Nothing To Say

There is nothing to be said about the way you hover over me,
nothing about the way you grind your hips and your filth
against me from somewhere inside places, I have never been.
There is nothing to be said about the way you breathe,
hot and filled with rage, against the back of my neck
when I write your ugly truths into existence
and when I speak my words above yours.
There is something to be said about the way
a woman’s voice carries, though, and it crosses oceans,
climbs mountains, and charges through wastelands,
gaining speed and strength with every ear it tickles.
But there is nothing to be said of the shoulders
too weak to hold the weight of those voices,
the ears too ignorant to listen,
and the mouths too vile to spit anything other than hate.
No, there is nothing much to say about any of that,
but you can be damn sure I am going to say it.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Keep One In The Chamber

This poem was previously published on my column on Feminine Collective.

KO

Darkness has fallen. The winds, they blow strange.
The devils we know have all changed their names.
They have coloured their faces, these heathens without shame,
all pointing corrupt fingers, all deflecting the blame.
They kill our time breathing upon life’s precious things,
taking pleasure from bullets tearing butterfly wings.
One for the kid just trying to get home,
clutching rainbows of death and his girl on the phone.
A few for the women, the mothers not to be,
slaughtered for their choices in the land of the free.
Five for the heroes who laid down their lives
when a blue line was crossed in Dallas that night.
Another forty-nine blazed through the night skies,
carrying the pulse of one love on terrified cries.
In San Bernardino there was holiday cheer,
and then fourteen funerals to ring in the New Year.
In the back of a car on the side of a road,
a little girl counts as a gun unloads.
Into her daddy the bullets are sprayed,
white ones and blue ones and both are afraid.
Her mama is crying and this is their fight,
cars without tail lights and bodies without white.
Gone are the days when we put kids to bed,
with nary a worry but a kiss on the head.
We used to teach fools to be wary of strangers,
but now we tell children to keep one in the chamber.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

Let It Burn – Jason King

letitburn
Image Source: Pinterest

I’m sitting outside….gazing at the night sky….counting stars….I’ve always had a love affair with them….it’s quiet….except for the crickets….and this large dog on the other side of a fence barking at me….I bite back dammit….this makes me think also I’m actually a little excited for my nervous breakdown….I’m only half joking about this…. mainly because the gods know I’m exhausted.

So I sit here….drink in one hand….cigarette in the other….static-x is playing on Pandora right now…. and I let my mind drift….I am tired…. not just physically….I’ve had writers block for what feels like forever now….it’s honestly driving me mad….spoken to a few writer friends about it….tried to follow their advice….still nothing….I hope it passes soon….I hate to admit it but I get jealous sometimes….many have books or write these brilliant things….and I’m stuck….I know we are supposed to be happy for others….and I am….my friends are geniuses….but fuck it if those feelings don’t creep in of damn I wish I was doing that….or why didn’t I think of that….what they wrote is really damn good….ah well we are all human….

It’s funny the things I “worry” about….things like words….in the grand scheme of things it’s probably not that big a deal….but I also know words are the most powerful thing….so this is what I worry about….not the fact I now have a warrant out….and if I’m stopped by a cop I’ll be going to jail….shoulder shrug….I’ll jump off that bridge when I get to it….it’s not the first time I’ve been in a jail….I could use the vacation….so yes….I worry about why I’m blocked….first world problems.

Back to my enjoying a nervous breakdown….the world is making me tired….social media makes me want to Van Gogh my mind….I can’t read comments or an article without it devolving into a race war….with each side blaming the other for every injustice in the world….if we aren’t paying for the sins of those before us we are blaming those now….five minutes after reading comments I fantasize about letting them all go at it gladiator style….we get it….half of the population is angry or hates the other half….I can’t solve this….you can’t either….hate….racism….people will find whatever excuse they need to justify it….they don’t need our help….Hell the media will take care of it for us….give peace a chance they say….we have….part of me wants to throw my hands up and say fine….everyone just kill each other….maybe those of us left can finally move on….more than likely not….assholes always find a way….like Jurassic park….but with stupidity.

Then this election….the fucking shit show circus that it is….can’t be escaped….honestly at this point eating a lightbulb would be less painful….let’s be honest….I don’t care who you vote for….both these people are awful….reading comments on political post as well will make you kind of hope they push a button….just to make it stop….I won’t get into that debate….but honestly….what the fuck do these rich fucks have in common with us….nothing….after the election we will all still get up and go to work…pay bills….be stressed….ironically that statement will probably start a comment war…..one of those I just sigh at and close….it serves no purpose….I don’t think I’m alone in this thinking though….half the people I talk to are just tired….sick and fucking tired of it all….politicians don’t have our best interest in mind….they just don’t….

Back to words are a powerful thing….tell people what they want to hear….afterwards….line your pockets….my day to day life won’t change….I’ll be at work tomorrow….trying to make it to next payday….go fight amongst yourselves….I’m just trying to make it on what’s in my gas tank and eat….you want to hate someone because of pigment….or what God they worship….go ahead….I’m not going to change your mind….nor do I want to….I’m too damn tired….I’m thinking about what I can take to lunch tomorrow….seriously enough is enough….peace is great….but utopia is only found in books….at this point….I can’t even care if they all kill each other….I know I know….what a terrible thing to say….love will win the day….or change will only happen if we stand up and say something….positive vibes out into the universe….or pray….fine….

I’m okay being the bad guy….throwing my hands up and saying….you know what I’m burned out….if politics and race and religion separate us all that much….have the hell at it…maybe then the rest of us can move forward….but I doubt it….there’s always someone ready to hate. Yes I know….what a negative view….I call it realistic….either way.

I think that’s why we root for the bad guy….secretly envy the bad guy….I watched a very popular show Sunday….you know the one….and I found myself envying the “villain”….maybe because I understood him….or I got it….and I admired his willingness to just say fuck it….I’m going to do what I want….he just wasn’t worried about the things most of us worry about….I think that’s why we love and hate them….they’re free in ways we aren’t….we would all probably prefer to live in the light….but let’s be truthful….probably won’t happen….there’s a reason heath ledgers joker was so popular….many thought….damn it would be nice to just cut loose and stand up and say fine….we’ve tried everything else….let’s just let it all burn….we are too tired to keep going….chasing our tails….going in circles.

We can put a sunflower in a gun….that gun will still fire….so fine….you want to strike a match….let me get the gasoline….maybe when it’s all on fire it’ll finally sink in….oh wait….we are arguing over things that at this point shouldn’t be an issue….too late….light a cigarette from the embers of what was….or maybe I’m just a nihilist….or a realist….or maybe I finally had that breakdown I was looking forward to….now I can finally rest and just enjoy the blaze.

© Jason King 2016

Jason King

Jason King is a storyteller, seeker of passion, hopeless romantic, cynic, and possibly completely mad. You can find more of his exquisite writing at Jason King.

Thank you, Sir, Can I Have Another? – Stephanie Bennett-Henry

patriarchy
Picture Credit: Midge Belickis©2012

Thank you, Sir,
can I have another?
I wasn’t quite clear
the first dozen times
you called me a bitch,
a whiny female,
worthless.
Tell me again
how I’m dramatic,
overreacting, just in the way.
Tell me how
I’m ruining everything for you
just by talking.
Somehow my voice
got a firm grip on your balls
and the more I talk,
the more they shrivel away.
You’re losing your power,
testosterone, masculinity,
to my truth, my fight, my words…
you are weak and scared.
I don’t even care about you
or your twisted opinion
about the kitchen I should be
standing in, but you are terrified.
My voice is scaring the shit
out of you, and I gotta tell you
it’s funny.. yes, I’m laughing..
at you. I am everything
you want to be, I am everything
you thought you were,
I am everything you’re not,
and will never be.
I’m not competing with you.
I’m not threatened by you,
but you… filled with so much
fear that one day,
you will wake up to see
that we both get paid the same wage
for the same job,
pay the same price for a haircut,
and we’ll walk down the same street
without anyone yelling “bitch.”
That day scares you,
but it’s coming…
brace yourself.

© Stephanie Bennett-Henry 2016

StephProfPic

You can connect with Stephanie on Raging Rhetoric, and find her exquisite writing on Stephanie Bennett-Henry, Instagram, Twitter, and on her website.

Winds of Change

 

peace

 

 

I have nurtured

the seeds

of resistance

planted in my bones

long ago.

Roots grown

swift and mighty,

a solid foundation

of iron

stands me firm

and holds me true.

Vines

of resilience

climb the length

of my spine-straight.

Blooming

down arms

of hope and

hands of peace,

raised in wait,

to embrace

a revolution.

Change

rides the back

of howling winds,

and if seeds

of hatred

are all you have

sowed,

the tempest will

eat you alive.

 

wind

Crazy, Cancer & Chuckles

Last month Stephanie Bennett-Henry and I wrote something together that touches on Stigma. I was reluctant to post it for (get this) fear of offending people. How ridiculous is that? Pretty ridiculous considering the disgusting comments and jokes that people are making today, in regard to Sinead O’Connor.

I swear to God, some of you need to pass a test before using the Internet.

It’s May, which means it’s Mental Health Awareness month, and I tell you world, you fucking need it.

How funny would it be if I laughed as your daughter lay dying from cancer? What about your mother as she pukes up any strength she has left after dialysis? Maybe we could make a video that pokes fun at everyone who struggles to breathe in the middle of an asthma attack, bet we’d have a viral sensation on our hands there.

Your ignorance is showing, cover that shit up.

Stigma.

 

S&N illness

The Candle and The Fire – Jason King

Jason's Truth2

 

I love sex….I’ll say that again….I fucking love sex….I’m a man… I know it supposed to just go with the territory….it’s not just the act of penetration I enjoy though….although that moment when you first enter someone for the first time….is possibly one of the greatest things ever….if I ever win the lottery I’ll let you know how they compare…. So no it’s not just that part of it….I crave all the things that go with it….that look that they get in their eyes….that look that says I’m going to fucking devour you….when you both move in closer to one another….lips lightly touching….before you finally kiss….fingertips lightly grazing over their curves….perhaps you wrap your arms around them….pull them in tight….no distance….or cup their face….as your lips continue to explore….learn….

I love those little sighs or moans that may pass through those lips….or the times you kamikaze into each other….frantically attacking each other as you move towards the nearest wall….then the obstacles between you and their bare skin against you start being removed….sometimes gently….take our time….like that one kid who has to keep the wrapping paper at Christmas intact….lift a corner here….a little tape there….other times it’s that excitedly running in screaming and ripping everything off in one quick motion…..I love it all….the sounds….flesh hitting flesh….the smells….sweat….perfume….natural scents all blending together….the sights….the way the hips turn here and there….or the way the back arches when you kiss that certain spot….the way the eyes close as that buildup finally reaches climax….and that wave washes over you….yes I love it all….it’s never too much….

I’ve had amazing sex before….okay so it was pretty much flat out fucking….the kind where you’re both covered in sweat and panting and just collapse into one another….and think okay if I die now I’m perfectly accepting of that….I’ve tried most things….at least once….twice if I enjoyed it….

I’ve also had bad sex….where I drank to much and it was just sloppy or I couldn’t get into it….where passion just wasn’t on the menu….those are also a learning experience….I actually tried to fake an orgasm once….guys….don’t do this….they will notice….you don’t want the conversation that follows….just trust me….

So for the most part that area is easy….we are built for sex….it’s when you add that bit of magic in the mix that it takes on a whole new meaning….when you can laugh somewhere in the middle of the licking and sucking and grinding….their eyes light up….that grin….and you can both play….laughing like hyenas….all seriousness goes away and it’s just two people laughing and enjoying each other….then the kissing starts again and the passion skyrockets….ebb and flow….something amazing happens in those magic moments….you forget the world….your eyes are locked on one another….everything else drifts away but that moment….the now….you’re completely in the now….taking it all in….everything ceases to exist….just the two of you….you’re safe….lust….love….comfort….excitement….calm….it’s all just swirling together….it’s in those moments….even the heavens look down with envy….and wish they could be where we are.

Is it always going to be like that….probably not….life happens….we get tired….or stressed….sometimes just not in the mood….however….find that someone where you know you can have that….that magic….not just in the bedroom….or kitchen table….or against the car….hidden corner in a library….that Macy’s dressing room….you get the idea….but be able to talk to them….really talk….about everything….EVERYTHING….even if it catches you off guard sometimes….

I’ve come to that place where it should be complete transparency….why would we not….if we look at someone and think okay I want to spend time with this person….or my life….for fucksake share yourself with them….don’t hold back….we’ve been told time and time again how to play games….they make terrible television shows about that very thing….that’s the illusion….not the magic….the magic is real….how can any of us expect to find that….keep it….if we don’t just say it all….no holding back….it’s scary at first….most things worth doing usually are….but what comes next are the things they write stories about….don’t settle for….well it wasn’t horrible….a candle isn’t horrible either if you’re cold….until you stand next to a fire….

© Jason King 2016

Jason King

Jason King is a storyteller, seeker of passion, hopeless romantic, cynic, and possibly completely mad. You can find more of his exquisite writing at Jason King.

Is It Good Enough? – Matthew D. Eayre

My first day at preschool, I could see that the teacher’s aide wanted to teach me the letters, so I didn’t say,

 

I know this already… I was afraid of hurting her feelings. When she asked me to try, I read the words and kept reading, I learned to read at home when I picked up a book. I saw the letters and they made sense to me,

 

I see the words written when people talk to me, a speech-bubble running out of their mouths. The teacher’s aide in my preschool class was proud of me, for not needing her guidance, she was proud of me for things she had no part in.

 

Is it good enough, I asked, am I doing this right? My mother glanced at my drawing and grunted with a shrug. I was 13 years old, being home-schooled because I got into trouble at Zane Middle School, a year younger than all of my classmates after skipping 6th grade, but I didn’t have problems with them, it was the teachers, faculty, administrators… they wondered at my quirks, questioned my behavior, he’s so different, he’s so quiet, why is he always reading, he doesn’t participate in class, …

 

It doesn’t matter that he’s going through emotional trauma… It doesn’t matter that he passes all the tests…

 

He’s weird… He’s different.

 

They would pull me aside and attempt to exert their supposed authority. I fought back, able to see at 13 that I didn’t want to be what they were, and neither did they.

 

My mother the artist, the creative force, all energy and no substance, my mother the lazy, the coward, the phony star…

 

She barely could see me, and told me of her dreams for my life. She could not understand me, and was so proud of me for not needing her guidance, so happy that she did not need to teach me, her reward child, she named me, a gift to her from god, kind of odd, for a mother of seven to say, this ONE is a gift sent from heaven.

 

Is it good enough, I asked, as I knelt down to the grave of a boy, we were both Matt, he forgot his safety-belt, because his safety was always secondary to fun, his eyes closed and mine opened. As I stood behind the grave as they filled it, feeling like there was blood everywhere, and I spilled it… They looked at me, they looked through me, their eyes so young and full of please, please, please… Don’t let this be true. Is it good enough, I asked as I spoke words for him that I could not believe, goodbye my kid nephew, you fly while we grieve, and the priest in his Latin blessed the shell of his youth, a sermon so hollow, the harsh reality of truth, I must make this matter. I will not let his life be for nothing. I will be what he should have, a star in the sky, I will be the hero of this story, I need to make this matter, am I good enough to be better without God’s guidance?

 

Is it good enough, I asked myself, when I tied the flowers to the altar. She was always mine and I was always hers but this day we will

promise

 

To make this thing work, to put in the love, to hang the painting of us in our sky and always together, together,

 

Is it good enough, I asked as she walked out of the door, dressed as an angel and smiling like the sun, my mind overwhelmed by the love on her face, she is really going through with this and I am finally getting my want. Is it good enough, when my soulmate hurricane asks for more, to feel more, to do things which we have not done, to help her feel things she has dreamed of and never seen. Will she be proud of me if I try, will it be better if I am what she wants or if I am only pretending, will I be good enough to fill her senses with what she needs to feel? Can I be the ocean and not just a river? I am so afraid of not being everything she wants, is it good enough to try… If I fail? Will she be proud of me when I ask her for guidance, I don’t know my way through her maze…

 

Is it good enough, I asked as my words piled up, displayed bits of my torn sails flapping in the wind, darkness spun into woven gold and silver, shiny pages of purity risen from the graves of sin and beastly desire. Am I what my dear grandmother wanted to see, when she read me the guidelines of writing poetry, when she instructed my hands to create a new world, when she showed me how to say what needs to be said,

 

without first knowing what it is,

 

Is it good enough?

 

Am I a real boy, dancing and playing with Pinocchio, the Fairy Godmother has granted my wish, am I good enough to be more than what I thought I was, more than what life taught me to be?

Is it good enough?

 

Do I exist, am I real?

 

Just words on a screen

© Matthew D. Eayre 2016

matt

 

Matthew D. Eayre is a writer living in Denver with his wife and children. Refusing to exist as only one thing, he works as a supervisor in a delivery company while pursuing his BA in Accounting and chasing his dreams of making his voice heard in the world.

You can connect find more of Matthew’s stunning words at Matthew D. Eayre, Poetry of Monsters and on Instagram.

Purchase a copy of his extraordinary book here.

The Feast of The Fools

wolves-654839_960_720

 

 

 

I heard your siren call,

and I calmed my wolves.

Their great paws unleashing claws

on the earth, biding their time, scratching

their vengeance. My pack is fierce,

and hungry.

They feast on the lies

of the self-righteous.

They eat the dreams

of the sanctimonious.

And they swallow the pride

of the selfish.

Yes, we heard your siren call,

and we’re coming for dinner.

© Nicole Lyons 2016

me3

For more of my poetry and prose you can check out The Poets section of the site or follow me at Nicole Lyons.

Pandora – Charlene Trolinder

FB_IMG_1459229831708

Pandora

 

They stared at her with

inquisitive eyes.

She seemed so simple

and

submissive, but she

had this complicatedness about her.

Her mind’s thoughts and ideas would

terrify while inspiring.

A methodical empty need

to hide her needs, wants, and

desires made her the master of her own

madness.

She navigated a purposeful

overshadowing of her soul because

she knew her greatest ambitions would

be fulfilled while standing

in the shadows of a

broken heart. There was a

mystical almost divineness

about her that few could resist

intertwined with a darkness that could

destroy them.

Few were ever allowed into

the inner sanctums of her

being, for fear of being broken

for her secrets. As they stared with

fixated expressions of horror and

amazement, they spoke with cold

confused words, “Who are you?”

She turned slowly

toward them with

an emotionless face and

pain filled eyes and softly replied,

“I am your fears, misunderstanding, and

judgement. I am your thoughts that haunt

you. I am the darkness and light. I am

the beating heart of compassionate love, and

the broken mind of cruel rejection.” She

slowly grinned as she continued,

“I am your creation and

your monster. I am

what you made me!”

©Charlene Trolinder 2016

FB_IMG_1459230572800

Charlene Trolinder aka Lorna Evol is a small town kid born and raised in Dumas, TX. She fought all her childhood to survive, born with a rare chromosomal disease. She attended West Texas A&M, where she obtained a Bachelor’s in Psychology. It was later in life that she realized she struggled with severe depression and anxiety. Each day is a battle, but she loves the simple things. She is an avid reader and animal lover. She draws her inspiration from her struggles, and she tries to give hope to others through her words.

Follow Lorna’s beautiful words on Evocative Eloquence.

Edited January 16, 2017:

Unfortunately someone has come onto this lovely piece to accuse Char aka Lorna Evol of plagiarism, and has done so using some of the vilest language. I have included the link to the original posting (2014) of Char’s poem Pandora, here.