Long poem by
Jack Clark | Details |
When I was young, and adventure routine,
With excitement and newness still unforeseen
I was eager to spread my wings to the world
And seek more adventures as those wings unfurled
Within my long travels I happened to meet
Two other men, with friendships replete
One was named Beckett, the other one Flynn
And better friends there never have been.
We’d been together, ‘t was our sixth year,
And still our adventures made us cohere
To every madness – to every rave …
Until we decided to enter: The Cave.
With our ropes and lanterns and other such gear
It was into The Cave we then disappeared.
The light from our lanterns speared into the dark
We spoke very little - made no remark.
We found a small dry spot and then we assessed
This was a place we could stop now to rest.
I set down my lantern, and took off my hat,
When Beckett said: “Hey. Did you just hear that?”
I moved not a muscle, and my ears went to strain.
All I could hear were cave droplets, like rain.
Then … from The Cave’s bowels came a loud din
I continued to listen – then heard it again.
We looked at each other, but said not a word
Confused and startled by what we’d just heard
It wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a gasp
But more rather like a guttural rasp
Then from The Cave’s deepened black hole
Came again sounds from a source with no soul
The sound was menacing, and one I despise,
I watched the fear grow within my friends’ eyes.
Instinctively then, we three moved as one
In that instant – our re-ascent had begun
I had been last in the line coming down
But first in line in this turnaround.
The lamp on my hat pierced through the black
And I looked for our markers to lead us back
To save our strength, nothing was said
Again - that loud sound which filled me with dread.
Somewhere behind me, then snarls I heard
Loud and vicious, run together and blurred
Close … so close … the Beast was so near
Adrenalin rushed through me to react to my fear
‘T was then I was hit by an overpowering stench
My stomach turned and my bowels went to clench
The odor blew past me, and I knew t’was the breath
Of the Beast of The Cave – its’ stench of Death.
I was near running, but down on all fours
Sweat was streaming from all of my pores.
Then I heard those terrible screams
The ones I keep hearing in all of my dreams
It was Beckett I knew in his shocked agony
Midst the snarled snapping of jaws I can’t see
I heard bones cracking and squishing of flesh
And my fear within gave new strength afresh
My fingers were raw from grabbing the rock
But on moving forward my mind had its’ lock
My stomach still queasy from the stench of the beast
I knew it was finishing its’ beastly feast
I screamed: “Flynn! Catch up to me!”
But took not the time to look back and see
For the beasts’ crashing against The Cave’s face
Told me it neared – and was upping its’ pace
In less than an instant, Flynn was there too,
His face in my hat-light was of a strange hue
And as he helped me get back to my feet …
Flynn turned around – t’was the Beast there to meet.
The stench overwhelming, but the sight was much worse
There standing before us: The beastly curse
Of layered scales in shades of dark gray
The rest of its body concealed in umbrae
But its’ eyes … its’ eyes … I’ll never forget
Rheumatoid yellow, and deeply inset
Its’ reptilian lids blinked just one time
‘Fore its’ lips peeled back - revealing the slime,
Glistening yellow over dagger-like teeth
Then oozed from its’ mouth to fall there beneath.
The beast reared up, we then saw its’ claws
Sharp and deadly within its forepaws
Towering above us, no sound the beast made
On beams of our lights had his gaze stayed.
Unexpectedly Flynn then turned to face me
… With less blinding light, the beast could again see
Why Flynn had turned I never will know
For the beast bit him in two, at his torso
And I was looking at Flynn – direct in his face
When the beasts’ bite his life did erase.
I screamed, and instantly away did I run
Away from the beast, and dead companion
Through the price of Flynn’s life, more time had been bought
To reach The Cave’s entrance – the goal which I sought
I heard its’ clawed talons scraping the wall
And prayed I’d not again stumble and fall
Then, up ahead, a small opening I viewed
And I saw my chance, to hope there exude
Twelve feet … six feet … then it was three
But the beast and its’ stench was there behind me
I dove through the rock-opening, scraping my head
But better that injury than ending up dead
I was elated, and about to rejoice
I then heard a scream – it was my own voice!
In my leg erupted intense blinding pain
Looking down I saw the bloodstain
My leg, through the opening, still was stuck out
There was but split-seconds,’fore I’d lose it no doubt
I pulled my leg back, and in but a flash
My shoe was removed by a clawed talon slash
I crawled back from the opening, then I could see
My wound was deep, from ankle to knee
Then suddenly through the opening came
A clawed talon whose aim was to maim
I quickly withdrew out of its’ reach
As claws shot through the openings’ breech
The opening too small for continued rampage
And the beast began then to voice its’ outrage
Its deafening roars assaulted my ears
Echoed Cave chambers and to my mind did adhere
I began attending unto my grave wound
Knowing I now was no longer marooned.
Another two hours ‘fore I crawled out The Cave
And many more days ‘fore I’d shed the shockwave
Of what had transpired, and what I had seen
But my damaged leg was lost to gangrene.
Now sleep evades me, for my horrible dreams
Show beams of light, and unearthly screams
Of Beckett and Flynn and The Cave we were in
I know tonight, I’ll re-live it again.
So, now you’ve the story, you’ve heard the deed
I swear is the truth I’ve herein decreed
And Beckett and Flynn are enslaved in their grave
And I lost my leg to … The Beast of The Cave.
Copyright © Jack Clark
Long poem by
cassie hellberg | Details |
sometimes i talk to myself,
my mind is racing,
i dont know what to do...
so hard to explain.
depression isn't a stage
or a faze some kids go through
it shatters you...
i saw it all.
she cried silent in her bed,
blood stains covered her favorite jeans,
her every shirt,
long sleeve ofcourse...
she suffered through it all with few people to call friend
and more to call enemy
even more to say where quite dissappointed....
her first name in school,
not started by a bully
or a mean rival,
but by her sister,
and it echoed through her soul,
repeating in her mind... over and over again,
like the ripples of still water
when a pebble is dropped
flash frozen in time
over and over again...
It was the first name they gave her,
millions where created over the years,
some repeating again, just as the first had..
gothic they called her,
emo, fat, ugly....worse things.
but in her mind, things where worse.
everything was repeating,
over and over again,
finally she believed it.
she asked for help, from everyone
tried to explain to parents she wasnt well,
got called a psycho for asking to see a theripist,
not from a teacher,
not from a class mate,
but from her own father, who wouldn't, couldn't,
believe there could possibly be a thing wrong....
finally, crying, she confessed her bloody secret to a teacher.
rather then giving her time,
she is sent back to class crying her eyes out, as if she wherent going through enough...
she is sent to the principals office a few minutes later, after breaking down in class...
the princlipal says she needs help,
sends her and her dad for a risk evaluation,
her dads crying as she shows him her cuts...
they walk into a hospital room,
it smells of chemicals and hand sanitizer,
the lady at the desk gives her a smile.
then she goes into a room with a lady,
her cheeks are sunken in and shes wearing way too much makeup,
the girl is gaging on her perfume,
and she looks really intimidating....
her dark brown hair looks dead and flat
even though its a bit wavy,
and she wears somewhat of a mocking frown.
asks her all these questions,
is mommy beating her?
is daddy raping her?
is she doing drugs?
is anyone beating her?
did anyone molest her?
oxcarbezapine, trazadone, citalipran, clinazapam, colonipan,
valium, lithium, more.......
and thats what they gave her,
some numbed the pain
some brought it out
tearing through her organs,
she became an addict by the time she was fourteen....
over dose after over dose
some for pleasure
some for pain,
gashes on her legs getting deeper,
this time she didnt tell a soul,
not even those she had come to call friends....
wakeup she screamed in her head over and over again
as she dropped weight like it was nothing....
you cant controll it she argued as things became worse.
at age fourteen she attempted suicide,
she didnt quite succeed.
the medication took away her aappitite....
she liked it
she hated her body
felt out of controll
found a new way to cope
as she shoved tooth brush after toothbrush down her throat
to keep her body from nuitrients...
as she whent weeks and weeks spitting food into napkins and making excuses
I ate at my friends house....
spoken as a whisper
heard like a sentance
echoing in her mind over and over again,
along with that word, all the words,
ugy, anoying, stupid, fake, worthless, nothing...
one bite she would say
rocking back and forth
craving nothing but food
her body racked with hunger pain
one bite and there she was again
over and over and over again
back to a toothbrush
this time she sees blood
she saw her ribs
she saw her bones,
it wasnt good enough,
she almost died, again....
choking on this deep dissappointment in herself,
gaging on everything they where pushing down her throat,
their words, and their insults, their criticism.... their drugs
all shoved down her throat like candy
and just as she was was trained to do she swallowed despite the bad taste
or the hurt
or the fact that at the rate she was going she would be dead soon...
and you know why?
because daddy yelled
and couldnt accept what was happening
not because he wanted to hurt her
but because it hurt him,
and she let him believe,
because she could take the hurt if it meant he didnt have too.
because mommy didnt want to sit in her room all day
practically having us raise ourselves,
she didnt mean to take anger, or frustration or hurt out on her daughter
she suffered everyday in her solitary confinement,
and from a young age she accepted her bedroom was the cage
her mother had created for herself.
because sister didnt want to effect her the way she did
she was just frustrated
fed up with the way things where
scared, she needed someone to take her cruelty
and to help heal her pain...
because people in school
who where so cruel
had to have learned from somewhere
and she wasnt going to play into their games,
and they knew she was an easy target
because she would never attack someone so weak
and she accepted her suffering was a sacrafice
to help all these people....
to help her dad,
every person who was beaten abused or hurt
and felt so weak at home they wanted to feel strong in the one safe place they had.
because depite the fact she had died inside,
and almost passed away on the out,
it was a saccrafice she was willing to make
so that no one else would have to feel that kind of pain,
and they all inflicted it and broke her down'untill there was nothing left but a shell
of somthing that could have been
and never had the chance
because she would take it and wouldnt strike back,
because sometimes "just taking it"
isnt so much about the weakness not to do anything
but about the strangth not to hurt others the way they hurt you...
Copyright © cassie hellberg
Long poem by
Vic Pister | Details |
When my life has finally left me and my last breath has been shed
And the silver cord is broken and my bodies firmly dead
I shall hover near the body, download the scenes of this past life
Noting all minutest details rolling backwards past my eyes
I’ll store these scenes ‘til later when I can take the time to learn
What the lessons have to teach me and help me to discern
How I treated other people, made them happy, made them sad
Examine all my actions, both the good and the bad
Three days later I’ll lose interest as my focus moves away
From the world that I just left behind, there is no need to stay
For a lifetime in the life of man to God is just a day
And my soul as God on the wheel of life must move along its way
I’ll take the download with me as I move into first heaven
It’s the first stage in the afterlife, in number there are seven
Here I’ll see and feel the good things that to others I have brought
And revel in the feelings of the kindness that I wrought
I will store these in my seed atom so in future lives I’ll know
They’re the things that I must multiply for my souls’ conscience to grow
For the conscience is the souls’ voice that guides you day by day
That still small voice that warns you in what you do and say
When that’s done my view will shift then to the things that I did bad
To the hurt I did to people that left them feeling sad
I will feel their pain intensely, ten times worse when in this field
For I’ll be purely spirit now with no flesh for a shield
These painful lessons will imprint upon my seed atom as well
In some religions we are told our soul’s in everlasting hell
In the stages of the afterlife, this is your punishment in heaven
This is the third and the most painful of the total seven
The Grim Reaper now has visited with his scythe so I will know
Through natures Law of Consequence I will reap what I did sow
He has shown me all my misdeeds and caused me many tears
And this purgatorial experience may last for twenty years
When my suffering soul recovers and the pain has died away
And I’ve incorporated the lessons to never act this way
In future lives I’ll be a better man from these lessons I have learned
One step closer to perfection that my growing soul has earned
Now I can sleep, Oh peaceful sleep, a state of heavenly rest
I’ll dream the dreams I love in life, of things I love the best
All desires that my soul has yearned, not a thing I can’t create
In the Great Silence of the spirit world to help me concentrate
The colors are much brighter, the scent of flowers more sublime
The senses are much sharper, there is no sense of time
I will see all other people as pure souls just like me
And I’ll know we’re all evolving to the bliss of eternity
I will hear the mystic music of the planets as they pass
Like a thousand singing angels, heavenly peace has come at last
Every planet sings its own song, we’ve grown deaf to this below
But in this super consciousness we’re in the eternal flow
I’ll be with my friends and family and others whom I love
The ones who left before me and currently live above
There they wait with arms wide open and rejoice when I arrive
In the fourth stage where I now live, it’s utter joy to be alive
I’ve incorporated my lessons, I now recall my goal
And my mind begins to focus on further growth of my soul
I must make further preparations and my vision starts to clear
I feel I must keep moving forward for all my works done here
I now have gone through five and six, there is just one more
In years it’s been from birth to birth one hundred forty four
The time has come to move along and leave this place called heaven
Prepare for life in the physical world, I move to number seven
My soul has gathered the material, I now know what I must do
To make some more improvements in the places I need to
I must take another body, I must live another life
To grow and liquidate more karma though it means more pain and strife
I build an archetype of the body that in future I will form
When embodiment is offered, and I can be reborn
I will see the opportunities and be able to discern
The ideal embodiment for me when the right egg meets the sperm
I will hover near the fetus, influencing where I can
And I’ll have the power to make it be a woman or a man
I will help to build the body to suit the lessons I must learn
To overcome more issues so more advancement I can earn
When baby takes its first breath and my soul is taken in
With the imprint of my seed atoms that it has brought within
Now the babys’ atoms resonate to my seeds vibration rate
Making it the perfect body for my soul to habituate
The new body will be my new home, I will live a life anew
Gain experience, learn more lessons, through the things that I will do
I’ll apply the added knowledge that I learned in this past life
More evolved than in the last one, and cause me less pain and strife
This will happen just as often as required by the soul
As it pushes ever onward, pushing ever t’ward its goal
Of complete re-integration back from whence it came
To the universal soul of life no matter what its name
Nature is not personal, it does not seek revenge
If we mess it up we have the chance to do it all again
We arrived here by this process, nothing’s changed it’s still the same
But our souls have evolved immensely since we stepped into the game
We started out as fallen angels with no experience on this plane
We’ve grown to this by coming back again and again
Though we cannot remember for each conscious mind has died
The feelings in the soul remained in our subconscious mind
And so this is the story of the cycle of the soul
As it struggles through evolution on its way toward the goal
It’s this way for all unfailing, from natures law there’s no relief
All living things go through it, no matter their belief
Copyright © Vic Pister
Long poem by
Allyssa Pate | Details |
I fall down
deeper and deeper
the sounds of evil
dripping into my ears
and sliding down into me
filling me with echoes.
terror courses through
into each cell
turning them against
they are no longer mine
they follow another
a stronger being.
icy breezes come
they whisper to me
they say I'm bad
they call me to them
the breezes dance
hiding me from the light
shielding me from hope.
my eyes are taunted
I see people
the ones I know
they are hurt
I have betrayed them
I am hurting them
it is me
but I can't stop.
my mind is plagued
comes a new terror
a cruel joke
all a prank.
only deeper do I fall
light is disappearing
all a game
for one person
the man in the
the one who is running the show
the show that is me.
he sees me falling
I can't see him
but he is there
teasing my brain
taunting my senses
he hates me
he wants to hurt me.
he throws it
I feel the pain
running up my leg
showing my bones
releasing my blood
it is blue
my blood is cold
it splatters my face
sprinkling my features
dotting them with blue
the blue liquid drips
jumping onto my tongue
I taste dirt
my blood is dirt
blue is all I see
blue is all I become
I am blue
blue is me.
a distant shout
who is it?
a cry for help
the sound is mangled
the sound is mine
I shut my mouth
but I still hear it
chilling my blue blood
ringing in my ears
shaking my breathing
jump-starting my heart
then it's over
the scream has ceased
and silence returns
sounding more deadly than ever before.
only black do I see
the monsters' playground
the demons' joyride
and someone is hungry
it wants me
it wants to take it
it feeds on people
people like me.
objects hitting me
ghosts' fingers prodding me
as I fall
I fall down
down into this never-ending hole
filled with misery
my worst fears
how did he know?
he knows I'm afraid
doesn't help me see
I can't see why
how does he do this?
they cut me again
spilling my blood
oh, the blue
I don't even feel it
I am numb
the sound of me
a quick slashing
and they are done
I am cut
I can't see my blood
but I can see how evil it must look.
the thoughts that fell
fell down with me
they talk to me
they tell me what they see
they can see
my cold blood
it is everywhere
I am pale
I look sick they say
they see the bottom
I fall faster still
slowing for nothing
for no one
being pulled down
the puppeteer has me
he's got my string
and he's pulling
with no sign of letting go.
now I hear a song
they all sing it
the notes are cruel
they bump into the others
struggling to be heard
with no set order
it is musical chaos
he yells to me
it is beautiful
and he sings along to his song
it's made for me
musical notes are played
they come up to me
they greet me
right into my cuts
surging into my blood
they search inside me
keeping them steady
picking up tempo
they found it
the music does the talking
it says to hush
my heart listens
and I get sleepy
the music is evil
played by the man
the man in the mask
my brains sends
one final request
it says to my heart
speed up, can't you see?
she is dying
you must speed up!
I still fall
with no way up
letting go of hope
dreaming of being saved
when I already know
I'll only be dropped.
I know what
it is flesh
but belongs to someone else
they smell of dirt
they are nothing to me
they are the stench
in my nose
the smell overcomes all
all the other senses
until it becomes me
and I burn too.
even in the dark
I see something
blacker than black
they are shadows
they mock me
I fill with evil
a longing to hurt
hurt the ones behind it all
I hear him
is his pleasure
oh so dark
I'm at the bottom
laying on the cold ground
in a small ball
too weak to stand
in a pool
of dark blue blood
I hold myself tight
I can't trust
he likes my weakness
he tells me I am small
I am ugly
I am worthless
I am nothing
he laughs when I cry
I thought that
it would be better
instead of up there.
hell is not a game.
death is not an
easy way out.
do not try to visit me.
do not try to rescue me.
for I am more lost
than I hope you will
now that I am
at my fate
at the entrance to hell
at the bottom of this grave
of my eternity
and if I am truly
I'll have plenty of time
to ask myself
why did I jump?
Copyright © Allyssa Pate
Long poem by
Edwin Hofert | Details |
Understanding Suicide Understanding Me
Awhile back I had a dear friend contact me to ask if I heard about the young mans suicide at a nearby towns school. I had not. After asking one time on face book if any one of my friends had heard of any such event. My wall began to fill up with details about his life and his personality. His struggles and even previous attempts to end or erase his existence.
He was described as having dreamy eyes by female classmates when he was younger. He was described as the most polite and well mannered but troubled child one person said they had ever met.
Memories of my own changing years flooded my soul as I thought about it all. I did a school report in what they called then Junior High. And my chosen topic was suicide. I've often asked myself why I chose that topic. Today will be one of the very few times I admit it was on my mind a lot during that period of my life. It wasn't because my home life was unbearable. It wasn't because I had no friends or because my young heart had been broken.
In fact I'm only just now realizing it had almost nothing at all to do with my surroundings. It was something within me. Fear certainly had a part to play. Fear of tomorrow. Fear of never really feeling like I fit in. Even though by all outward appearances I was adjusting as well as the majority of people my age.
There was then and sometimes even now this voice. This relentless cruel and demeaning voice always there to remind me. I'll never be good enough. I will always only get what I deserve and that's why I'll never have anything that lasts. Anything that is true. And truly mine.
I was only given a passing grade for my report on suicide because it was obvious the amount of time and effort I put into it. I was told the topic I chose was wrong for a jr high school project. I had failed again. All of that after listening with blood pumping that we could choose our own topic. Somehow my choice wasn't good enough.
I realize now that my very choice for a topic should have sent off bells and whistles throughout the school that one of their own was thinking thoughts of suicide. But they missed it. They didn't see me at all.
Today I don't know why I chose that topic. But I know that one result of it was the saving of my own life. The understanding I gained by being able to see inside the mind that is tormented by unanswerable questions all starting or ending with why? And the realization that to the troubled mind the ultimate answer to fix the most un fixable things.
Is to end it.
This is the point when discussing suicide where fools love to chime in un researched and selfish insensitive remarks revealing their opinions and the fact that they are a fool.
A wise man knows only what he knows.
And he does not pretend to have already been where he never hopes to go.
People often consider suicide to be a selfish act. Sometimes referring to it as a cowards way out.
I hate that. And I hate anything that tries to simplify something as complex as a human mind that has reached it's breaking point.
The fact is that to the person in the midst of that struggle. It is the most unselfish and heroic thing that they think they could do.
My point is, that it was my understanding of suicide. It's effects and it's consequences that kept me from crossing that line.
After all the details of this young life surfaced and several hours later my dear friend and I talked again. And without saying it I know she was asking about this path I'm on with my poetry. The tributes to loved ones that have died. The heartache and the heartbreak that I see every day sometimes all day long.
And she asked me. Does all the sadness ever get to you? I responded Absolutely.
There are times I struggle beneath its weight. Sometimes I fall. But somehow I manage to get up again and I keep writing and sometimes when I'm lucky I see someones reaction to a poem where all of a sudden they get it. A life changing revelation takes place in that moment in time. And for a minute.
I know the reason I'm alive is to help other people live.
And to find the fullness in their life that I may or may not ever find for myself. It's no longer about me. Because you see somewhere back there that part of me that wanted so badly just to die.
I let it die. And I moved on but not me as I was. A different me. Weaker in some ways and stronger in others. Less proud but more to be proud of. More easily overwhelmed but less breakable.
And so when you see me on the mountaintop and I'm strutting around acting like I belong there. Please. Just let me have that one moment. Because tomorrow I'll be back with the mountain on top of me. Trying to find another way to save someone from going where I have been and hoping to enrich other peoples lives even if it means I know I'm simply going to be passed up along the way.
My reward is you rising above my highest point. My fee for my services? That you never forget how valuable you are. And that you keep pushing forward and never give up.
If you forget me tomorrow. That's ok. But don't forget the things I said. And don't forget to help someone else along the way.
Heart Whisperer Ed Hofert @ facebook
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert
Long poem by
Richard Lamoureux | Details |
They came from as far a way as New York and Dallas Texas. The class of 1981 wasn't a large class, it was the very first class of a very very private school. Their school, the Verdant Academy was started by a group of extravigantly rich parents. They hired the best teachers, nothing was too good for their children. They had all gone on to the very best Universities in the country.
All in all there were only four graduates of that first class. The valedictorian was Michael Kent. Michael arrived first at the restaurant, as he sat down he wondered what they would talk about. He had gone on to Harvard and was now at a big firm in Manhattan. He couldn't wait to share the wonders of him with the others. The beautiful blonde on his arm would be the icing on the cake. No one had to know that he had hired her for this special occasion and she was worth every penny. He especially wanted to see the look on Stephen's face. Stephen in his estimation was a waste of skin, in fact the world would be a better place if he didn't exist. Michael noticed me in my black suit and beckoned me over to the table. I gladly came over and he ordered a Martini "Shaken not Stirred" he had always fancied a bond like persona. His companion was happy with water.
Jessica was the next to arrive, she didn't have to come very far, she lived right here in Seattle. She smiled at Michael and gave him a kiss on both cheeks. He introduced his companion and they shared a few pleasantries. Jessica thought to herself, wow she's a Ten and Michael is still a six. Mostly her mind was on the Gallery. She had started her Gallery ten years ago and it had become extremely successful. She had dabbled at painting for a while but lacked any real talent. Her talent was in spotting others talent. Artists from around the country displayed their wares in her Gallery. Most of them had been unknown prior to her discovering them. Other Galleries had sprung up around hers but none of them achieved her level of success. She wore her success well and possessed an understated elegance and cultivated an artists flair. She came on her own for in her perfect world men were nothing but a distraction, to be used and auctioned off to the next highest bidder. She had been wondering when or if Rachel would arrive, she couldn't stand that bit_h. Maybe she had done the world a favor and died. As I walked over to the table with Michael's drink Jessica ordered a Gin and Tonic.
When Stephen and his date arrived you would have thought he and Michael were best friends. They did the bro hug and patted each other on the back. Stephen was a few inches taller and possessed an athletic build. He had been a successful university Tennis player and would have gone pro if not for a reoccurring ankle injury. He had gone on to establish a number of Tennis camps in the central states. Strangely he had always liked Michael and had no idea that Michael disliked him. Michael had always followed him around like a lost puppy in hopes of getting a few scraps from the table. Stephen always benefited from the allure of being an athlete. He had his choice of girls and Jessica had been one of them. She had broken his heart and seeing her here he wished he could run her over with his Mercedes SUV. That would be the icing on his otherwise perfect life. He then asked me for a scotch on the rocks and I was happy to comply.
Rachel walked into the restaurant with the confidence of a Rock Star. On her arm was a man at least five years younger and still she looked younger than him. She was small yet somehow had always been larger than life. Her green eyes had an almost hypnotic quality and no one would ever forget that amazing ass! She started her own modelling agency in Dallas Texas of all places, specializing in petite models. Her motto was "Not everything is big in Texas" it seems however that the profits certainly were big. As she looked around the table she smiled her mischievous smile and said "What's up bitches?" Her eyes rested momentarily on Michael the worlds biggest douche, he had always been such a pompous ass. His parents gave him everything he asked for and still it couldn't make him cool. He used to drive a bright lime green M3 and she loved to imagine him driving it off a cliff. The world would be a better place without him. Rachel snapped her fingers and summoned me to the table. "A Cosmopolitan please!
As I brought the last drink to the table I listened as each of the Verdant graduates expounded on how they had made the world a better place. I interrupted and said "Michael, Stephen, Jessica and Rachel please come with me!" They seemed surprised I knew their names but rose from their seats like obedient children. They followed me through a ornate wooden door leaving their companions at the table. As the door closed behind them I turned and smiled, "Today the World is truly a better place!"
In the news today a tragic loss of life, four friends are killed in a freak accident at a down town restaurant. A gas leak claims the lives of Stephen Tomler, Jessica Simpson, Michael Kent and Rachel Conrad. Fortunately the leak was confined to a private room and the rest of the patrons were evacuated without further incident.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux
Long poem by
Stephen Kilmer | Details |
On the plane I meditated or at least I tried to. Most of the time I get a seat to myself. These days it’s just a ****ing Greyhound in the sky. I am not the most handsome man and the tattoos don’t help. I always wear a baseball cap with the logo: “Talk to Me About Jesus”. That usually steers normal people away from me. But every now and again I get a winner. This gives me a chance to discuss religion, which is one of my favorite subjects. Especially since I am in the business of sending souls to meet their maker. These people are usually high on Jesus or hooked on dope. But hey I am just an arbitrator. You pay I play. You want to make a deal I’ll deal. I owe no one my soul except me. This trip it turns out is an exception to the rule. The most handsome woman I have every laid my eyes upon sits next to me. There are other seats open but she shimmies down the aisle and says, “excuse me is that seat taken?” I try to keep my cool but I sputter out “Yes, I mean no…”
“Well which one is it?” she says with a smile.
“Not taken,” I stiffly mutter back.
Before I can stand up she squeezes past me with her butt in my face. She’s wearing a pair of tight leather pants and I don’t see any panty lines. I ask myself why are you even thinking about that? I need to get my head straight and she is a distraction. She plops down in the window seat and asks me if I can hold her drink, I dumbly reach out and take it. It’s going to be a long flight.
“So where you heading,” she asks nonchalantly
I lie and say Hawaii.
“Oh my God, I have always wanted to go there. Do you have family there?”
“No I just like pineapples.”
She looks at me again with those green eyes. She is a dark haired beauty with a hint of Boston in her voice. Jaw cut of stone and olive complexion. I am smitten.
“Your ****ing with me, aren’t you?” she asks.
“No I really like pineapples.” I reply.
“Bullshit, you wouldn’t know a pineapple if it bit you in the ass.”
“Ok I give, I’m going to L.A. to kill someone. Do you feel better now?”
She stares and her eyes’ widen and for a moment, I think she believes me.
“Ok pineapples, dead people, **** you.” She says and pulls a pair of headphones from her bag.
“Hang on,” I said, “I’m just messing with you. What’s your name?”
“Anna…Anna Virginia Collins” and she extends her hand to me.
We shake hands and she asks me my name.
“Rick Powers,” I say.
“What’s with the hat?” she asks.
“I use it to attract weirdo’s”
“Well it’s working”
I laugh and say, ”Yeah they are usually not so pretty.”
“Well thank you, and by the way I don’t believe in Jesus.”
And we are off into a full-blown discussion of religion, which keeps us talking for at least and hour. I buy her a scotch, straight up, and we share some inner secrets. Then I realize I have got to get rid of this woman; otherwise, things could get dicey and I can’t compromise my client or the job. I become belligerent and act like I am drunk…nothing. She just laughs at me.
“I know a drunk when I see one and your not drunk,” she say’s pointing an accusing finger at me.
“Ok I’m not, I need some sleep though.”
“Alright sleep then,” she mutters and puts her headphones on.
I close my eyes and feign sleep but I can’t get her out of my brain. I can hear the restrains of “Roxanne” by the Police leaking out of her headphones.
Who is this woman? Finally I drift off and dream of pineapples and Sting.
I am awakened by something on my shoulder. I slowly open my eyes to find her head resting on my shoulder; she is asleep and snoring. I close my eyes and think why now? Twenty years I have lived alone and never really had a girl friend or thought about having one. Now I am in love with this person and I don’t like it.
“Anna,” I whisper. “Anna, I love you.” Nothing.
I nudge her in the ribs and she stirs.
“Did you just say I love you?” she says sleepily.
I lie and say, “No you must have been dreaming.”
The Captain comes over the radio and tells we are about to land. The waitresses in the sky scurry up and down the aisles picking up trash and drinks. Time to hit the ground.
When we land things are awkward, I don’t know how to say goodbye. Anna hands me her card shakes my hand and says goodbye. I let her go thinking that I am better off without her, but knowing it’s a lie.
Once my boots hit the ground it’s time to round up my gear. I have shipped it to predetermined location in L.A. paid for by my benefactor. You can’t carry that *****on a plane anymore without drawing a lot suspicion. Nobody needs a 9MM Mouser to shoot rabbits in America. I rent a car and head for Huntington Beach. There are enough tourist there to allow me to blend in with the locals. I always stay at the same cheap hotel. No one remembers me because the turnover is so high that I never see the same person when I check in.
Once in my room it’s time to check my weapon. I can’t live without her. Which her am I thinking about? This is not good.
Copyright © Stephen Kilmer
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
‘ In general, quantum mechanics does not predict a single definite result for an observation. Instead, it predicts a number of different possible outcomes and tells us how likely each of these is. ‘
Which side of the Wolf-coin are we looking at
the red or the green
nothing then is certain
not even death but the life one endures
quarks protons neutrons electrons bosons
particles like men and beings in general
bathe not necessarily in the same lifeless soup
great teachers or rather teachers with great followings
those that always attract those who prefer to let others do the thinking for them
especially through transcendentally transmitted interstellar telegraphy
would want us believe
there’s just This One
and all comes and goes to That Only ONE
If only it were just as simple as that
Then what is it that This One wants
Or is It caught up in its own caveat
And must of needs come apart
on the seed that It alone plants
and do what we may
nothing goes wrong
whatever the explanation
everybody is right
right from the start
Big Bang from a tight-fisted unfurling hand
Big Crunch to a crushing tightening stranglehold
and out again
for the Brahma Day
and after aeons the Brahma Night
And at the stillstanding blackhole singularity
neither space nor time
squeezed in and out
Birth as in Death
An eventual point of total extinction
if ever there was one
Yet always the two extremes
and the ever-changing in-betweens
Matter versus Anti-Matter
Here the Yang is not lkely to be set againt the Yin
Though matter itself is neither
Is nor Is-Not-ness
And the 96% Dark Matter
And the infinite number of parallel universes
Does it really matter
‘ … if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands !
You would both vanish in a great flash of light.’
Vanish into what
or just non-dark matter
Still the duality of matter
Still the ever-changing conundrum
Everything moves jostles couples alters reproduces destructs
‘Sex is emotion in motion.’
into thin air
and roots one here
tied to the lunar year
why should it matter
if we cannot know the reason why
ego id libido
drive faith fame femme father future
if super/alter ego connects the ego
to the collective unconscious
why drown the self in the Great Self
by wilful act
when the Ultimate One
is the sum of all the little ones
Is the Original One incapable of absorbing all the ones
each of whom must move to eat drink sleep
copulate make money grow roots in a society
get and fight to keep a job
make love marry raise children
struggle to keep one’s wife one’s children
one’s house if one can get one
one’s career one’s future
and helter-skelter race to cheat death
If it’s the self-same thing that’s being born anew
What does it matter if it keeps changing in view
Of the desperate haste with which everything
We see smell hear feel intute sense
Keeps hurtling away from the Ding an Sich
And leaves us with a parochial Milky Way
Bastardised stealthily by grandiose Andromeda
Left retrograded entwined within measely galaxy clusters
Through some trillion cataclysmic light years
What’s the impulse to keep moving
Is the yogi’s stilled-centre
The death of all action
Which cannot call for a reaction
Or is the art of keeping still
Merely the art of making belief
‘…actors act out the pun that life is the art of acting
until your performed role becomes your normal character.
Then you are safe inside your character armour.’
As soon as you have thought It out
It turns around and re-structrures Itself inside out
and you know just why
don’t you now
References to the quotations
Stephen W. Hawking, A Brief History of Time : From the Big Bang to Black Holes, London-New York, 1988.
Attributed to Mae West.
Eric N. W. Mottram, « Men & Gods : A Study of Eugene O’Neill », Encore (London), 1963.
I’m not sure the « re-structuring » bit at the end comes from
Steven Weinberg or John Gribbin, or perhaps even from Fred Allan Wolf ?
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2005 ; rev. 2012. From the collection : Poems Omega-Plus, 2005.
Copyright © T Wignesan
Long poem by
Terry O'Leary | Details |
The Tale below was carved one night,
Upon the Stone, by candlelight
...most won’t believe, but some just might
.........most won’t believe, but some just might
Well James made Beth his lovely bride
(And angels smiled, though teary eyed)
...their bodies bound, their spirits tied
.........their bodies bound, their spirits tied
Upon her hand, a shimmer shone,
As bright as blood, a ruby Stone
...and brighter still, as love had grown
.........and brighter still, as love had grown
Soon James was sent to man a sail
So Beth removed her wedding veil
...her eyes were bright, her face was pale
.........her eyes were bright, her face was pale
“Well, I’ll be here when you return”
Said Beth to James, who kissed in turn
...a kiss that made her body burn
.........a kiss that made her body burn
. BETH’S TALE
1. The Dream
One night, within a dream deformed,
The cawing of a Crow informed
“...a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
.........a Ship was stripped where winter stormed
Midst winds and waves the thunder boomed
The Ship of Death was surely doomed
...the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
.........the sea engulfed, the sea entombed
Your James... denied by Davy Jones!
His spirit gone, his flesh and bones
...are resting now amongst the Stones
.........are resting now amongst the Stones”
2. The Quest
Awoken by the ebon Wight
And beckoned by the baneful bight
...I left before the morning light
.........I left before the morning light
Throughout the realm I rode a roan
Until, in time, I reached the Stone
...where shades and dreams in darkness groan
.........where shades and dreams in darkness groan
While skipping up and down the sky
A missing moonbeam mocked my eye
...enough to make a Swallow cry
.........enough to make a Swallow cry
For someone stole a star or two
And something else that fate withdrew –
...my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
.........my jewel of joy, my James Bijou
The shadows of the evening swelled
Where demons of the dusk had dwelled
...and in the far, a vesper knelled
.........and in the far, a vesper knelled
The Stone, beneath the sky, stood cold –
Between the runes, a vapour strolled
...a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
.........a cloak of fleecy fog consoled
A Raven on a branch, enthroned,
Her wings waved once, a wail intoned
...beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
.........beyond the bay, a banshee moaned
I lay beside the Stone, his bride
I lay beside the Stone and cried
...but were it I, instead, that died
.........but were it I, instead, that died
The rainbow of the moon fell dim
A midnight Swan soon ceased to swim
...as if to hide all hint of him
.........as if to hide all hint of him
Between the willows in the swale
There sang a Bird, a Nightingale
...which left me faint and feeling frail
.........which left me faint and feeling frail
I felt him breathe within a breeze
Responding to my anguished pleas
...and leaves blew by abandoned trees
.........and leaves blew by abandoned trees
“I miss you too, my darling Beth”
Re-echoed from the Ship of Death
...the future buried in a breath
.........the future buried in a breath
The Stone lit up a ruby sheen
And clouds were kindled crystalline
...with consequences, unforeseen
.........with consequences, unforeseen
Above, the wretched Raven soared
To where the Ship of Death lay moored
...beneath, the icy ocean roared
.........beneath, the icy ocean roared
I’m joined with James beneath the Stone,
Though to the Ship my spirit’s flown,
...for nevermore to be alone
.........for nevermore to be alone
That night the wayward winds were weird
The Ship of Death had disappeared
...coyotes called and mortals feared
.........coyotes called and mortals feared
At dusk, the craven shadows crawled
At dawn, the winds of mourning called
...upon the Stone two names were scrawled
.........upon the Stone two names were scrawled
The Raven sits, with wings outspread,
Atop the Stone which shades the dead
...it sometimes shimmers ruby red
.........it sometimes shimmers ruby red
Between the sounds, where silence seeps,
Their love lives on and never sleeps
...and yet, the weeping willow weeps
.........and yet, the weeping willow weeps
inspired by ~fc~
Wight (obsolete): a supernatural being, creature
Bight: a bay or gulf
Swale: a moist depression in a tract of land
Copyright © Terry O'Leary
Long poem by
Sara Kendrick | Details |
Michael and Carolyn came home again
Their busy lives disrupted by death's end
Not knowing they'd encounter love unrestrained
By coming home for mom's funeral to attend
Life has some changes for which to contend
Michael and Carolyn were shocked to learn
Their mother wanted cremation as her end
No way was his mother going to be burned
That is not the way of the people here
The attorney handling her will added more
Your mother made her request crystal clear
Her ashes at Roseman's Bridge to be poured
Michael could not believe what his ears heard
Francesca Johnson wouldn't say those words
Francesca Johnson wouldn't say those words
Daddy had bought two cemetery plots
Mother to be buried facing eastwards
Richard planned ahead not instant on the spot
Michael so upset about how this was going
So attorney said let's open safe deposit box now
We'll discuss this when settled is the knowing
But a can of worms this box will open somehow
As the attorney opens the large box
Michael and Carolyn gather around
The lawyer pulls out a paper from tenderbox
He says bill of sales for equipment found
Carolyn picks up a manilla envelope
She looks at contents as through a microscope
She looks at contents as through a microscope
Pictures of her mother who somehow looks different
Then Michael's wife takes one to slowly scope
Sis calls Michael to come look at pictures that flaunt
Carolyn leaves the room after she pulls out more
She starts to read a paper with questioning eyes
A paper from the 1965 dated envelope tore
She comes back to the door calls Michael with quiet sighs
Michael comes back into the room followed
by sis, he announces that they will look over papers
and get in touch, what's in the papers now shadowed
The letter contained words nothing to do with farm acres
The sting of shock of the letter within the papers
Michael and sis will learn whole story later
Michael and sis will learn whole story later
As they read the letter written by Kincaid
How his love for their mother is greater
Than an ordinary love, a love that didn't fade
Carolyn and Michael read Kincaid's letter
Learned how Kincaid was cremated and ashes spread
At Roseman Bride, Michael said this man influence her
He was leading our mom and confusing her head
Michael asked is there anything else in the envelope
Carolyn takes it and turns upside down
A key falls out, Carolyn lights up with hope
At what the key might fit smiles out of frown
The discovery of their mom's short affair
The letter revealed a touch of what the key declares
The letter revealed a touch of what the key declares
Carolyn takes the key to a chest in mom's room
Opens, finds mom's letter that tells of love that was theirs
Until death a love that remained in full bloom
Their mother in a letter tries to explain
She wants her children to understand her
And what happened years ago, her reasons to remain
She had written three journals about the affair and lover
One journal for each glorious love filled day
She starts by telling them when it happened
The year Carolyn showed her prize steer away
at the Illinois State Fair, 1965, way back then
From letters to journals the affair's revealed
A side of their mom that couldn't be real
A side of their mom that couldn't be real
Mom wrote, Robert Kincaid came down the lane Monday late
He asked for directions to Roseman's Bridge with appeal
With Italian accented English directions tried to dictate
Failing to convey the directions off hand
She said, "I can take you or tell you the way"
He said, "I don't want to take you from work's demands"
She said, " Let me get my shoes, he watched as she walked away"
As they drove away to find Roseman Bridge neither knew
An affair began that stayed with them their lifetime
There was chitchat on the way as appeal began to brew
Appeal that led to a lovestory sublime
Later they a meal shared as night fell
Each was drawn into the other's swell
Each was drawn into the other's swell
Now Michael and Carolyn are learning of their mother's love
A mother that they thought they knew well
Thinking that they and dad were mom's only doves
Now brought home to attend to mom's dying wish
And settle legal affairs of the estate
Not deal with an affair needing under rug to swish
Grown children whom mom wanted to illuminate
Maybe Michael and Carolyn would understand
Her desire to be cremated and ashes strown
at Roseman Bridge to mingle with Robert's ashes their holy land
For in those four days their love was crowned
To a sad, so shocking, learning occasion then
Michael and Carolyn came home again
Finis' April 10, 2014
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Copyright © Sara Kendrick