Pride 7 Deadly Sins Vol. 7
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Pride 7 Deadly Sins Vol. 7 - Pure Slush
Pride: 7 Deadly Sins Vol. 7
stories, poems and essays
§
A Pure Slush E-book
new PS logo vertical smallCopyright
*
First published as an eBook collection May 2019
First published in paperback in May 2019
Content copyright © Pure Slush Books and individual authors
Edited by Matt Potter
All rights reserved by the author and publisher. Except for brief excerpts used for review or scholarly purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without express written consent of the publisher or the author/s.
Pure Slush Books
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Australia
Email: edpureslush@live.com.au
Website: https://pureslush.com/
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Cover design copyright © Matt Potter
Original peacock image copyright © SilviaP_Design
ISBN: 978-1-925536-73-7
Also available in paperback / ISBN: 978-1-925536-72-0
A note on differences in punctuation and spelling
Pure Slush Books proudly features writers from all over the English-speaking world. Some speak and write English as their first language, while for others, it’s their second or third or even fourth language. Naturally, across all versions of English, there are differences in punctuation and spelling, and even in meaning. These differences are reflected in the work Pure Slush Books publishes, and they account for any differences in punctuation, spelling and meaning found within these pages.
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Poetry
This One Is Mine
after the Rifleman’s Creed
by Lisa Stice
*
There she is. The small one over
there with the awkward run that
every five-year-old has, but look
there how her backpack reaches
there to her knees, how she balances
there on one leg then quickly moves
there to pick up litter out of rocks while
I wait here in the car line and watch.
There are others like her (maybe), but
this one is mine. I am useless, it is
true, without her. She and I know
there was no time before her. And
she has a father. We teach her to
be clean and ready. And she has a
brother (who is a terrier). We are
there to teach how weaknesses can
be strengths, how small ones can be
there right next to everyone, or even
there somewhere ahead. We are a part
of each other. From here, I watch her
there. Look how she pulls everything
into her sights, ready to move from
there, clean into wherever she wants
To Be Tough
by Tony Daly
*
Retirement would bring freedom, you dreamed.
You’d do the things you couldn’t, in uniform:
grow your hair long and a beard too,
tie yourself naked to the old oak tree,
take those illicit drugs you were never allowed:
LSD, cocaine, meth, maybe even marijuana.
We all took it as a joke, but still wondered.
After all, when you first put on those Navy bell bottoms,
you rolled an unopened pack of smokes in your
sleeve for no other reason than to look tough,
too proud to be seen as anything less than your mates.
Tough climbing a palm tree in the South China Sea in ’72.
Tough falling, bleeding into the saltwater.
Tough after 9/11, deploying to dress the dead for burial.
Tough pinning ribbons on chests without shedding tears.
You believed you were tough, keeping your scars inside.
They only escaped at night as cries in the dark,
and running in your sleep.
Reviewing The Situation
by John Bost
*
The group of editors met for their weekly lunch
Out on the deck, these cool cats gathered –
Their tawny-colored manes of hair blew
in the breeze, sandwiched between their words
Roars of laughter found occasion to be heard –
While they snacked on and shared morsels
Delectable tales of missing commas, incomplete sentences
Running on to misplaced verbs and dramatic dashes –
Appalling apostrophes making sudden appearances
What possessed them, they’d pause to wonder
To exclaim, mark their words in raucous red
Until they turned blue, saddened by the state of affairs
They tasked themselves to revise and to reveal –
Lines labored on late into early evenings
These editors talked and tirelessly tinkered
Once more doing the lion’s share of the work
This pride of crafty creative and cool cats
Patiently pondered … paused, ’til all was fit to print.
Cold Is Deeper Than Pride
by Lucy Tyrrell
*
Driving to the library,
I see lavender-pink plumes
belch from industrial stacks
into pale eerie landscape
of minus thirty—ice fog,
car exhaust, distant mountains.
In the foyer, on a bench,
an unshaven man sits, bent—
head in hands, elbows on knees
of tattered pants. Sturdy brown
paper wraps his feet—rags tie
up the bulky creases, hold
rumpled folds over his toes.
While he dozes, I take his
photograph, feeling guilty—
at closing time, I’ll go home.
With As Much Pride As I Can Muster
by Ruth Sabath Rosenthal
*
This old heart of mine no longer beats
down the doldrums, nor turns humdrum
bright as gold, as it did in my prime;
and nightly, in dreams high in my vessel
of wanting delight, it’s strangers acting
out my desires! Imagine that! Intruders
beating me to the punch in the quest for
hot sex: Moist bodies embrace, legs, twixt
& twain, heighten each twist & turn
of a lusty mind. And this morning I wake
far from alright, vowing to lotion my loins
daily, perfume my skin and, if my old man
again says, Not tonight dear, I’ll write this
craft of mine, shove it in his face, and ride
out the current into the sunset
with as much pride as I can muster.
Beach Life
by Ryn Holmes
*
The Gulf is gorgeous today:
a perfect emerald fading to azure
banded by the indigo of deep water.
Along the shore,
a sandpiper trills optimism.
A little scientist with needled beak,
its dead-eye sharp vision
probes for breakfast.
Tired of waiting,
restless juveniles take flight nearby,
chased off by an old bird
running low to the ground –
head thrust out,
back hunched,
wings folded back –
in profile, resembling a feathered,
fussy schoolmaster scolding unruly boys.
It’s impatient with the squabble of gulls
trading local news up on the dune.
Obvious interloper:
black pigeon in birdy suit and tie
dressed too formally for pacing.
Smug, it gloats over a new prize –
slow death in a bright plastic package.
Vitamin D
by Sarah Henry
*
Vitamin D is needed to maintain strong bones.
You can tell I’m a proud woman
by the way I carry myself.
Vitamin D hardens teeth.
So they present a united front.
Calcium plus D supplements prevent falls.
I have outlived my husband long enough
to discover the fountain of minerals.
I play golf and brag about my scores.
Exposure to sunlight is required for absorption.
If I were made of chlorophyll,
my leaves would spread wide open.
Milk is a good food source.
From the land to the cow to the farmer
to the truck to the store to my mouth
and liver and kidneys, the endless
chain is necessary, unlike the card
club I can quit any time I want.
Hiraeth
by Steven Deutsch
*
Sure, Moses qualifies
but it’s hardly a stretch
to include those
DNA ghouls—
lanced and shorn—
who purpose their lives
in finding
some fabulous
ancestor—
hoping they might puff
up their emaciated chests
like frigatebirds
in heat
and point excitedly to
an illustrious branch
of their family tree—
but seem, always,
to come up with
monkeys.
The Proud Homecoming King
by Mike Lewis-Beck
*
The proud homecoming king
rides high, waves regal, from his football throne.
The fans toss their caps, wave back from the throng.
A fella in a letter-sweater salutes his chief.
Two teens in tight skirts toss pink daisies.
Senior Citizens in wheelchairs marvel
when he flexes—and flexes—to catch a phantom pass.
See the Queen, behind the King, her eyes turned
as she waves to the cute guy in the pork-pie
who waves back to her. Watch the King’s
face frown while he grinds out a fake smile
just before he puts a paw too high up the Queen’s waist.
The Variety Of Human Voting
by Piet Nieuwland
*
It’s the general election, and after a tumultuous campaign voting concludes on a Saturday in early spring. At the Anglican Hall as a scrutineer I sit behind several Electoral Officials. I’m there to ensure that there is no attempt to influence the voters’ decisions. It’s a big steep high roofed hall with mirrors along the back wall. Who votes?
A man with one leg on crutches
A woman in a wheelchair
Another woman in a wheelchair
A man with