Yellow Mama Archives

David Mac
Adhikari, Sudeep
Ahern, Edward
Aldrich, Janet M.
Allan, T. N.
Allen, M. G.
Ammonds, Phillip J.
Anderson, Peter
Andreopoulos, Elliott
Arab, Bint
Augustyn, P. K.
Aymar, E. A.
Babbs, James
Baber, Bill
Bagwell, Dennis
Bailey, Ashley
Baird, Meg
Bakala, Brendan
Baker, Nathan
Balaz, Joe
Barber, Shannon
Barker, Tom
Bates, Jack
Baugh, Darlene
Bauman, Michael
Baumgartner, Jessica Marie
Beale, Jonathan
Beck, George
Beckman, Paul
Benet, Esme
Bennett, Brett
Bennett, Charlie
Berg, Carly
Berman, Daniel
Bernardara, Will Jr.
Berriozabal, Luis
Beveridge, Robert
Bickerstaff, Russ
Bigney, Tyler
Blake, Steven
Bohem, Charlie Keys and Les
Booth, Brenton
Bougger, Jason
Boyd, A. V.
Boyd, Morgan
Bracey, DG
Brewka-Clark, Nancy
Britt, Alan
Brooke, j
Brown, R. Thomas
Brown, Sam
Burton, Michael
Bushtalov, Denis
Butkowski, Jason
Butler, Simon Hardy
Cameron, W. B.
Campbell, J. J.
Campbell, Jack Jr.
Cano, Valentina
Cardinale, Samuel
Carlton, Bob
Cartwright, Steve
Carver, Marc
Castle, Chris
Catlin, Alan
Chesler, Adam
Clausen, Daniel
Clevenger, Victor
Clifton, Gary
Coffey, James
Colasuonno, Alfonso
Conley, Jen
Connor, Tod
Cooper, Malcolm Graham
Coral, Jay
Cosby, S. A.
Costello, Bruce
Crandall, Rob
Criscuolo, Carla
Crist, Kenneth
Crouch & Woods
D., Jack
Dallett, Cassandra
Danoski, Joseph V.
Daly, Sean
Davis, Christopher
Day, Holly
de Bruler, Connor
Degani, Gay
De France, Steve
De La Garza, Lela Marie
Deming, Ruth Z.
Demmer, Calvin
De Neve, M. A.
Dennehy, John W.
DeVeau, Spencer
Di Chellis, Peter
Dick, Earl
Dick, Paul "Deadeye"
DiLorenzo, Ciro
Dionne, Ron
Domenichini, John
Dominelli, Rob
Doran, Phil
Doreski, William
Dorman, Roy
Doherty, Rachel
Dosser, Jeff
Doyle, John
Draime, Doug
Drake, Lena Judith
Dromey, John H.
Dubal, Paul Michael
Duke, Jason
Duncan, Gary
Dunham, T. Fox
Duschesneau, Pauline
Dunn, Robin Wyatt
Duxbury, Karen
Duy, Michelle
Elliott, Garnett
Ellman, Neil
England, Kristina
Erianne, John
Espinosa, Maria
Esterholm, Jeff
Fallow, Jeff
Farren, Jim
Fenster, Timothy
Ferraro, Diana
Filas, Cameron
Flanagan, Daniel N.
Flanagan, Ryan Quinn
Francisco, Edward
Funk, Matthew C.
Gann, Alan
Gardner, Cheryl Ann
Garvey, Kevin Z.
Genz, Brian
Giersbach, Walter
Gladeview, Lawrence
Glass, Donald
Goddard, L. B.
Godwin, Richard
Goff, Christopher
Goss, Christopher
Gradowski, Janel
Graham, Sam
Grant, Christopher
Grant, Stewart
Greenberg, K.J. Hannah
Greenberg, Paul
Grey, John
Gunn, Johnny
Gurney, Kenneth P.
Haglund, Tobias
Halleck, Robert
Hamlin, Mason
Hanson, Christopher Kenneth
Hanson, Kip
Harrington, Jim
Harris, Bruce
Hart, GJ
Hartman, Michelle
Haskins, Chad
Hawley, Doug
Haycock, Brian
Hayes, A. J.
Hayes, John
Hayes, Peter W. J.
Heatley, Paul
Heimler, Heidi
Helmsley, Fiona
Hendry, Mark
Heslop, Karen
Heyns, Heather
Hilary, Sarah
Hill, Richard
Hivner, Christopher
Hockey, Matthew J.
Hogan, Andrew J.
Holderfield, Culley
Holton, Dave
Howells, Ann
Hoy, J. L.
Huchu, Tendai
Hudson, Rick
Huffman, A. J.
Huguenin, Timothy G.
Huskey, Jason L.
Irascible, Dr. I. M.
Jaggers, J. David
James, Christopher
Johnson, Beau
Johnson, Moctezuma
Johnson, Zakariah
Jones, D. S.
Jones, Erin J.
Jones, Mark
Kabel, Dana
Kaplan, Barry Jay
Kay, S.
Kempka, Hal
Kerins, Mike
Keshigian, Michael
Kevlock, Mark Joseph
King, Michelle Ann
Kirk, D.
Knott, Anthony
Koenig, Michael
Korpon, Nik
Kovacs, Norbert
Kovacs, Sandor
Kowalcyzk, Alec
Krafft, E. K.
Lacks, Lee Todd
Lang, Preston
Larkham, Jack
La Rosa, F. Michael
Leasure, Colt
Leatherwood, Roger
Lees, Arlette
Lees, Lonni
Leins, Tom
Lemming, Jennifer
Lerner, Steven M
Lewis, Cynthia Ruth
Lewis, LuAnn
Lifshin, Lyn
Liskey, Tom Darin
Lodge, Oliver
Lopez, Aurelio Rico III
Lorca, Aurelia
Lovisi, Gary
Lucas, Gregory E.
Lukas, Anthony
Lynch, Nulty
Lyon, Hillary
Lyons, Matthew
Mac, David
MacArthur, Jodi
Malone, Joe
Mann, Aiki
Manzolillo, Nicholas
Marcius, Cal
Marrotti, Michael
Mason, Wayne
Mattila, Matt
McAdams, Liz
McCartney, Chris
McDaris, Catfish
McFarlane, Adam Beau
McGinley, Chris
McGinley, Jerry
McElhiney, Sean
McKim, Marci
McMannus, Jack
McQuiston, Rick
Mellon, Mark
Memi, Samantha
Miles, Marietta
Miller, Max
Minihan, Jeremiah
Monson, Mike
Mooney, Christopher P.
Morgan, Bill W.
Moss, David Harry
Mullins, Ian
Mulvihill, Michael
Muslim, Kristine Ong
Nardolilli, Ben
Nelson, Trevor
Nessly, Ray
Nester, Steven
Neuda, M. C.
Newell, Ben
Newman, Paul
Nielsen, Ayaz
Ogurek, Douglas J.
O'Keefe, Sean
Ortiz, Sergio
Pagel, Briane
Park, Jon
Parr, Rodger
Parrish, Rhonda
Partin-Nielsen, Judith
Peralez, R.
Perez, Juan M.
Perez, Robert Aguon
Peterson, Ross
Petroziello, Brian
Pettie, Jack
Petyo, Robert
Phillips, Matt
Picher, Gabrielle
Pierce, Rob
Pietrzykowski, Marc
Plath, Rob
Pointer, David
Powell, David
Power, Jed
Powers, M. P.
Praseth, Ram
Prusky, Steve
Pruitt, Eryk
Purfield, M. E.
Purkis, Gordon
Quinlan, Joseph R.
Quinn, Frank
Rabas, Kevin
Ram, Sri
Rapth, Sam
Ravindra, Rudy
Renney, Mark
reutter, g emil
Rhatigan, Chris
Richardson, Travis
Richey, John Lunar
Ridgeway, Kevin
Ritchie, Salvadore
Robinson, John D.
Robinson, Kent
Rodgers, K. M.
Roger, Frank
Rose, Mandi
Rose, Mick
Rosenberger, Brian
Rosenblum, Mark
Rosmus, Cindy
Ruhlman, Walter
Rutherford, Scotch
Savage, Jack
Sayles, Betty J.
Schauber, Karen
Schneeweiss, Jonathan
Schraeder, E. F.
Schumejda, Rebecca
See, Tom
Sethi, Sanjeev
Sexton, Rex
Seymour, J. E.
Shaikh, Aftab Yusuf
Sheagren, Gerald E.
Shepherd, Robert
Shirey, D. L.
Sim, Anton
Simmler, T. Maxim
Simpson, Henry
Sinisi, J. J.
Sixsmith, JD
Slagle, Cutter
Slaviero, Susan
Sloan, Frank
Small, Alan Edward
Smith, Brian J.
Smith, Ben
Smith, C.R.J.
Smith, Copper
Smith, Paul
Smith, Stephanie
Smith, Willie
Smuts, Carolyn
Snethen, Daniel G.
Snoody, Elmore
Sojka, Carol
Solender, Michael J.
Sortwell, Pete
Sparling, George
Spicer, David
Squirrell, William
Stewart, Michael S.
Stickel, Anne
Stolec, Trina
Stryker, Joseph H.
Stucchio, Chris
Succre, Ray
Sullivan, Thomas
Swanson, Peter
Swartz, Justin A.
Sweet, John
Tarbard, Grant
Taylor, J. M.
Thompson, John L.
Thompson, Phillip
Tillman, Stephen
Titus, Lori
Tivey, Lauren
Tobin, Tim
Tu, Andy
Ullerich, Eric
Valent, Raymond A.
Valvis, James
Vilhotti, Jerry
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Walsh, Patricia
Walters, Luke
Ward, Emma
Weber, R.O.
Weil, Lester L.
White, Judy Friedman
White, Robb
White, Terry
Wilsky, Jim
Wilson, Robley
Wilson, Tabitha
Woodland, Francis
Young, Mark
Yuan, Changming
Zackel, Fred
Zafiro, Frank
Zapata, Angel
Zee, Carly
Zimmerman, Thomas


Pill Girl


by David Mac



And her eyes,

exploding into black holes,

sucking everything inwards.

Her perverse smile,

we her children,



red-faced and


The dirty sun,

wrung out,

dripping in a desolate sky,

buildings quivering,


trembling up

above us.

And she screams,

burns like glue,

as cars pass,


cars with people,

humans, things,

creatures, meat,

heads, faces, minds,

stuffed full of milky souls that

exit out the back of their necks.

Then car wrecks,



bent and buckled metal,

shattering windscreens.

The town grins,

eats us whole.

But she is

high as birds,

half moon half mirror,

the hurtful planet curling to her song,

her oozing note,

and we all hear it

booming up to our bony homes,

our ragged lives,

and we clap and go



This night is ours.




Wet Death Bingo


by David Mac



He said he wanted to fuck the grungy Goth girl who had moved in upstairs. I told him, “Then just go and fuck that Tim Burton bitch.”

He wailed, “But I’m married!’

I explained “Ack, marriage is a big bag o’ doom.”


Then he told me about some Sasquatch bastard who wore a dress and

had great furry arms and black eyeballs that giggled like wet death bingo

who had moved in down the hall.

“These flats are coming to an end,”  he said. “They’re going downhill fast.”


I reminded him about the sexy bit from the second floor, and how about

us stabbing our hard purple poems through her letterbox while she drank

orange juice and frigged herself blind with celebrity magazines.


He shook his head sadly and sucked the world in through his cemetery teeth. He hissed and his eyes looked like dead spiders and broken insects.

Then he took a sip of Guinness.


I screamed at the milky froth that was left above his upper lip, but I could

tell he was having his waxy fantasies. They were melting like dirty

candles in his mixed-up mind: strange terror, strangling sex, and all the

girl eyes dripping,


like the hateful flowers they were.





Art by Aisling Kerins 2012

Come Back, Heart Shape


David Mac


Yeah, look up…


The heart shapes were floating all over town. Some looked like balloons in the sky. Some were carried on the breeze like feathers, fluttering, twisting. Some spiralled and eddied like leaves in a twirl.

  We only watched them. What else could we do?


There were pink ones, red ones, white ones. Those are the colours you expect to see. I mean, you don’t expect to see a brown heart up there, huh?

Think of Love. Think of it, like in the cartoons or movies. Think of that Love Aura. What colour you got?



Everyone’s heart just upped and left. Just rose out that day, that first day. That’s when it happened. You remember?

I remember opening my windows and just looking, seeing them all over town. They looked like a swarm of butterflies: hundreds, thousands, millions of little heart shapes in the distance.

And I turned on the news and saw this was happening all over the place: London, Manchester, Glasgow, Belfast, Cardiff; and I saw it was also happening in Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Bangkok, Delhi, Honk Kong, Sydney, New York, Mexico… Blah, blah, blah; heart, heart, heart!

It was just going on all over the place, everywhere. Man!


Hey, I guess the hearts had just had enough, got tired waiting around forever. Hey, I guess they set themselves free. Beautiful, okay!


So I went out into the street.

Everyone was out there, looking up at the sky, looking up at all those heart shapes, alive, bobbing, like they were trying to get somewhere.

I saw a heart shape land on a little girl’s shoe. It flattened out like a damp leaf but seemed to rub and purr. She picked it up and held it in her palm. She showed it to her mother, then she blew it away. And, as if the heart shape was actually grateful, I saw it gently kiss the girl’s cheek before lifting back up into the sky with all the rest. It drifted off and up

I held one in my hand: smooth, soft, velvet, light like paper. It tickled my skin. I stroked it and felt it shudder and wriggle, snug and comfortable, little papery heart. I sensed it seem to sigh, to gasp, lament, lost for something. Aw!


And I tell you that everything shall rise, everything shall echo out and flow, caught on the air: rivulets, wavelets, undulating, precise, beatific, cool currents unseen, tingling, fresh, set in harmony… This sweetness has no weight!

The way thoughts can stir, hang heavy, then float up...

Like a poem in the morning…

Over traffic and rush hour, dead-end jobs, sadness, happiness…

Like notes from a solo instrument… 

Upwards, upwards. Gotta get higher. Gotta poke the sky right. Hang onto that old heaven.


When we saw those airborne hearts we turned fools to ourselves. We thought everything was gonna be okay now. And I saw an old man with some old tears in his old eyes. A kid just stopped playing and focused up. A young mother was lost for words.

Yeah, that’s it, that’s right: everything is lost for words, sometimes.

But we thought: it’s gonna be okay.


But now, getting back, to the colours of the hearts that day. Remember I said they were all pinks and reds and white, kind of love colours? Well, my heart shape came out.

I felt it rise up from my chest, piercing through, spiking out into the day.

It seeped out, hot and angry, violent stabbing, tearing through my flesh. It stung and throbbed, pulsated and oozed. I knelt on the pavement and waited for the thing to come. I shook and trembled, felt it writhe.

And once it was out, the pain stopped. I looked up at my own heart shape and saw.


Blackened heart shape, ashen and dirty. That heart shape was no good! and bitter! My heart shape was a villain!

I watched it float up in the air with the rest of them. I saw it touch the others and stain them with its filth, pollute those poor, good clean hearts with its vileness.

And other people saw it was my heart that was doing this and they all turned to look at me.

‘It was his!’ said the little girl.


I ran back inside my place and looked out the window. I saw the beautiful hearts all turning, all changing and becoming grubby and rotten by my malevolent heart shape. I watched the sky turn black, all over town, the horizon, the panorama, the skyline.

One foul heart shape, corrupting, infecting, spoiling the rest. Everything on fire and burning. All over the earth it spread. Across the landscapes, continents, the colour was spreading, awful. Blackness. Blackness. Blackness. That was the first day, all that time ago.


The sun is blocked out now. It’s cold.

And all we do is wait.





by David Mac



She sold weed

That I would go to buy

And she had horses


That I would love to ride


After work

I’d go there

And we’d smoke


Her posh voice a trill

Her big house

Something I’d never know


And then


She’d let me have a ride

Not on her

But her horses


And I’d canter

And trot

Around the paddock

As the sun stabbed away

Feel the thick animal hum

And smile


Two beasts

Content in the world


In the dusk


One knew no better

One did

But both were left alive for now


To be free


Natural so



And as the sky turned to oil

The shadows braved more

Than men would

Ever know





1 Litre of Russian Standard


by David Mac



I was reading Dostoevsky don’t

ask me to pronounce him

when the woman next door began screaming or



So I took a walk to the Bargain Booze shop

and went inside


The bottles behind the smash-proof/bulletproof (?) glass all

watched me enter

They had faces like shiny calm monks

blessing me, not

judging my life


But I chose the only one I could find that had an

angry face, not

holy or even a believer in God


And the Indian lady reached up high and

got it down for me and asked

“Is that all?”


“Yes” I told her and she said

“You drink every day?” and I replied

“Better than at night”


She asked “What’s wrong with the


“Too much noise” I explained “Too much

going on


all over the place”


“That’s 12.70” she declared and I

handed her various


coins with

monetary value in the

correct currency


the berries of life


“Keep the change love” I said as I

walked off but there

wasn’t any


There never is these days


And the monks watched me leave. I

think they wished me well 



Stirring Through Thoughts That Mean Absolutely Nothing


by David Mac





Pissing into a wine bottle

At 3A.M.

And outside there are


I will never care about:

Howling streets

Puked kebabs

Pissed-up doorways

Hungry taxis

Staggering heels

Dirty fucks in dirty alleys

And good old cans

Rattling in the gutters

On through the night

The hard bone moon

A flashing blade

Smiling in the dark

We are all out there

Like we are all in here

Finding new ways to live

Old ways die

Mostly they are the same

But at times

Like this

We can do neither

As I get back into bed

Pull up the sheets

The shadows come too

And you stir

You stir

My God

How you stir



Red Lady


by David Mac



Red lady lay down

This life isn’t worth a damn

And I’ve been bored forever


Red lady lay

You still have it in you

Even though I do not


In the supermarket today

Meat for sale

People walk past each other

And never say a word

They never smile

And it feels so good

People are so pointless


Red lady the birds

The birds are selfish

They take what they can get


Red lady have you got

Charms in your window?

Trinkets up your cunt?

People look so ugly when they yawn

Coz sleep is death rehearsal


Red lady they’re teaching

Young girls to lick lollipops

Somewhere in the southern hemisphere

And cats cross the road at dawn so well


Red lady I don’t dislike you

I just like me better

I don’t dislike your company

I’ll always prefer my own


Red lady I never asked

To be born

But so what

If I did?




by David Mac



We laugh about how


stomped on my

skull on

the kitchen



Ha-ha how

the blood


out of

my head


When time is

long it’s







At the


things aren’t

always so


At the

time they

hurt like



There’s still

blood on

her kitchen


and on her


(bits of

my brain)


It’s okay I

like to



of where



was not



by David Mac



If I bring you flowers

will you kill them

or merely smell them?

Will you smile

or commit suicide?

Will you kiss me or

fall into the earth?

Will you, if I bring you flowers

call me by my name

or any name?



Will you go to war

plan a murder

form an evil pact?

I don’t know but

I purchase them from

the petrol station

their innocent petals

and stems

bunched in my

mortal hands






by David Mac



We’d wait for the shop to open

where we could buy

two bottles of red for seven quid

and two Polish beers for two

and next to the shop was a place

that decorated and designed






Blah blah blah good riddance


And we’d look in that window

dreaming about death

as the rush-hour traffic

pushed on through

to nowhere

at all





David Mac’s words can be found in many mags, journals, sites, ‘zines, and blogs. He’s had collections published by Erbacce Press, Knives Forks & Spoons, Writing Knights Press, Ten Pages Press, Lulu, as well as various self-published collections. He lives in the UK, deep in the Bedfordshire Hell. He contemplates death. Sometimes he contemplates life.

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