ISSN 1551-8086
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  November 2004
volume 2 number 4
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  contributing poets
  Matthew A. Barraza
  Tom Berman
  Jack G. Bowman
  Quiana Briggs
  Tony Bush
  Joseph Camhi
  Velene Campbell
  Michael Ceraolo
  Rosemarie Crisafi
  Dan Danila
  Francisco Dominguez
  John Feins
  Daniel Garcia-Black
  Ursula T. Gibson
  Larry Jaffe
  Donna Kuhn
  Marie Lecrivain
  Sharmagne Leland-St. John
  Laura A. Lionello
  Harold Lorin
  Rick Lupert
  Stosh Machek
  Kelly Ann Malone
  Terry McCarty
  Tim Peeler
  James Pinkerton
  Beverly J. Raffaele
  E.W. Richardson
  Ken Scott
  Wanda Vanhoy Smith
  Rev. Dave Wheeler
  Robert D. Wilson
  mailing list
Stosh Machek
November 2004



photo by Shaunti Yanik ? '04

    Stosh Machek is from Chicago, where, he is fond of saying, "Poetry gets written like car crashes, and then read like houses on fire." Before moving to L.A. three years ago, Stosh would read his poetry to enthusiastic and/or drunken audiences at venues around Chicago three to four times a week. He was a regular reader at Weeds, Floetry at the Subterranean, and The Green Mill. He also ran a couple of his own poetry venues: Wednesday Nites at Cafe Bolero and The Poetry Thugs. Recently, Stosh has been hosting The Brand Booksop Poetry & Stories Reading, a showcase venue at the Brand Bookshop in Glendale, CA.
    He claims that his father was a cinder block, his mother was a ragged Freudian impulse, and that his grandmother was a stewardess on the Luftwaffe.



a post card from my tibet

there are those who think;

"there must be more?", but there is

no magic to save

us here ...nothing to

eat to protect us, nothing

to wear that will make

us strong ...we keep the

fire lit till we run out of

fuel, there's nothing else

to do ...oh, here's a

tea to drink, here's a stone to

roll, here's a god to

lean on like a cane

...this code was broken long, long

ago; realize

the mind, notice all

things are connected are

the fire, you are the

fuel, & you are the

darkness when the fire is out

...there is no magic

here, the air is thin

& cold ...still, the mountains smile

...we smile back at them

copyright 2004 Stosh Machek