A Collection of Madness and Magic
I was convinced she was crazy
and I couldn’t stand the pitch of her voice
but for the way she would say, “Mmmm”
when I told her about the thoughts,
and how they pummelled me darkly.
I liked the Mmmm of her, the way
it brought out the whites of her eyes,
and I wondered as they closed
if they were watching her thoughts
as closely as they watched mine…
Read the rest here: The Mmm of Her
Oh Sam, wow!
i was once obscure
like food stains under skirts
or a film of oil on a flowers tongue
but i grew to be a bigger blemish
like a birthmark on gods face
until i had to hide away
so no one saw
death had come on many occasions
and i, the greeter at the door would grin
but i was not the company he was looking for
when i’d invite him in
thus i watched them all march out
my loves; one-by-one and fall to ash
and still i, never being the one sought out
began to wear white instead of black
to mourn; no coward soul is mine,
in hopes he’d never return.
words = samantha lucero 2017 ©.
photo = emily dickinson.
I have broken my own bones,
splintered them
and placed them into bags,
dozens of bags of me,
and I have thrown them
from the windows of speeding cars
in hope that you will find me
after the crash, somewhere
where the good girls would never go,
littered between back alleys
in the dark parts, the places where
the good girls are always found.
© Nicole Lyons 2017
I hang suspended,
hot inside the cool tones
of muted grape dreams,
where the reds of a spiced wine
seep past my lips
to dance upon yours.
You are beautiful,
in the hues of my passion,
and I could be beautiful
beneath you, in foreign lands,
and within your secrets,
until I come home reeking
of lavender and my undoing,
and cursing the moon for casting
its heavenly glow a world away.
© Nicole Lyons 2017
This is a beautiful piece from one of my favourites
In the boot of your car, there are several bottles of wine and a shovel of which we use to bury our secrets with because the world has no place for the likes of us. In your pocket, there are filters to block out the voices of those we once resembled, filters your childhood self would be shocked and alarmed to see. Much the same as how my younger self would be shocked and alarmed in coming face to face with the abstraction of what I’ve since become. In a field away from prying eyes, I place the blanket on a spot of flush grass and together we admire the unspoilt view of miles and miles of nowhere and everywhere with an ocean of blue sky above us that leads to an ocean of water as my hand slides beneath your top caressing your waist. And then it’s your breasts…
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It was my words
that spilled
from his lips,
my poetry
that poured
from his soul;
how was I to resist
my own passion,
mixed with a hint
of his own.
© Nicole Lyons 2017
Just flashing back to this man’s pure genius. Yes, my friend, you are indeed a fucking writer! I heart Jasper’s mind.
I am a writer!
I sit on the left-hand of the gods and have a special dispensation to decode the secret, universal rhythms, find patterns in the whispers which are inaudible to profane ears. My role is that of an observer; a quiet, meditative force who has a holy charge to record the divine misery, the blind mysteries, the eek-and-turn everyday struggle of life, seen through the eyes of one who has divested himself of all worldly goods.
Who are you?
I am a fucking writer! I am convicted, given over to the great purpose of wresting the truth away from the earth, buried under layers of silt and sediment, caught up in the swirl of the waters that lean to the great gravitational forces as the world mercilessly spins in the great unknown. The curse is the burden, the pulling back the veil, looking into the languid eyes affixed…
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Oldepunk blown my mind, like out of this world. This is one of the best ever.
By Oldepunk
The smell of rotting agendas always waft in your wake. I’ve grown accustomed to your sand storm daffodils. It’s not what you once were, but what you could be that still intrigues me. Potential, potentially terminal, with velocity. Sniper taking aim, the looks you throw with abandon. I lie still sometimes and pretend I can hear the screaming in your eyes. I would have given it all for you, you know. I do not think it would have mattered to you. You are the song Reptile by The Church. I can see you sauntering and stalking in the sun by the beach every time I hear that song. Which is often, ’cause I like to pick at open wounds. The bloody mouth of puckering pink skin attempting to heal is such a turn on and a visceral reminder of your violence, my violet-skinned lecher. Your Krispy Kreme…
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This sounds brilliant!
It’s been quite a busy summer for me, but I’ll try to keep this short. My forthcoming anthology was nixed, and I’ve been actually working on a novel for the first time in nearly eight years. I will be talking about that more in the future.
I have spoken at length about mental health, which is something I used to champion a lot more, back in my early days of blogging.
I killed my next anthology, yes, but only to make room for another. If you haven’t picked up my 2013 book, Ground Zero, it basically brought several writers together to explore mental health. It’s super cheap on Amazon and features some remarkable writers. It was a huge privilege to work with all of them, and to that end, I would like to repeat the experience.
Starting today, you can submit your poetry and writing about mental health to…
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There is some super exciting stuff going down at Sudden Denouement as of late, I am so excited for this book.
I just received my proof copy of David Lohrey’s new book Machiavelli’s Backyard from Sudden Denouement Publishing. It is beautiful book. We will have copies available in the next week. It is a very exciting week for SD. I would like to think those who have purchased Rana Kelly’s book Superstition. We will have the Kindle edition available any day now. We will also be giving away copies of both books. Though we have a lot to learn, we are on our way to becoming a serious publisher of divergent literature. This process has been the culmination of a year’s work. It could not have happened without the love and support of so many wonderful writers/editors.
Jasper Kerkau
Finding the odd among the ordinary
poems & paragraphs
Erotic Poetry and Stories
The Backyard Poet
Sunshine on Razor Wire: perspectives from "inside"
