would pay him much mind

 

Now he’s a leading “spokesman” for the Q-Anon conspiracy movement 

with write-ups in Business Weekly and Newsweek

an “influencer” likely soon to get his own reality tv show 

and get to Party with Kanye West, Dennis Rodman, and Ivanka Trump

 

Unless the rumors of Q-Shaman 

being an Antifa spy married to Pelosi’s daughter 

gain traction 

force him to go into hiding by adopting a clean-cut look 

and becoming a bank clerk in Omaha

BIO: Short Bio: John Roche helps his wife Jules Nyquist run Jules’ Poetry Playhouse and Poetry Playhouse Publications. He is the editor of the Poets Speak anthologies and the author of five poetry collections, the most recent of which is Joe Rides Again: The Further Travels of Joe the Poet (FootHills Publishing, 2020).

young woman with red hair smiling at the camera with a white paper umbrella behind her

like pretty tulips by linda m. crate

everything has been hard and heavy, as of late; in my world and the world at large— so yesterday i was drinking in small wonders like pretty tulips dancing out

What I Can Offer You by Rich Orloff

I cannot fix your pain I cannot solve your problem I can’t prevent the sorrow you’re feeling Or even guarantee I’ll make you smile However, because I’ve known Joy embracing

by Natalye Childress

*this poem is in .jpg to preserve formatting *this is the unformatted text of the poem after rainer maria rilke you, the poet, have become world weary, word-wrought. and god

guy with a dark beard and moustache wearing a black graphic tee

Orchards of Udders by Jon Wesick

dripped on the blanket while air rustled tamarind trees. Chekhov drank a Thai iced tea and plummeted out of this poem. A flock of circles twittered in the hacksaw bushes

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