 Book Review Forbidden Beat: Perspectives on Punk Drumming Edited by S.W. Lauden Rare Bird Books Review by Roy Peak "The drummer is not the expendable guy, he’s the fucking heart in the center of the rock and roll universe." Mike Watt When I was young, while my parents were away, and my siblings weren't home, I'd get out the biggest pots and pans I could find in the kitchen, set them up in a semi-circle around me and bang on them with wooden spoons, making a horrible racket. Fun times indeed.
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 Let Me Clear My Throat and Animals Strike Curious Poses Author Elena Passarello Review by Roy Peak No on brings value to our chickens like Roy Peak. Today he reviews two books of essays by the same author! So you're getting double what you...errr...paid for. Now, on with the review!  Pre-Order: A Woman of Endurance Order: Daughters of the Stone Out of all the books I've reviewed Dahlma Llanos-Figueroa's Book Daughters of the Stone was one of my favorites. It's not only on my reading list - it's on my re-reading list! I have bought copies of this book to give to friends and family. I recommend it heartily and often. But don't wait to read this one before ordering the author's next book. Trust me. You will want the new book as soon as you can get it! You can read our review of Daughters of the Stone here. Do yourself a favor and put Dahlma Llanos-Figueroa's books at the top of your reading list!  3 Poems Frankie Laufer NOT MAJOR HOOPLES BOARDING HOUSE:
I just returned from a long mostly silent journey. To discover I just inherited a twelve-room house. It feels vaguely like the last house. But don’t ask me its location. Exterior needs a little paint but don’t they all. Remodeling seems to be a work in progress, just like so many of my paintings. There are tenants occupying most of the rooms. But even those that are currently empty one often hears the whispers of the past. It’s rumored that Tiny Tim produced his best music in room number three. The Venus room looks wonderful, but Saturn has done the decorating. Surya shines bright and bold, but I find it too hot…Jim Morrison felt the same way. A hell of a fight breaks out in room number six, Mars breaks a window or two. The Moon is milky sweet but is afraid of Rahu’s shadow. That snake scares me too. Why oh why did they decide to be roommates! Mercury is fast but sometimes outruns himself and forgets to lock the door. Jupiter is gracious and our guiding light, watching over everyone like a sleepy owl. In time they all will transit to other rooms. Google maps says follow the neon sign shouting Color TV and Free Coffee! Damage deposits and thirty days’ notice required.  Uncle Morty Schedules a Procedure by Uncle Morty Perhaps some of you have wondered where your dear old Uncle Morty has been and why I have been so lax about communicating with you lately... 
Will of the City Project Featuring Exchange by Poet Anya Banerjee Saint Flashlight has been featured on our page before and we deeply love and admire their commitment to releasing poetry into public spaces from theater marquees to slips of paper with mysterious phone numbers where those in the know can score a poem. This time they're sending poetry into the wild with a little help from the world’s most famous playwright! The new project is called Will of the City and you can check it out by clicking on the link. Saint Flashlight is partnering with Theatre for a New Audience to present poems inspired by William Shakespeare all during the fall. This partnership spotlights the work of over a dozen writers on the outdoor screens at Polonsky Shakespeare Center – Theatre for a New Audience’s home in Fort Greene - into an anthology of poems inspired by Shakespeare’s plays. Sacred Chickens is happy to announce that we are able to share one of these poems – from a brilliant new writer, Anya Banerjee – with our readers  5 Poems Author, Renwick Berchild Whistler
Grasses bob, the trees press, expand; press, expand as lungs. Loyal speaker, who spake the first murmurings—whistler at the window. What’s that? Faces stack, knotholes of wisps in the darkness, agape and wakeful just as I, truculent foreheads, lined lips, I’ve a wife who died, is she there? Another unholy moaner outside, watchful. Whistler at the window: See the spinning? Hear the hive? Let a demon hush its language to you for a while. Let us in - let us in! I’ve a potion in my eye, an incantation beneath my fingernail. He lies - he lies! Children are burning in the cold - let us in, let us in, let us in in in! Why bake bread when you can steal it? Give us a bed to rest our lives. Snake winding round the globe, grey cloud a turret on the night’s mount gliding across the mirror black, little woman set, six arms weaving at the loom with superb finesse—but the hisser? Just a tail slick as glass, sliding in its yowls, rabbit whining all through the twigs; nimbus jugular ripe for tearing, a spilling of rain; whistler sends regards.  5 Poems by Paul Ilechko Beaufort Measures Lost Love
Day zero Beaufort sees himself within the mirror his face as tight as skin his eyes as blue as death as blue as smoke that spirals tight towards oblivion he grieves within his lonely silence Day one he arches his spine amidst the drifting smoke failing once again to control the ripples of anguish that penetrate his immobility Day two his glassy stare absolves the trees of all their mystery as a metal arc is quietly traced across the circus of the sky Day three a branching motion corrupts the shape of flags he speaks in sign language to the potential of a beloved waiting for the appearance of a silver stallion Day four the horse-drawn present scrapes its flanks in greasy rivulets as time dissolves into a tincture of dust and oil Day five a fluttering in his chest as swaying dancers grip the waist of future days and escalate the pace of change but wasted chances pronounce the death of fate Day six wires are crossed with string machines of melody that fight to be included in the symphony of motion that fight the chance of weather as clouds release their dreams Day seven trees are marching down the avenues into the teeth of dentistry horses have abandoned even the smallest motion ceding the width of plain to an inconvenient memory of the loved one Day eight structure abandons form as Beaufort sees revealed a distant shape that resolves itself into the “once upon a promise” of his cherished fantasy Day nine a drumroll pounding of iron cavity as yet again he rolls between the spraying tides of anger fighting to overcome the inflammation that threatens his redemption Day ten a patchwork quilt of unforgiving absorbs the shockwaves as Beaufort realizes that his journey has reached an end beneath the overhanging coils a hollow forms and there he huddles lost and empty inside the wave. (Derived in part from the Beaufort wind force scale)  The Apology Box Author, Naomi Ulsted by Julie Carpenter If you’ve ever worked with troubled teens, you will recognize Tessa, the protagonist of this story. A decision made in a flash has repercussions that disrupt and destroy the lives of many in her community, a small mountain town in the American Northwest. The young woman at the center of the maelstrom, already the victim of a struggling mother and remote father, must decide whether she has any chance at redemption. Her fragile trajectory as she stumbles towards atonement and maturity feels very real.
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