Long poem by
Stone Fox | Details
"That also has a steep drop off the far side of Home Sweet Hell" said my soulless guide as he pointed in the direction of the nearby screams.
I could see what resembled silhouettes or smeared shadows of something being thrown or tossed off the side of the tallest tower in sight.
There were so many falling at once the blur of any kind of outline in this smokey medieval lighting was impossible and began to strain my eyes.
"They're throwing bodies over the edge, a necessary task for the good of our home." he continued as he watched me watching the horrific scene of what now was confirmed as bodies.
"They were rotting and now they will rot even faster engulfed in flames!" he exclaimed with a smirk. "It's quiet clever really, it serves two purposes as one form of torture while at the same time feeding the eternal damnation fires of hell. We recently have undergone new management so our productivity points have never been higher." He seemed to wear that smirk like a proud badge as he bragged about the last part. No doubt he was most likely the new management, possibly the one who would decide my fresh new hell.
He gave a new meaning to the expression "milky white" and had a paleness that was almost purple. Freakishly tall which wouldn't have been so bad if he wasn't as thin as a runway model-and that was putting it politely. He was dressed in a crimson velvet suit like some dapper don vampire with the chilling accessory of sharp dead eyes. He exuded terror all around while stroking my anxiety in the most uncomfortable metaphorical rhythm.
With his you-know "devil may care" attitude he attempted to smooth out a newly noticed wrinkle in his crimson red velvet sports jacket.
"Even in Hell, one must always look their Sundays best or in the flames you go!" he giggled laughing at his own joke. I neither laughed or even reacted, instead I ignored him and continued to watch the screaming falls.
The worker bees or drones-or whatever you're supposed to mindless underlings from hell, were now headed for a v-shape among the only body that was not tossed from the tallest tower. Instead it was hanging off a wall like a common prized Picasso at the end of the biggest hall in Hell. Or so my tour guide informed me.
The brutish beasts were poking, stabbing, biting, pulling, cutting, slapping, and slashing the hanging form. "Go then and take her down" My Dracula impersonator whispered in my ear, making me jump at the stealthness it took him to invade my personal space. "Go on" he urged as he moved even more closer to me. "But-" he then said looking down the hallway "who is to say her sin is not greater than yours?" he asked while stroking his chin. "In fact" he continued, "Save her and see how quickly you will be the one to replace her. "
I found myself asking "is her sin greater than mine?" for she no longer even resembled a "she" and I couldn't hide my disgust this prisoner she's appearance.
My five star tour guide squealed "Why heavens yes!" unable to contain it's laugher. "She makes your sin look like childsplay! he continued to cackle while saying "I wouldn't go bragging about your list of dirty deeds that got you here they are not that flattering. Or noteworthy really. You're lucky if you amount to anything other than flame feeder on Hell's roster." He then very seriously added, "but if it was not for the Simple Sinners we would have no souls to keep most of our demons from going hungry. After all we only get fed once every hundred years when we are not topside."
I noticed the dead bodies recently just fallen into flames were starting to return slowly to our intimate greeting party. Most were empty handed or even handless, while all were naked but almost identical in the scorched rotted appearance, no sex could be identified.
"They will be joining us for the rest of our tour" Vampire Lestat informed me following my gaze. He started walking down the hall and I followed as close behind as I could while maintaining a safe distance from both sets of company.
Without looking at me, Red Velvet started saying, "most crazies dispose of bodies because that's what they consider normal. But here in Hell, we find keeping them is productive torture. You see staying in ones body after death is unnatural and therefor uncomfortable, almost painful. So you can see why it is useful to keep souls in their meat suits. We also make them do physical labor like any good slave when the torture has become boring and is no stimulating.
I was suddenly feeling woozy and felt confident I was just as pasty white as my velvet wearing guide. I couldn't shake the disgusting smell of flesh, blood, sex, urine, and pizza from nose. In a meek whisper I muttered "I don't like this.." My words were greeted with a smug "Join the club Sweetheart, no one likes it here but that's the point isn't it? Welcome to your doomed end, your Home Sweet Hell. "
Tears welled up in my eyes and before they could fall to my cheek my thin velvet guide slapped me with such a unbelievable force that I felt my skull vibrating. I was shocked at the guides brute strength for such a blow and considered the possibility maybe this was a vampire. I could feel my tears start to reform and was met with another blow. This time they came with a side order of screams that said, "NO POINT FOR TEARS NOW! YOU WEREN'T ACTING LIKE A LITTLE BITCH WHEN YOU SINNED TO GET HERE, SO YOU'RE NOT GOING TO ACT LIKE A LITTLE BITCH NOW THAT YOU ARE HERE."
I had no time to protest, to react, to do anything and even if I had he was right. I knew what I was doing. My guide started pushing me while still yelling "IT'S TIME YOU EMBRACE THAT YOU ARE IN THE PITT AND THERE IS NO MERCY! NOW ON THE CHOPPING BLOCK WITH YOU!"
He threw me in the closest room that was completely pitch black as he yelled "FRESH MEAT" that served as our farewell.
As he made his exit with his heard of bodies, his dead eyes were the last thing to see.
Copyright © Stone Fox | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Stanley Carter | Details
Pellucid pachyderms wade across
the purpling River Manjees
and Tozzath watches from the bank,
the seat of his maroon pantaloons soaked with mud,
his nostrils flaring with the fragrance of ombadalias,
whose lacey petals flutter
like the wings of long-dead butterflies,
bestirred by ghoulish breezes,
the colors bleeding from moribund antennae,
slim as a cat’s whispers
Tozzath casts his gaze into the river’s ripples,
where crocs lurk, awaiting unwary dreamers,
ready to snatch their phrenolic flotsam
in bejeweled jaws and shred it into despairing wisps
spiraling into slanted moonbeams
glimpsed from quiet rooms
with carelessly parted curtains
made from the silk of a once-noble lady’s sigh
Tozzath’s gaze plumbs into a palatial abode
atop the highest hill in Anakabrazan.
He climbs a slim tower
ringed by crenellated battlements,
pushing his essence through walls
of besooted sandstone,
recoiling briefly from the reeking opulence
of the pasha’s slumber chamber
Scents of licorice and sandalwood
and kershoolo rise from incense sticks,
and Tozzath wends his way through furnishings
of walnut and mahogany encarved
with likenesses of winged beasts,
and approaches a bed covered with
damask cushions filled with nightingale feathers
which sing nocturnal ballads
when tossed and turned upon
Tozzath eyes the furrows
in Pasha Doasdra’s troubled brow,
where seeds of doubt sprout like weeds,
nourished by a rain of ruminations.
Blue rivulets of dreamstuff run
down the pasha’s weary face,
lined with the memories of sixty sunsets,
and creased by a dozen more,
lost in moonless crevices
Doasdra’s neatly trimmed beard
belies the thicket of twisted briars in his brain,
entangled entropies cloaked in conscious canopy
as convoluted as the treacherous undergrowth
within the Night Woods of Shaddeshan
Tozzath strides forward, unafraid,
his mind encased within the
protective curling confines of a conch
snatched from a beach where the paw prints of
forgotten creatures imprint shiftless sands
drizzled through an hourglass of purest amber,
overturned by the hand of Time
Tozzath fights through the flora
and breaches the beach,
wading into waters
where sad thoughts settle like silt
in the somber depths
He follows the flow,
paying homage to a tributary,
and dries his very best,
as a dusty road commences
beneath an umber sky.
He sets his feet upon it,
his soles shod in slipshod sandals
He cuts across fallow, hallowed ground
and nears a farmhouse
where termites have made a
banquet hall of the boards
He steps onto the porch with catlike grace
and finds no door to knock upon.
He enters, stirring dust motes
caught in a sunbeam pouring through
a shingular aperture
Tozzath ascends rail-less steps,
heads down a hallway,
through a closed door;
its piney panels tickle
A young girl blanketed by shadows
lies on a bed of rusty spirals
while her head squats in the corner,
covered with cobwebs.
A small spider splays in her open mouth.
The eye sockets serve as a hovel for fruit flies.
Her scalp is bare, the hair plucked long ago,
prized nesting material for birds,
none of them nightingales
The girl’s thin arm moves,
her bony fingers grasping an emerald
nestled in her cleavage,
attached to a scarlet ribbon
draped around her cloven neck.
She removes the priceless pendant
and places it in Tozzath’s palm,
cold as an unswaddled foundling
Tozzath leaves the shadow girl and
departs the farmhouse.
The baked clay beneath his feet
gives way to golden cobbles,
and buildings of alabaster and porcelain
rise on either side,
topped by bulbs and minarets
of finest moonstone
The grand markets of Anakabrazan
stretch before him,
bursting at the seams
with beggars and choosers,
merchants and mendicants,
overflowing with goods and bads.
The clamor rings in Tozzath’s ears,
mingling with nightingale songs
He spies two ragamuffins in an alley.
A boy picks up a piece of broken bottle
and turns to a disheveled girl,
draped in grimed homespun, not shadows,
her eyes bright as emeralds.
The boy entwines the bauble
and hangs it around her neck.
She kisses his cheek,
leaving a smirk and a smudge
Tozzath watches sadly as a
wagon heaped high with melons
rounds a corner,
the driver cracking a whip
over hunchbacked horses.
A melon falls from the back and
instantly a dozen urchins descend,
their ears attuned to the sound of falling fruit.
Their dinner chime.
The boy and girl dash out of the alley.
The boy steps in mongrel dung.
He slips and falls,
sliding beneath the clattering wheels.
His head splits open like a melon
and the girl screams.
Somewhere, a mongrel mourns
And in a silken bed in a marbled manse
on the higher side of town,
a noblewoman cries out also
as the slippery head of a newborn pasha
erupts from her womb.
The odd indentations in his skull
will fade in time
In another alley the grimy girl stoops,
prying up paving stones,
clutching them to her heart.
She’ll hurl them at the melon merchant
next time he passes by
A crowd gathers in a courtyard
outside the army barracks
and watches a soldier’s scimitar
seek out the girl’s slim neck,
sending her soul to the shadows
Tozzath returns to the farmhouse
where shades of meaning await the womb.
The girl still tarries, tallying,
carping about unkind cuts,
refusing her rebirth
But an old man, swaddled in silks,
shall soon depart his bed,
and recall the emeralds he made
from broken bottles
before he ever was
And the boy shall come to the farmhouse,
cleansed by the rains of remembrance,
no longer confined to the prism
of Fate’s fractals,
and the two fast friends shall ride
a kinder conveyance,
with bespokened wheels encircling eternity
And they shall quaff dregless brews
from green, unbroken bottles
Copyright © Stanley Carter | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Hillard Sarver | Details
It was early morning.
The sun was barely above the high hills on the other side of the lake.
I was at the end of the dock slowly reeling in my line.
I could see fish jumping from time to time further out in the water.
However, none came close enough to be tempted by my bait.
My line was now the whole way in.
I decided it was time to give up for the morning.
After all fishing was not about catching anything for me.
It was about watching the lake.
Enjoying the small waves slowly lapping against the shore behind me,
Watching as the last wisps of fog burned away in the warming sun.
It was about looking forward to another beautiful day.
I turned around and zipped up my tackle box that lay on the bench.
I did not want to lose any of my fishing gear.
After all it was my inheritance from my father.
My dog slowly got up from the dock he was laying beside me while I fished.
I smiled at him.
Just like my dad he too would pass on.
I thought back to my last night with my dad.
He had been fighting cancer for a long time.
At least, it felt like a long time to me.
It attacked multiple parts of his body,
As time went by his body slowly wasted away.
He was a strong proud quiet man.
He worked hard all his life.
In fact, even with his cancer he kept working.
Just as he had done ever since I could remember.
Even in pain, he would still get up and go to work at the foundry.
He would come home all coated in gray.
I remember seeing the gray ring in the bathtub his end of day baths would leave behind.
I think about the constant attack his body had to endure.
I remember thinking when I was young he is strong he will never get cancer.
Nevertheless, you see cancer does not care how strong you are.
It does not judge how good or bad you are.
How healthy you look on the outside does not matter.
It just is and it has a job.
To consume all that is good.
All that is healthy.
Finally, in the last weeks he was too weak even to get out of bed.
A bed was set up in the living room.
He could watch television as he lay there.
One of the last joys of his life he could still do.
I was living about four hours away at the time.
I would travel back and forth and spent what time I could with him.
It was now the last week of his life not that anyone knew at the time.
I remember the hospice nurse.
She told me and my mom most would have passed on by now.
She said his pain level, and his morphine levels were the highest she had ever seen.
That was my dad, he could handle pain and his body processed drugs very fast.
It was now Thursday night.
Everyone was in bed.
I slept or tried to sleep on the couch in the living room.
I could hear my dad's labored breathing.
I lay there trying to sleep.
I was going to drive home tomorrow morning I needed my sleep.
I heard the clock bell that was on the church chime twelve times.
I grew up with that clock.
Every night as I lay in my bed while still young,
I would hear it chime softly in the night.
Tonight, it was not comforting like it normally was.
His breathing was all over the place.
He would sometimes mumble or try to say something.
I heard the church clock chime once.
I finally fell asleep shortly after that.
I awoke with a jerk.
I lay there what was it.
I did not hear the clock chiming.
I did not hear anything abnormal.
Then I realized what woke me,
A lack of noise,
I got up checked my dad.
He was breathing but very slowly and softly.
He looked almost peaceful,
As long as I could overlook the gray sunken look in his face,
Not see his wasted once strong body.
I held his hand felt his weak warmth.
I went into the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea.
No one else was up yet.
The sun was just starting to push back the darkness.
As I finished my tea, my mother came downstairs.
We quietly silently ate breakfast together.
The morning progressed.
The hospice nurse showed up as she did regularly.
She changed his bags.
I asked her how long did she think he had.
She said I really do not know.
She said it is a surprise he is still here now.
I nod quietly.
Others some friends some family come and go that morning.
Finally shortly after lunch it is time for me to drive home.
I touch my dad's hand gently.
He looks so fragile I do not want to squeeze his hand.
He grasps my hand with a strength that surprises me.
He lifts his head a little from the pillow.
He is trying to tell me something.
I can't understand him.
The morphine and the pain has taken away his ability to talk.
He keeps trying.
I keep trying to understand, but I can't.
I tell him it is okay not to worry.
He tries harder to tell me.
Still, I cannot understand.
He lowers his head and relaxes again.
I slowly let go of his hand and leave.
It was a long drive home.
I knew my aunt his older sister was going to be there this afternoon.
So as I drove home, I was glad about that.
My dad had two sisters both older than he.
His mother died while he was very young.
His sisters raised him as their baby as far as they were concerned.
They both loved him very much,
Even the one that when they were still kids got mad at dad, for some reason.
She got a hatchet and hit him over the head with it.
She assured me it was the blunt end.
I got home late afternoon.
My dogs greeted me upon entering.
I had two at the time.
They were brothers.
Sometime after I got home not sure how much time passed.
The phone rang.
It was my aunt.
She told me my dad had passed away at about 5 pm.
She told me that he got very restless again trying to get up.
She held him down and told him it was Friday.
She told him it was after four and his workday was done.
Finally, he relaxed.
His breathing got slower and then stopped.
His work was done.
Copyright © Hillard Sarver | Year Posted 2016
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 | Year Posted 2014
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 | Year Posted 2013
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 | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Gerald Dillenbeck | Details
Some days and nights
I am terrorized by death,
cold silo ache-echoing fear,
claustrophobic breathless dark
barking inevitable factness and finality
of my decomposing mortality,
and posthumous demise,
probably post-humorous as well,
should we discover any essential difference.
What good is death
if it cannot at least absorb timeless entertainment?
even some recreational opportunities
with their concomitant issues
soaring through our DNA-syntaxed CO-OPERATE tissues.
On better days and nights
I am merely fearful
that I am already dying
by not choosing to live fully.
For my terrorist days and nightmares,
a message from Yin Speaks her feminist Truth,
I have earned my sadness
my badness concomitants
gifts of Fear,
more primordial than mere anthrocentric Anger
about vanities of power.
I have earned my rights of anger
about this existential predicament,
this issue about our own inevitable mindbody mortality,
this opportunity to stretch my love of life cooperative muscles
for myself, just as I am,
incarnating all our sadness and depression
with all our competing terrors and climatic-dissonance repressions
of love-centric health
as LeftBrain deductive-only
Yang temporal-syntax dominant
regenerative DNA-monocultural-normative trend
when we could choose more sublime poli-eco-colored Times
and Gods and Goddesses
of choice as ecoconscious light
Right PolyNomial Sacred Space as Time Her DualSelf.
Outlined in NotNot = LoseLose EcoSystemic Devolution
WinWin CounterRevolution, EcoLogic,
YinYin PermaMythic Tao’s wu wei,
++/(-,-) prime fractal Yang OVER YinYin,
CoOperative-ReGenerating TransParent DualDark
SelfOptimizing Continuous Quality Improvement Trends
predicting tellus polyvegetasty-rhythms,
reiterating river-trees of bilateral-neural function.
more about that whole PostMillennial History of Time
of eco-evolution as reverse double-bound revolution
co-gravitating equivalent dipolarity,
later, or earlier,
depending on whether we are already looking
into my future bicameral time travels
with Yang’s pen and right hand dominant language,
or not so much feelin’ that in your (0)-centric sad and suffering heart
of perpetual loneliness
and loss of hopefilled purpose.
But, back to politically competitive oppression
and our economic dis-ecological cognitive dissonance
about our self and other and Earth repression
and yet surprisingly Trinitarian,
triple-bottom WinWin Line,
healthy economic/ecologic opportunities.
When I’m sad and depressed,
feeling repressed and or repressed,
that’s because I am not crazy
in a too-Yang dominant-deductive consciousness
now co-arising emergent political-economic global networks
of cooperative opportunities
co-echoing-conscious health and therapy vocations
bicamerally DNA with dipolar RNA syntax confluent
tipping our two eyes and ears
to hunt optimal mainframe WinWin Health
and Equity CQI Outcomes,
new notnot impossibilities of hope,
empowered by divesting, starving,
decomposing LoseLose Devolution
dissonantly, yet transparently, dipolar,
OverDrafting Earth’s EcoNormic Balance,
defined as love of health outcomes
equitable to full DNA/RNA spectrum of polycultured life.
It’s hard to hunt this bicameral balance
when my well-earned sadness
about self and other depression
stress of chronic dissonance
sparking global autistic-overpopulation
DNA-dissonating ecto/endo symbiotic
co-empathic political and economic feedback messages
It’s time to turn increasing DNA rabidity around
to find more cooperative and grace-filled
WinWin healthy gifts and eco-normic opportunities.
It’s time to find each other
and give full-voiced co-empathic hope.
Hearing voices may be less crazy
and more polypathically functional
than not listening to our own voices
of permacultural and ecological healthy-reasons
for our seasons
of sadness and gladness
as LoseLose AND WinWin
as losing to win ecosystemic “healthy” balance
for Earth, and therefore RNA,
and therefore DNA’s further,
and graceful kinda’ endosymbiotic
continuously reiterative positive Beloved
choosing both Internal with External
Speaking of ecocentric,
Richard Dawkins speaks in my dominant Left mindbody voice
investing systemic, bionic, robotic analogies
for our shared exegetical consciousness
of evolutionary survival
as anthro-logically required,
and, if not continuing evolution,
then how would a robot
trend climatic devolution?
should that become anything
to do with LoseLose hierarchical-monocultural,
so that each EgoPlayer must choose
either Win or Lose
and is prohibited by Ego’s bicamerally self-blinding restraint,
suffering LeftBrain dominant environmental nurture,
temporarily blind to double-binding regenerative resonant resolutions
ubiquitously copresent in fractal and double-octave functions and frequencies
of light as energy and sound and feeling and taste and touch…
to always prefer choosing Win-to-CoWin,
confluently double-bound (0)-soul centric
political with economic and rational
Left-Right bicameral balancing
love as synergetic life.
When my mindbody will let me choose
wu wei life,
that is choosing empathic love,
so it helps to always try to choose it,
one CoPresent Conscious Moment
within timelessly unfolding grace of Time.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Justin Bordner | Details
In the heart where your naivety resides
you wonder what haunts the sun
and why pain enjoys your childhood eyes,
when you see warm blood run
then you know that death can color
and like you, death loves a dramatic picture,
however, death doesn't dull the future
for a youngster hyper to play the leader
so you go on healin' and shoutin'
jumpin' and fightin', tellin' the world you're smart
the game gets faster and stress starts stingin'
as parents become impatient with the plan of your art,
the alphabet of adventure mispells compliance
intuition's arithmetic equals defiance,
Intuition's arithmetic equals defiance
in the schoolhouse of locked windows,
to everything but your heart you pledge allegiance
militarized mental architecture drums the ethos
academic arrows are aimed right at the soul's throat,
the teachers want your free attention
curriculums corner creative comprehension by rote
and bells ring the brain into submission,
the world is shown as a jigsaw puzzle
with multiple choice obedience that denies your voice
and the more you look over the barbed wall
your talent moves further into the anonymous abyss,
the music is amiss in the damp camp,
you know that there is lightning in your lamp,
You know that there is lightning in your lamp
family introduces religion into the routines
placing an old book on your lap
praying that you'll understand what misery means
as if you don't know how to read rain
and why there are rainbows in puddles
or how the cries of punishment stain
oh you've learned how love befuddles,
yes, there's a scripture in every playground
a hymn for all the beastly breaths,
parables fit into the shambles of adolescence unbound
hormonal graffiti paints prodigal depths
with curse words cracking shedding skin
a studious savage barks to begin,
A studious savage barks to begin
graduation into the grind of occupation
the streets taught you how to bargain
while school made you a fool of gray education
you've received a degree in everything but reality
yet television magicians have fixed a face for you
personality programing increases acceptability
into the honeycomb hustle where individuality be taboo,
the working world isn't waiting for your consent
nor is the rent or the needs of your soul
perhaps a job in law enforcement or waste management
will be the avenue for your hypnotic stroll,
division of labor may make you the sacrificial champ
the State will sear your surname on the collar and clamp,
The State will sear your surname on the collar and clamp
there's a time clock tickin' for your day
you better learn to give 8 hours to the corporate vamp
paying the war tax with reliable sweat and clay,
financial credit can be had for desperate signatures
spend twice the price for shallow status
survive on the coins of your tears,
there's no sympathy for the homeless
the quiters and the damned fall the same way
and if you want to be a brave loner
you had better fortify your armor with a faith ray,
if you can't endure without a lover you'll be a gonner,
no one has the right to live, being born isn't good enough to stay in,
you only have the right to fight to live, to take the win,
You only have the right to fight to live, to take the win
many want to own your happiness
to kill it or to claim it with a dominant grin
others have been grading your consciousness
since you were a child catchin' simple facts
with indelicate hands and undaunted eyes,
as an adult you see how equality breaks
on the anvil of performance, by stress' strikes,
you balk on the borderline of depression's brimstone
and success' roses, which redden deeper
from the moisture of exhaustion's groan,
is it the despair or the hope that makes the leader,
do we buckle before or after the battle
is the heart of a hero infallible,
Is the heart of a hero infallible
in the industry of survival
where the iron ore of your core becomes shaved steel
cold to kindness and hot to the touch of the loyal,
yeah, you can be mean too, like a viper in the sun
menace the wicked with a mere smile
tempt the devil in the dumb
with the truth of self serving denial
yet hitherto hypocrisy has hindered you
put briny mist around your trust
and has led you to a vain view
in which love is worn to rust,
will you become the enemy of ignorance
can you become a juggernaut of justice,
Can you become a juggernaut of justice,
is fate dormant or active underneath your feet,
does destiny matter in the shadow of confidence
with Providence as an accomplice in the furious feat
of remaining young in the demolition of age
because you haven't surrendered your star
to apathy's ire or hate's bondage
finding no shame in that which makes you stronger,
capitulation isn't in the equation
you don't believe in being hardwired for failure
out there, in the morass of the masses is salvation
a companion for creation, an inspiration to share
unlimited ways to make life beautiful
to no longer rage against the inevitable,
To no longer rage against the inevitable
by now the incurable confusion of conflicts
has resolved itself into wisdom inflamable
igniting blue flames upon the lips of your heart's risks,
emotional intellect is our Godsend
atomic poetry the keepsake
of what a haunted land will lend,
a trust in the unbroken beast you do not foresake
because you have held the hunger
of an angel's absolute affection
and danced to a demon's terror
for in this theater of raw freedom you are human,
you know the power of fire and weight of ice
the diploma soul tattooed, let love be your witness
Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
ruta skendeliene | Details
Heavy storm was sweeping dark Paris streets
Lit with dim lights that dreary November night
With ghostly shadows lurking in the corners
Cold wind dancing with dirty wet leaves fallen
In the water pools in the middle of the street
It has been raining already for three weeks
Everybody was getting impatient and
Anxiously praying for a long waited relief
Behind the closed doors of Theater de I’Atelier
Filled with mythical spirits of Champs-Elysees
That gloomy night a magic was about to happen
The stage was sunken in the darkness yet
While audience quietly was taking seats
An imaginary world was opening behind
The heavy black curtain that was hiding
The secrets of magic of the theater
And was slowly rising to the ceiling
The center stage circle was bright lit
With dark corners filled with imaginary
Shady creatures crawling slowly towards
The center like moths attracted to the light
It felt like a fiesta of the creatures of the night
Unexpectedly stunning confused audience
White horse emerged from the darkness
Like a fool moon sliding over the edge
Of a heavy cloud in the center of the stage
Stopping for a moment glancing shyly
Then jumping over the edge of precipice
The horse hit the ground with his hoof
Terrifying sound left his wet snout
He leaped and flew towards horizon
That was emerging on the backstage
With dark heavy curtains rising
And opening the view in front of
Audience suspended in disbelief
Of endless prairie going forever
Touching the edge of the sky
And extending itself like a lazy
Snake towards the milky way
Stunned audience gasped
A quiet moment passed by
And then a young man appeared
In the middle of a vast lit stage
Sitting on a horse and smiling
In a victorious way like someone
Who just tamed a wild mustang
Just like he was trying to tame his pain
For all those long unbearable days
While his mother was lying in bed
At a small window to the backyard
And watching a coffin to be made
For her from a raw three trunk
That smelled like wind and the sun
She knew she was slowly dying
And quietly waited till preparations
Are made so the moment of death
Can come over like a welcome guest
And take away her lonely aching soul
Which used to be like a white mustang
That was dreaming of being free and wild
Running green fields and chasing clouds
But was tamed by the hardships of life
And was reduced to a battered drought
By everyday heavy exhausting load
She was getting weaker every day
Every night that was passing by
Took her strength bit by bit
But her spirit was not dead yet
She made an extreme effort
To stand and walked slowly outside
To see the moon and the sky
Filled with stars and a big dipper
Friendly smiled into her eyes
Her white long hair was flying
In harsh cold wind that night
Like a spider cobwebs spread wide
Touched the nose of a white horse
He made a quiet sniffing sound
When she leaned on him and died
She was holding horse with her arms
Her empty eyes were staring at the sky
Young man sitting on the horses’ back
Grabbed her swiftly and pulled up
Like a light body of a sleeping child
On a bare wooden floor of the plain stage
Hypnotized enchanted audience saw
A young man holding an old woman
In his arms on the back of a white horse
Who was crossing the universe towards
Shining bright twinkling star North
He was flying far away from the sorrow
To the light that lifts the hollowness
Of the arduous earthly life
It was a single mime on a plain stage
But his movements gestures and face
Created artistic full blooded alive
Image of Love Hope and Escape
Audience saw a trinity on the stage
In a few different kaleidoscopic
Dynamic emerging and fleeting ways
Brought to life by a willpower of a man
Who squarely believed in the magic of stage
A year ago he was in a creative daze
In the middle of night on the stage
Taming a wild horse till exhausted
He fell down on a bare cold floor
Slipping in a deep like death sleep
He was walking in a prairie filled with
Tall wild grass reaching the clouds
He got lost and his heart was beating loud
Then he saw an old woman who was lying
On a dry grass floor at the water pool
With long white hair spread wide
With empty eyes staring at the sky
She looked at him and died
A young man her beloved son was
Feverishly trying to hold indomitable
Horse with his young strong hands
So he can take his pain away
And he would not have to feel
The loss and to think about
The dialectics of death and life
He saw a horse a man and a woman
In his vision that night very late
Almost in the morning when sunrise
Was coming through the window
And the horse was hopping away
In to the opening gap of the
Bleeding red morning sky
Melting into distant disappearing
Constellation of milky way
When he opened his eyes
He was deeply shaken by the image
He saw in his dream last night
Which expressed the essence
Of sorrow despair pain and loss
The image of a man woman and a horse
So he knew he had to try
To tell the story on the stage
The way he saw it in his daze
The audience was very quiet
When the stage curtain fell down
Announcing the end of the show
On the bare stage on the plain floor
Magical world that opened the doors
Into delicate realm of shapes and forms
Had a strange effect just like a raging storm
That was gone by the time of the end
Bringing unexpected agonizing relief
That Aristotle called the effect of catharsis
Or the purge of a suffering wounded soul
That couldn't find peace in the real world
Copyright © ruta skendeliene | Year Posted 2016
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 | Year Posted 2014