Before Gravity’s Pull by B F Jones and David Cranmer

B F Jones, David Cranmer, Mashup, Poetry

I pull back from enforced darkness as
yellow rays from the lantern skip on
cobblestones, the street is too quiet
now as I paint a reflective past of a
time and place where you walked as a
god across my terrace, into my cafe

Materialising before
Me
Claiming the twilight and brightening the night
Sitting, sipping the drink I took to
You
Lips on the edge of a perspiring glass
Eyes on the horizon, on everything and
nothing,
On mine.

And the night slipped away
Giving way to numbered days

When the sun shone on a smiling you
When your laughter shattered the odds
Before gravity’s pull became apparent
Before our plans were ripped away.

I was thinking of you today, times past.


Summer evening, 1947 by David Cranmer and B F Jones

B F Jones, David Cranmer, Mashup, Poetry


A quiet evening with you, on the veranda,
Light illuminating your golden hair.
You in that tube top and gazing down
Smoldering flame. Smoldering out,
Til all that remained were dark skies
To keep company with memories of you.

A quiet evening with you, hot air waltzing,
stale look in your dirt brown eyes.
And in your mouth, words you no longer mean.
The burning light of longing having slowly
tarnished, a flicker growing ever faint,
Since that first morning, after.


UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT

B F Jones, Paul D. Brazill, Punk Noir Magazine, Stephen J. Golds

PUNK NOIR MAGAZINE will be opening up for submissions again from May 1st with not one but TWO new editors!

As Paul D. Brazill shuffles off into the shadows, B F Jones and Stephen J. Golds will be the new editors of Punk Noir Magazine. Both writers are regular contributors to Punk Noir Magazine and are more than familiar with its ethos, so good times are just around the corner!


B F Jones is French and has been living in the UK since 2002. Her flash fiction and poems have been published in various online venues including The Cabinet of Heed, STORGY, Back Patio, Idle Ink, Misery Tourism, Spelk, Ellipsis Zine, Funny Pearls. Bristol Noir, The Daily Drunk, Dead Fern Press. Her first collection, The Fabric of Tombstones, was released in April 2020. Her next one will be published by Close To The Bone in December 2021 and her two poetry chapbooks in September 2021 and April 2022.

Stephen J. Golds was born in North London, U.K, but has lived in Japan for most of his adult life. He writes primarily in the noir and dirty realism genres and is the poetry editor of Close to the Bone Press. Some of his writing influences are Charles Bukowski, John Fante, James M. Cain, Tobias Wolff and Jim Thompson. He enjoys spending time with his daughters, reading books, traveling the world, boxing and listening to old Soul LPs. His novels are  Say Goodbye When I’m Gone, I’ll Pray When I’m Dying (Red Dog Press) Always the Dead, Poems for Ghosts in Empty Tenement Windows and the story and poetry collection Love Like Bleeding Out With an Empty Gun in Your Hand. He can be reached on Twitter  @SteveGone58 

Repetitive by B F Jones & Stephen J Golds

B F Jones, Poetry, Stephen J. Golds

Repetitive

It comes when the dreams don’t,

the midnight walls constricting –

within the gut of Jonah’s whale.

A mind like mosquito bites

thoughts twisting

like stagnant laundry or

a child’s wonky windup toy.

Staring into a colorlessness with dry eyes.

Gnarling the night away with

each wring of a bloodied lip

body twitching to the rhythm of

an invisible metronome.

It’s here, always

casting its searing iron

time after time branding your soul

with the rusty-red glow of inferno

That fight by B F Jones

B F Jones, Poetry

That Fight

We need to address 

The elephant in the room 

That fat bastard 

Has been sucking out

All the oxygen 

Leaving us gasping for breath 

As we shatter those egg shells

Fragments of anger 

Scattering around the place.

Your mother and mine 

That flirt from 2003 

My demanding boss 

Your unsurprising 

Chicken surprise 

All burn on the altar

Of our frustrations

That smells of charred flesh 

And too much cumin. 

Later, 

Tired, 

As the flames slowly die

We make up

Wash the taste of 

Our bitter words 

With wet kisses

Shed tears and clothing

Lick those fresh wounds 

Finally reunified 

Under the watchful eye 

Of a fucking

Pachyderm.

Unanswered by B F Jones

B F Jones, Poetry

They dig right under where it is

Where it should be

Where you point  

A molten finger,

Underneath

That stone angel.

This is where she is,

Was. Her eternal residence

Below moody skies

Avalanches

Of unanswered questions

Rage 

Tears.

They dig, but she’s not there

Revolving blue lights

Revealing confusion,

Panic

Consternation.

She’s gone they say,

She’s gone you can see

A box empty

Of all that was left

Proof

Reality

Tragedy.

She’s gone and with it

The murmured claims

Of your insanity.

And  

You will never know.

B F Jones is French and lives in the UK. She has flash fiction and poetry in various UK and US online magazines.  Her poetry chapbook, Last Orders, and collection, Panic Attack, will both be published by Close To The Bone late 2021

Insomnia by BF Jones

B F Jones, Close To The Bone, Poetry, Torch Songs

B F Jones is French and lives in the UK. She has flash fiction and poetry in various UK and US online magazines.  Her poetry chapbook, Last Orders, and collection, Panic Attack, will both be published by Close To The Bone late 2021.

Insomnia

Uninvited

Night time companion

An overweight cat

Sitting on my chest

And settling

Next to my actual cat;

Both licking wounds

From existing

And imaginary fights

Falls from

Surprisingly high roofs, trees

And pedestals.

The rhythmical noise

Of their sharp, pink tongues

And the endless hum

Of their unfathomable purring

Keeping me from sleeping

As I run my fingers

Over and over

Through their abundant coats.

Two Poems from B F Jones

B F Jones, Poetry

B F Jones is French and lives in the UK. She has flash fiction and poetry in various UK and US online magazines.  Her poetry chapbook, Last Orders, and collection, Panic Attack, will both be published by Close To The Bone late 2021

That brave face

Foundation too pale

For the dark cairns around

Eyes that no longer shut.

Blusher too pink

For a complexion

Drained from the rosiness

Of joy and excitement.

Lipstick too bright

For an austere mouth 

Hoarding stingily 

The last of the smiles.

A little light

You try to find a way out 

Of that dark place  

You ventured into 

Uninvited, slipping inside 

Regretful already 

As the door slowly closes behind you 

And sorrow drafts in.

You extend your hands out

Zombie like  

And open your eyes wide 

Trying to discern the sharp edges

Of insecurities and despair

Against which you stumble 

And bruise

Over and over 

    Until the day 

Someone opens the door 

    And a little light comes in. 

The only sounds left by BF Jones

B F Jones, Poetry

B F Jones is French and lives in the UK. She has flash fiction and poetry in various UK and US online magazines.  Her poetry chapbook, Last Orders, and collection, Panic Attack, will both be published by Close To The Bone late 2021

The only sounds left

I taste the bitterness

Of the liquor

Feel it slowly crowding 

My bloodstream 

My thoughts 

Gently wrapped in 

Cotton wool

I pour another 

And another 

The soft fabric tightening

Smothering

That untamed longing  

Reducing it to nothing

But the hum of 

An empty conversation 

And the footsteps 

Of a ghost 

In a hollow chamber.

Tombstones by B F Jones

B F Jones, Poetry

Tombstones

A life well lived.
Acronyms were not her friends
Great father, average husband
A life well lived?
John something something
Finally.
She believed in iteration
You ain’t getting that back
I regret nothing.
We buried you with your travel mug
Name and message TBC
Reunited with her daughter.Pass the burgers, Jesus
Evil man, thief of trees and innocence
I demand a recount
Cats!
Going to hell, need anything?
I’ve taken all your secrets.
A life well lived?
We will remember love.
Shipwreck.
Lived fast, died wet
I told you so, Margaret

A life.