Saturday, March 16, 2019

Shadows of the night

"Shadows of the night" by Tracy Woodhead
Walking alone down quiet streets
no person is out , yet the quiet is disturbed
aching souls, neither heaven nor hell bound
wandering endlessly upon this middle ground
should i tremble, show fear
the corners display
memories like movie films
I can watch but have no role
a faceless man flees down an alley
so close theres an air that whips the flesh of my arms
I turn to glance at the leaving silhouette
he continues , never seeing me there
across the road a lady weeps
aged and weary she seems
tying flowers to a lamp post
a flower for a year she leaves here
twelve flowers
twelve years,
before the car took away her child
who stands before her , with frozen eyes
fixed upon her face
whilst his own, an expression -less canvas
his body frail dressed in blood soaked clothes
holding in his hands the twelve flowers
I wander on heart aching
to find two lovers dancing
drenched by maybe rain
they dance their way out of view
an eagle swoops down
before me to my right
catching a mouse in its claws
then just as quick retakes its flight
the sun now starts to spread her light
the streets upon where i tread
will soon be filled
with new memories to show
***

BIO: My hobbies are reading and writing, but mainly helping others. I never had help with things she has suffered had to fight for everything so it determined her to give herself freely to all who needed help around her because she couldn’t bear to think of anyone else enduring the life she had. I love people the way they help and comfort others she strongly admires those with big hearts who don’t shy away from being a helping hand to another. I have always loved to write, it gives me a voice when I was younger dealing with m/h i didn’t have a clue what was wrong with me except i could never find the words to speak so i wrote and in doing so found a freedom away from the world at times and other times it was my way to explain herself to the world and to myself .


666 Hope Avenue

"666 Hope Avenue" by Holy Godfrey
That new house smell
has long faded__
drifted away to more deserving
abodes, to noses that cheer
the heart and tame the mind
That hope smell
no longer waft from my chimney
It lies dormant, burried in shoot
with roots hard to uproot
Copacetic the view
yet like dirty dishes in a sink
We waste away in a ship that
just won't sink
That first love smell
has all gone foul__
Drains clogged with unopened regrets
pipes frozen by icy silence.
Pent-up contempt hoarded
in greasy hearts,
hate spattered backsplash
evidence of a spoiling
broth.
That lost smell
has invaded my home
faith dying within her walls daily.
That basement stench has taken over,
failure pickled in sadness,
the moldy overbearing stench
of unused life slowly
rotting into
divorce.

***

Holy Godfrey is an aspiring poet born in Thika Kenya. His work has been published in several anthologies. His poem "Rivulets" is also featured in Ayo Gutierrez's book "Yearnings" He currently resides in Boston Massachusetts with his wife and three children.

The Marionette

"THE MARIONETTE" by Wayne Olson

It seemed as if he had been put aside by the Master
No longer his favorite puppet to tell stories with
Or that his character had no current role to play
Did children once so excited no longer ask for him?
Did they grow weary of his tale and forget his name?
For a time he was content with his lot in life
To be merely a spectator and not a participant
Content to let the story unfold without him
When the strings no longer guided but bound him

After a season something vague began to stir in him
A growing hunger, a need to emerge and engage
An awareness of a chasm between body and spirit
And a deep longing for the two to be one again
For the spirit to once again rise up and be true
To sort out the strings and bring life once again
One with purpose and meaning like never before
As the Master worked the two with a deft hand
For another important tale in the story of his life.

***

BIO: I started writing in my late teens.  I took to writing short stories at first, then poetry later and love the ability to say much with few words.  I have always been on the introverted side, very comfortable in my own space, so writing suited my need for expression. I have had a very rich spiritual life since childhood which is very much part of my nature, so much of what I have gleaned from those experiences finds its way into my writings.  Poems are my ship’s “logbook” on this voyage thru life.

Victory without Laurels

"Victory without Laurels" by David Wagoner
Stepping down the wind,
sandaled foot upon
the temple roof,
what laurels does Victory bestow?
What glory in a child pined?
Will the dead soldier know?
Facts without proof.
War crimes lead on.
Laurel wreathed grave,
glorious memorial.
Only wretched
in the bloody battlefield
beyond the nursery door
Orders dictatorial.
Victory’s wings
Outstretched.
The bomb sings
not victory, but horror.

***

BIO: I am a retired CAD Programmer and Master Machinist who oversaw a machine shop making parts for extreme environments. I made parts for satellites and the Space Shuttle. Author of “Scratches on Scraps” and Editor of “A Promise of Doves”.

Thursday, March 14, 2019

I Am Everything

"I Am Everything" by Andy Carpenter

Dreaming of a rainbow, let’s wish upon a star
Keep our spirit close to us and spread the love afar.

I climb the highest mountain to quietly find myself
Praying to The Universe and receiving back it’s help.

Sat in the wild grasses connecting with the flowers
At union with the earth below ascend through misty showers.

I float inside the Grandest plan a single conscious thought
Look toward the teacher within to guide with cosmic force.

When the questions rain on me I look to my awareness
Harnessing an energy for courage to be daring.

I am the Earth, the stars and trees
I am everything that I believe.

***

BIO: My name is Andy Carpenter, I am a poet and somewhat of a dreamer. I live in the east of England in a small town called St Neots (Cambridgeshire) with my partner Katie and two young children Kieren (5) and Rhys (4). I have two previous publications titled "Holding Hope In My Hands" which is a collection of my own work and "The Winding Path of Life" which is a collection of work from myself and other poets compiled into an anthology. I am currently in the process of building my second Anthology "Dreamer" for my group Voices of Freedom. Some days I write very positive poetry fueled by hope, personal growth and self-improvement and other days I reflect on my own battle with the demons mental health. Not an hour goes by without words and ideas jumping around my mind, poetry and creation is very much part of my soul and colours the world around me.

Monday, March 11, 2019

Medusa and the Stone

"Medusa and the Stone" by Thomas Spychalski


Somewhere there is that attraction for everyone,
Confusion about fusions, Shining star or mock sun?
Maybe I should grab the ropes mother tosses down,
Rope chafes, so does safe, burns only hope to turn around.
I don’t know exactly what to make of you,
You draw me in like some high powered magnet on high,
My shielding has denied, so many in hindsight I made die,
In the magpie, I collect only to deny myself, to not comply.
Drawn in and shocked when I find I have some pull,
The voice in me tells me no, do you wanna be a fool?
Silence him to move forward regroup, retry, retool,
Will I let the toys in the attic space, shatter another jewel?
Maybe it’s because we cannot quite explain,
The way someone can take away all the strain,
Even if we fall, I forgot the universe makes it plain,
So maybe this time forgo the strain and let magnets reign.

***


BIO: 
Thomas Spychalski has written for various online and offline publications since 2006 including Kasterborous, Whotopia, the 2011 book Ultimate Regeneration and City to Country magazine.  Additionally he also worked as a reporter in Texas and still writes a column remotely for the same newspaper for the past six years.

Lee Todd Lacks

Untitled by Lee Todd Lacks

We're in the middle of the
ocean, on a moonless night
no island in sight, tossed by the
tourmaline waves, battered by the
ill-tempered wind, how can our sail be saved?
It's so torn, and the boat appears to have
sprung a leak, and neither of us have the
will to speak, the scent of destination
only travels quite so far, my vision isn't
clear enough to see the brightest
star, the osprey and the seagull
are nowhere to be found, the
serenade of killer whales is
the most uplifting sound. With all
the strength we still have left, we
push upon the prow, wordlessly
questioning,
"Where do we go, now?"

***

BIO:  
Lee Todd Lacks seeks to blur the distinctions between rants, chants, anecdotes, and anthems.  His experience of living with significant vision and hearing deficits often informs his writing and artwork, which have appeared in The Monarch Review, The Quarterday Review, Crack The Spine Anthology, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Bop Dead City, Liquid Imagination, and elsewhere.  In May of 2017, Lee Todd presented selections of his poetry at Stanford University’s Center for Computer Research in Music and Acoustics (CCRMA) in collaboration with a group of multimedia artists from the United States and Romania.  In August of 2018, HellBound Books Publishing released his second book, entitled Nothing Between Friends.