David J Bauman

Kitchen counter scene with knives and utensils in the background bottle of gin and a bottle of Schweppes tonic a glass, full with ice, a shot glass, half of a lime and a knife

I would like to assure you that no limes were harmed in the making of this cocktail, but I’d be lying

Yep! I am sorry for our friend, but surprisingly not unhappy about this turn of fortune

That peaceful feeling when your company cancels, but you already cleaned the whole house and now you have it to yourself for the weekend :)

The MacGuffin Vol. XL, No. 3 August 2025 Abstract shapes on cover

Mary Jo Firth Gillett Eight, a wisp of a child, child of wind and willow suddenly weighted by weeping and worry-a father's corneas going bad and then what would we do for money-I'd search ditches, fields, vacant lots for empties, collecting bottles for their two-cent deposits, coins that could mean bread or milk. Sometimes l'd imagine even the trees along the ravine were sad beyond words so that I, the kid wonder, could save us, save us all as I grabbed a fistful of drooping branches to run, leap, fly high above the stream until, at just the right moment, I dropped into water and muck to wade the realm of mud, of snail, oddly able then, almost, to grapple with the random, the real, the dread.

I love a good mail day! Especially when they include sonnets in the the MacGuffin

Yes. I will see you at 300pm on Saturday for reading a poem from @psupress.bsky.social’s Keystone Poetry Anthology. Torn ligaments be damned, I’m coming, Ohio.

🥰

Yay! Pennsylvania will be there!
Well, some of it/us

🤣🤣🐈👨‍🚀🌙

Next time maybe you could try the cat filter that the lawyers seem to like

Origami ceramic coffee dripper on carafe. Black gooseneck kettle and grinder, hand made ceramic dosing cup on scale, small notebook and pen to the left.

Yes, sometimes I make notes when I brew coffee. My Origami ceramic dripper is one of my favorites

Golden reddish, shaggy golden doodle, sleeping on his owners, legs, bookshelves, messy desk, and lamp and window in the background

Goodnight, BluSky

In an alternate universe, you and I ran an illegal poetry ring in a Swiss boarding school. We specialized in smuggling erotic villanelles, sexy haiku, and dirty limericks. We were never caught. We made no money.

Yeah, it depends on the day, but it’s never as bad as the Instagram fake accounts. It seems to have stopped for now

Cover to The Boy Who Reads in the Trees by Ron Mohring

Go All your meals will be in color now. All your lights are green. You're good to go. All your love returns a thousandfold. All your coddled seedling trees will grow. Almost all your geese leave in a vee. Forget the earthbound gander pulling all the feathers from his breast. Time wounds all heels, said someone clever but unkind. It's all forgiven now. Death wipes plates clean, fings these leftovers at the bin, the wall, who cares? Not you. Not now. Forget the tremor, all that spilled from forks you tried to steady, all the cups half-filled. We're brimming over, wholly open now, like all your doors, fung wide. It hurts. This light. I's everywhere you were, And now you're there, and there, and there.

Ron Mohring’s book, The Boy Who Reads in the Trees. This book of poems is a heart breaking marvel

Ah, it’s not just Bluesky. Might be an update issue. I’m calling back in my hole now

See, I typed it, and then as I type it, I watch it disappear 🫥

It must be me 

Is BluSky banning certain emojis? I can’t type the face palm, but I only ever use that in jest and almost always about myself

I think I didn’t respond in the right place 😕

I like it! Hey, Mikey!

Sounds really intense

That was a good show

Great company!

THE RIVER All the fishermen will tell you: the river is dead like a giant's carcass it seeks a port where it might moor its old hulls and its luminous tears and its baubles Suns and moons in ashes on the sea floor spread their riches in nests of gold In the agonized dreams of furious oceans amid blind eels and gods of an Atlantic choir seashells sweep the barren shores with a tempest's force And when night comes Salé's children hear a distant, ear-splitting crash— the cannons of ships at war—that forces the drowned beyond their borders All the fishermen will tell you: the river is dead but it quakes sometimes when it remembers

“In the agonized dreams of furious oceans” A poem by Ahmed Bouanani, translated by Lisa Mullenneaux.

Thanks so much for that kind endorsement!

jump into the Sealey Challenge w $10 poetry chapbooks, on sale now: buff.ly/7O24PIK

This is awesome! I wonder where the library got this machine.

This is awesome! I wonder where the library got this machine.