Category Archives: New Poetry

‘Darkest Darkness’ by Marcus Koenig

a chance meeting or so

a mistake in common logic

who can remember such things

when so near the final bow

if we might breathe

we might escape the infernal drive

ah, sister, how we did laugh

seems to be only a while until morning

all attempts to contact you have been empty

so let us repeat our mantra and be done

we do not want the worst to be said of us

better for nothing to be said at all

come with me into the cold night

we will dance

we will live

we will

be

Copyright 2016 by Marcus Koenig. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

 

‘Through My Bones’ by Gloria Christie

Her jealousy grew liquid granite
Hatred, fed a deep thirsty well
Sending thick roots through my bones
Puzzling, what did I do?
Her mind machete keen-wicked
If not, a crush of less pressure
The pain incessant, unbearable
Puzzling, what did I do?
Jealousy, embedded pain
So invasively symbiotical
I cannot disentangle.
Puzzling, what did I do?
Oh.
I Exist.

Copyright 2016 by Gloria Christie. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

‘Late Caller’ by Andrew Bradford

I was hoping it might be you

See, you’ve been on my mind quite a lot lately

Can still recall the good times we had, the kindness we shared

Seems like it must have been ages ago

But really only months

Suppose I should ask if you’re seeing someone now

Afraid of the reply

How could a woman as wonderful as you be alone for long?

As for me, you know I was always a bit of a loner

Takes me awhile to get comfortable with new people

So I wind up missing so many chances because I stay isolated

To myself

I hear you laugh, I smile inside and out when you say

We should meet for dinner soon

Then the smile turns to tears

When the alarm awakens me

From another tortured dream

of you.

Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

‘Snow White’ by Art Metzger

You read the future
you feel some responsibility,
feel you should keep an eye on things.
You know there’s going to be an early frost
you let people know
so they can cover their crops.
You feel there’s going to be a drought
you tell people
so they can start storing water.

So what do you do
when you know a child is going to be born,
a child who is going to take all the magic
out of the world?
Good magic, bad magic – all of it
gone.

So I find out she’s going to marry a prince –
no surprise there –
an idiot could take one look at her
and guess that.
No magic mirror needed,
no bird’s bones or tea leaves.
But after – I saw what was going to happen after –
I saw their joining.
Not that I’m nosy,
as I said, I just feel a certain responsibility.
So, I see their joining, and then
its fruits – a son.
A bratling who will grow
handsome and strong and good,
but who will, through certain actions
(I can hardly tell you what they will be, can I?
I don’t want someone trying by design
what he will do by accident)
banish magic from the world.
So what could I do –
I had to out a stop to things
while I could.
I could hardly wait and kill the baby –
what if something happened in the meantime –
to me, I mean –
I can’t see everything.
So I thought – “Do away with the mother
and the child will never be.”
I would have, too,
if it hadn’t been for those damn dwarves.
Seven midgets who think they’re saving Beauty,
Purity.
Meddlers they are,
interfering before the poison can work.
Not only that, they’re actually arranging her meeting
with the prince.
He will find her, kiss her,
and soon he will come to kill me;
and afterward they will say
it was jealousy made me do it.
I can see it,
but there’s nothing I can do.
She’s watched too closely now –
damn dwarves.
I don’t care for myself,
but soon, all too soon,
the world will become an ordinary place.

Copyright 2016 by Art Metzger. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

‘A Brief Interview With The Universe’ by Carlton Shumlin

I feel the need to tell you that I’m honored to be in your presence

Sometimes I feel demeaned when I talk to people

Not trying to say that I’m always the victim, but it can feel that way in today’s marketplace

Had a therapist tell me it was projection, but not sure I concur

So tell me a bit about what’s going on with you?

Truth is, I’m so unsure of so damn much that I feel confused most of the day

I don’t pretend to be a deep thinker, but I do love to stare at your stars and meteor showers

Like to imagine raking my soul across the cosmos, somehow drawing it back cleansed and free of pain

Nothing is really as automatic as they try to say it is

Some things remain mechanical, sterile, empty, deserted

But not you, not you at all, and that’s a compliment

I seem to have a recollection of once taking a flight on a comet’s tail when I was a child

Just a dream, yes, but felt so real at the time

Guess I should feel ashamed for making so little of my life

But I don’t feel that way with you

Maybe we can make this a regular thing

I understand if you decline the invitation

Can I just lay here and watch?

Can I just try to tune my soul to what I feel vibrating inside of you?

The sky is an eye

It can see me

I can sense it does

So I wave to it

Copyright 2016 by Carlton Shumlin. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

 

‘For Only This Moment’ by J. W. Carter

The sickness washes over me like a curling wave of blackest ink

If you wish to see the sky turn red, you must first cut your hands upon the silk

There was once a valley I recall from youth

I only find within myself

Shame

Fear

Terror

Rotten thoughts

I crawl among the terrace of a thousand moldy gardens

The flowers filled with the stench of bile and piss

Have you ever been convicted of a crime? She asked it so sweetly I was tempted to reply

It will all be broken now and then

If you try to reassemble it, it will only be a waste of your fading time

Perhaps to pray to some god, maybe to seek a dark repentance

A scrap of teal blue sky remains

Clutch it to your face and make a wish

Copyright 2016 by J.W. Carter. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

 

‘The Ecstatic Ones’ by Andrew Bradford

The lake is ever draining, suppose one day it will merely be sand

With just a motion of her finger, she ushers him nearer

That night we found the truest form of explosive manna to be inside the soul

In dread we all enter, but in pain we shall all exit our own stage

Be it left or right, our happiness will never match the exquisite torture we all endured

I know I have traded on my feigned wisdom, taught others with the stigmata of my words

Will they make a saint of her? This is what I wondered as I stood at the top of the eternal

I’ve gotten so turned around, backtracked so often, been flat of my ass a million times

But for this moment I will only feel, I will only let the sounds teach me what I hunger to learn

By chance she had disappeared a few times into astral flights none can see but the sightless

I will not cry–She will not relent

I have learned to hold back the tears–She wipes my cheeks

Now I will stand and shout–She lifts my voice

I will scream with joy–We shout with delight

Until I am consumed by the void–We will be forever in the vortex

And return as light in a world growing dark–Pulsing light

She does hold me aloft–She does become my every molecule

First real panic of the day—-

In evening all

will be calm

Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

‘Hands Blood Red’ by Andrew Bradford

Shot as they were, they seemed to collapse under the weight of some extraordinary gravitational pull

Suppose he could be off in a fit of rage; he’s been known to fly off the handle

In the raw footage, it could be clearly seen that the men raised machetes and brought them down upon…

Perhaps this is some sick fantasy of yours, some wish fufillment you seem destined to make real

There is no religion more intractable than the Temple of Hate

Listening as they half-vocalize, half-whimper, until all is coldly silent

If there was only more time, more understanding, more of what the elders once called love

But now there is only the boot of insult, the tearing down of all that is truly divine

I have seen writing in dark dreams, omens of what is about to arrive

This time of year, this place among the infernal dross of disilusionment and deracination

The solutions will always seem far too pat, the questions far too complex

And so forth and so forth and so

Until all is conquered with rage, with agony, with the last vestiges of what once was

I call for the check–

I wish only to be carried home

Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

‘Prescription For Existence’ by Andrew Bradford

In general, I thought less about it with each passing day

Until later it had faded so completely that I did not care

Smelling the sweetness of some Elysian Field, deeply sensing the perfection

The reality of what has become accepted truth is nothing but a patterned rumor

Then trillions of years pass and nothing remains but what is essential:

Breathing, seeing, causing, farting, eating, discovering, passing, fading, disappearing

Look at the cover and understand what it truly means to be filled with reverent awe

Read the words as if they are some holy script long since lost among the sands of time

Standing near the ocean, screaming for respite, for order, for one last gasp

But none shall be given–it has been ordained

Shallow sips of air, more, silently begging into the ether

For a last moment of grace

Yet handed only dust and ash.

Copyright 2016 by Andrew Bradford. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.

‘The Voyage Of The Graymalkin’ by Art Metzger

There once was a shipwright who was both brave and wise
who for all of his life sought a way to devise
a ship, a miraculous magical ark
that would skin through the skies on the waves of the dark.

For the dark, it is whispered, flows in from the East
every night from a land where all living things ceased
to dwell long ago, and so it is told
that the land is now twisted and strange to behold.

So the old shipwright gathered the lore that he sought
in secret, from books and by spells that he wrought,
until all was ready, he soon would embark
on the ship he had built that would sail with the dark.

But before he could cast off he must have a crew
of friends he could trust and bold men who would do
whatever he ordered, though foolish it seemed
to plot such a course, of which few men had dreamed.

The shipwright found two men he’d known all his life,
one young who as yet had no lady nor wife,
and one whose two sons had been killed long ago
and whose wife soon had followed, bestricken with woe.

Now all that was left was the very small task
of stocking the larder with food and with flask.
But soon all was done, it was time to begin
their great voyage in the night with the dark rolling in.

The crew boarded the ship while the shipwright stood by
staring up at his work ‘neath the gray twilight sky,
then he christened his ship THE GRAYMALKIN and cried
“Weigh anchor, we sail with the darkening tide!”

The anchor was lifted, the sails unfurled,
the men all grew quiet as clouds above swirled.
The ship strained and shuddered, then rose from the ground
and spun round toward the East, for the dark it was bound.

All night the ship sailed to and fro in the dark
while the crew only heard the occasional bark
of a dog down below that had chanced to catch sight
of a ship being tossed by the waves of the night.

For hours they sailed o’er lands that they knew
till they heard a cock crow to say morning was due.
Then the time the old shipwright had worked for drew nigh
for the dark was now flowing, leaving light in the sky.

THE GRAYMALKIN shuddered much worse than before
and it shook in a way the crew could not ignore.
The ship’s timbers cracked and it seemed it would go
falling down through the sky to the ground far below.

But the shipwright stood calm at the helm of his ship
while his muscles all strained lest he loosen his grip
on the wheel he held that would keep them on course
as he prayed to the gods that things would grow no worse.

Soon the lights of the village were left far behind.
The ship was in darkness, the crew rendered blind.
But the night’s tide had settled, the ship had held true
as it sailed through clouds over lands that none knew.

The shipwright tied lanterns to long ropes and chains,
then he lowered them down to light strange alien plains
where odd creatures and things of the dark would be found
staring up at the ship without making a sound.

But what scene did they see with the lights down below?
What sights did they find in the lanterns’ bright glow?
Just people! The same as the shipwright and crew.
Just people who didn’t quite know what to do.

They stood outside houses in nightgowns and caps
while still more were coming to fill in the gaps
in the crowd ‘neath the strange ship that hung overhead
till soon not one person was left still in bed.

The old shipwright smiled at the crowd down below,
then he waved and he laughed and called down a “Hallo!”
Then the lights were extinguished, the crew worked in the gloam
while they waited for darkness to bear them back home.

The hours passed slowly aboard the strange ark
while they waited on deck for the waves of the dark
to carry them homeward, their great voyage all done.
Their adventure was over, their goal had been won.

The shipwright was happy, THE GRAYMALKIN had flown
with the dark to a land that was not so unknown
as the shipwright had thought, for the legends he’d read
had said almost nothing of plain folk a’bed.

So the old shipwright settled to live just as before,
but he stopped reading tomes full of legends and lore.
THE GRAYMALKIN lay empty, he would never embark
again on his ship that could sail with the dark.

Copyright 2016 by Art Metzger. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission.