A Little Misunderstanding

The last war on Disneyland started when
Mary Poppins let off a few angry rounds…
Micky dives for cover, Minnie grabs an M-16
The tourists head for Goofy (lost it completely)
They then circle back around to Yosemite Sam
Let’s send all these varmints to tarnation!
Elmer Fudd quickly hands out his rifle collection
Daffy (in his element) looks for better defilade
Beep-beep says Roadrunner this one’s for you asshole!
Heckle and Jeckle are conducting some aerial reconn
Unca Donald’s ducks-in-diapers guerrillas move out
(Pop-eye and Olive Oyl are taking care of the kids)
Then Tweetie Pie and Sylvester, uneasily engaged
Suspend their misery and détente and get cracking
Put down an RPG on the enemy flank (for once exposed)
Uncle Scrooge is furious at his helicopter throttle
The tourists rally forces and overcome the rebels
Bugs Bunny emerges from his bunker singing.

She’s a Banshee Not an Artist

a dude told me about her
an artist living and working
in the basement of her own house
a dusty place full of art and books
stinky like a witches brew

she was wearing a long grey dress
a swollen belly under flat breasts
her skin was birch bark

you’ve gotta love
banshee mama
her white fingers
her grey hair
she knows about life
she told you
hell’s a cold place son
this is a town for zombies
a graveyard for artists

I fell down
in her witch basement
with two dogs barking
at my steps

I come from a far place
she said

hair flowing in the air
eyes glowing when you say to her
I know something about hell

the dude who brought you there
has no idea of what was happening

devils playing with his mind
he has seen pieces of embalmed tigers
rabbit’s paws
little voodoo demons
skulls
painkillers on the floor
pumas with their shining claws
roaring from a painting
in the meanwhile I danced with a succubus
a fairy coming from another dimension
her evil dogs were playing their violins
and the hurdy gurdy of the world turned around
for another gig

the heck’ bro
it was a real mess that place
I would not have had sex with that witch
for nothing at all
said the dude once the Sabbath was
ended

Charitable
​

I’m open for business.
Wide open.

A voluntary vessel for male ejaculation.
The last two just left but I’m HUNGRY for another.
Another fierce pounding.

There’s no need to pay. This isn’t prostitution.
This is CHARITY.  Please donate your sperm.

Stop staring at the merchandise!
Just show me what you’ve got.

Are you good enough?
Are you beast enough?

Destroy me and fill me up.

Be savage.
Make a mess.
Bruise.

Now unload, withdraw and…
​leave.

A Parting Note

She was gorgeous in every way.
A beautiful woman no matter your mood
was always a sight to behold.

She paid no attention to anyone in the bar.
There was too much already cast upon her
for her to waste any upon another.

I just kept drinking cause after all
that’s what true drunks do.

But still I viewed the scene
and admired one of the Lord’s best damn creations.

The sharks swarmed and beautiful women
are seldom alone for long.

She had two dudes on either side of her in seconds.

She didn’t pay for shit after that.
You had to admire someone who could walk in a bar
not spend a dime
and catch a buzz.

Something tells me even Brad Pitt himself
would still have to pick up his own tab.

They sat there a while playing the game.
I knew neither would find success.

It went on a while till half the bar was gone.
The two guys tried every line and stupid joke
in the book.

Eventually she stood up
and simply walked out the door.

The two guys looked at one another
ordered yet another round.

One looked at the other, saying,

“Jesus Christ dude, did you fart!”

“Fuck you, it wasn’t me!”

The other one quickly replied.

It was just then it hit the two of them.

No matter how good a person looks,
Everyone’s shit stinks.

I’m excited to announce that I had my first chapbook published by Analog Submission Press! I’ve been writing since I was a little girl and it’s always been a creative outlet that has kept me sane throughout my tumultuous childhood – it has helped me grow through every rough patch life has thrown at me and has been therapy when I had none. Being involved with Horror Sleaze Trash has grown my confidence in my writing immensely and I owe so much to the influence of HST and our Editor-in-Chief, Arthur Graham. Not only has it helped to build my confidence in my writing, but it has encouraged me to be more honest and vulnerable – to worry more about being open about my experience and thoughts, instead of worrying about hurting feelings or being “politically correct”. I also had the opportunity to work with John D. Robinson in putting this little collection together. He helped me make the final selection of poems, format everything, worked with me on a title (which is something I’m so bad at – also, shout out to Angels and Airwaves, which, in the end, inspired the title with their song ‘Anomaly’), put the cover together for me, and got in contact with Marc Bruseke at ASP about publishing my poetry. John is an incredibly talented writer who I have immense respect for and whose work I love very much so to be able to work with him was such an honor for me.

If you’re interested in purchasing a copy of this collection, you can find it here. There is a limited run of 25, so if you miss out, send me a message and maybe I can get you a copy for cheaper or free in exchange for a review!

India LaPlace is a poet from the USA and is co-editor of the sensational Horror Sleaze Trash: This is her debut collection: Hold on tight.

Said John D. Robinson on ‘Sad Discoveries’: “It looks fantastic! The usual great job from Marc. Well done! And I think you should feel proud of this book – the best debut collection I have read in a long time. The poems are what we are made of: flesh, blood, bones, emotions. Raw and honest. These works don’t shy away where many would. I can’t wait to get a copy and thank you for your words. It was a pleasure to play a part. Keep writing and roll a fat one. I’ll raise many a glass tonight for Sad Discoveries!”

apologizing for the mess

foreplay

A Miracle on Marine Parade

The walk to work is often a horrible thing
As it always goes the same way, always to the
Same space but now not for much longer, three
More weeks and I’m gone for good.  But
Today was different as I left early to grab a coffee;
A caffeine blast to help me out of my stoned
Stupour and get me through six long hours of
Friday night hell.  The weed had me feeling all
Kinds of funny though as I walked out onto
Marine Parade and saw no traffic so took off
To check out the beach side of the street.  It
Was then she appeared, off in the near-distance
But enough suggested to make me pick up my
Pace.  Ahead my eyes on storks by this point she
Stopped and, clearly forgetting, the shortest of
Short skirts I’d seen in a very long time was all
Between her and a public exhibitionism charge as
She leant down to adjust her trainers and suddenly
There it was, a miracle on Marine Parade, a gorgeous
Pert arse encased in only a golden pair of the
Laciest panties and I suddenly realised that today
May just be a good day indeed.

Of course ten minutes into my shift at work any
Thought of that was dispelled as the first hen party
Laid seige to our wine fridge, clearing shelves of
Prosecco for their final blast of the single free life.