Dedicated to bringing you the most cutting edge writers from the Brooklyn underground. The New Punk scene gives it straight up and is open for all to accept and embrace. The New Punks are not necessarily categorized by pointy hair, abrasive music, or desensitized, angst ridden, anarchists. The New Punk might wear a three piece suit and have a nose ring (…or not). New Punk is a state of being built on pillars of Belief, Acceptance and Love. And the words flow....

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Featured Poet: ELLIOT M. HAIM

THE FREAK WEIRD BEAUTIFUL

A collection of poems detailing a spiritual journey of personal growth and triumph. The Freak Weird Beautiful is written in a style that celebrates Cummings’ "modernist manner" with Beat era sensibility and a serious Brooklyn punk’s edge. Excerpts are available below. Anyone interested in a full copy should e-mail us at newpunklit@aol.com.

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Below are excerpts from the New Punk Literature release: THE FREAK WEIRD BEAUTIFUL, by Elliot M. Haim.

...AND THE WRITER'S WRITE

How much more is there to write of the

boxom bosom whose

curves had inspired countless words from poetic pens?

Is there a new drug to swallow or

consume

to notice just how red the roses are?

What love is left in a decaying world,

rotting around us,

leaving the expected and now,

even boring, anguish-

Such hackneyed crap we lend our inspiration to

for words spelling out these trite emotions

and ideaologies.

And the money mongers publish this shit with

binding and hardcover, shelving this product

and labeling it art,

like groceries in a supermarket.

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Drink from my blood and

gaze through

the tinted hue of my pupils-

tunnel---------------this vision and

view from my perspective:

there is

cold and evil,

warmth and kindness,

and a confusion in deciphering

between them

(I think those are the clouds);

My left

foot is sized 9 ½,

My right foot is sized 9-

Feel my shoes, one comfy and one

slipping…

The lights dance and sparkle

and take shapes of a strange (unknown) language and

sets itself against a black velvet sky;

ocean waves glimmer with the same wisdom

and I blind when I get too

close.

….come smoke what I smoke

break

through the nonsense

and see what I see

there are riddles to be solved,

understand me-

we’ll make plenty of jokes along the way (for sanity’s purpose),

I can’t do it

alone.

* * *

THE KEY

I put the car key to

the door

lock,

I see the tiny white-blue

lec-

tric

SpArK

take effect

as the metal

s c r-

h e

painfully and warmly

against

each other-

and I realize….

Now, I know-

Life’s existence is an

opportunity for souls

to say, to do, to

touch-

The e-

lec-

tric throb pul-

ses toward

my fingers

that press

the metal of

the key-

bzzzzzzzt!

I feel it….

The spirits speak in

everyday language.

Sometimes,

I listen-

It’s hard to hear at times (that’s static),

but I under-

stand-

I am Alive and will always be

Alive.

shocking!

I hold the key-

revelation;

knowledge,

and the power (life),

and the desire (love),

to do something

for my spirit-

that is, to

Live

and

Love-

Be (.)

I’m bring-

ing

you-

here (I) am .

Can you fe-

el me?

If I’ve reached you,

don’t deny

yourself;

embrace

yourself

and

I’ll

there.

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New Punk Literature, Brooklyn, NY