Issue #13 of Los Angeles Review includes poems by Ciara Shuttleworth and Red Shuttleworth... Ciara's five-page "Seven Years in San Francisco" and Red's "Elvis Presley.
Both Ciara and Red have poems in previous issues of Los Angeles Review.
Ciara has also published poems in Concho River Review, Cutthroat, Minnetonka Review, The New Yorker, and other journals.Ciara has a poem in the recently released second edition of Heather Sellers' text for creative writing students, The Practice of Writing, and she has a poem in the new edition of The Norton Introduction to Literature.
In addition to the title poem, Red Shuttleworth's Rambling Apparition contains four other poems. This chapbook from Bunchgrass Press is printed on 32-pound ivory antique laid paper in a limited edition. John Berryman, in Dream Song 45, wrote, "He stared at ruin. Ruin stared right back."
John Dofflemyer is author of Proclaiming Space and the editor of Dry Crik Review. He is regularly featured at the annual Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Elko, Nevada.
Morgan Harlow's first collection of poetry, Midwest Ritual Burning, was recently released.
Nuno Santos (memoirist, fictioneer, dramatist, translator) lives in Portugal. He studied at New York University and has been associated with Naked Angels, a New York theatre company.
Red Shuttleworth is a three-time Spur Award-winner for Poetry (Western Settings,Roadside Attractions, and Johnny Ringo). Red's most recent full collection of poems, Ghosts & Birthdays, published by Humanitas Media Publishing, is available on Amazon.
Black Hole of Greed or The Limited Imagination of Mark Zuckerberg
(A Red Shuttleworth oil painting)
Facebook & Mark Zuckerberg + Greed = SPAM
Desperate to maintain corporate viability with investors and shareholders, vacant of any idea or tactic beyond selling ads, Facebook (Mark Zuckerberg) has resorted to a dizzying (for users) display/barrage of pop-up ads, particularly for games (the turf of morons) on users' news feed pages.
Why not? Zuckerberg, a master of pedophile tactics, believes thatusers will not leave Facebook over advertising irritationsand privacy invasion. This from a fellow who puts users in mind of the sort of guy who shows up uninvited to social events, who paws (greasy, sweaty palms) through family albums... then wipes his boogers across the family pictures of others... who then scoots to a nearby bathroom to masturbate. This is the sort of guy Mark Zuckerberg is.
What to do? Let Facebook advertisers know that you think Mark Zuckerberg is a pig... a creepy, stinky, voyeur pig who is stealing their money.
Get in touch with the Federal Communications Commission and complain. Facebook is a communications company. Would you tolerate ads during your telephone conversations?
Clean Dry Light
built on millionaire's whims,
mildewed nineteenth century
landscapes concealed behind
pale blue Venetian blinds,
washed-out maids too broke
to cope with rain-eyed daughters
crusted by flash bulb shadows...
the easy money from surgeons
who snip colon polyps by day.
See the stones in the kettle's
boiling creek water. See the price
of butcher's twine increase. See
the puckered face of the man
who owned the small record store,
who owned the dark and mousy
movie house, the clock repair shop: Never seen IT coming, no more than a child's chalk drawing sees midnight headlights flaring 'tween middle-of-the-road Valentine's hearts and roses. *** What do I do in the daytime?
The barmaid palms her
stretched and distressed
Omak Stampede T-shirt,
adjusts the too large
push-up bra underneath,
echoes my question. I sleep, by my fucking self, and look for my inner glossy.
Old horses and carrots,
grandmas patching together
memorial quilts, kids walking in
and out of electric doors until
junior bankers give chase,
novelty outfits that sell soft
plastic fake-vomit puddles
to place on teacher's desks,
See the bronze sun-drop horizon,
no clouds to twitch the vision.
There's drought on the American tongue.
There's keyboard dust in the eyes
of friends and readers.
An owl sets itself on a power pole,
casts a gold-going-crimson pair of eyes
at a future we have come to believe
can be caught with cameras
at a safe pastry-sweet distance.
In the Blood, a mini-anthology of poems by Paul Zarzyski, Ciara Shuttleworth, and Red Shuttleworth, was published by Bunchgrass Press in a limited edition. The cover features a Ciara Shuttleworth oil painting.