Poetry 4

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    Poetry 4

    Hail

    by Ashleigh Walker

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    Behind the safety of a cracked window, 

    I drink in the black-out storm. Dad yells

    at the new car huddled under the old oak

    and mother softly reminds him the garage is full.

    She shadows him, lighting candles in his flickering

    wake. With the hiss of a new match, our house

    is lit with an archaic light. It is dusty and unused

    in the scrutiny of a sky under waves. I imagine

    this is what mermaids see: rolling skies, fading patches 

    of cold sun, the swimming shadow of a faceless shark.

    .


     

    Fools Gold

    by William Bennett

    .

    You may hide behind
    And wear the lies
    Of modern medicine’s trickery
    Botox : Dysport : Xeomin
    And all of the like
    But try as you might
    With all your tom foolery
    You can’t cheat age
    And it’s fragile flickering

    So wear it well
    Wear it proud!
    Wear it loud!

    Wear the wonder of you
    To announce
    Every beautiful
    Wrinkle,
    Crinkle
    And groove
    Tracing back your ancestry
    Returning to your roots
    While earning the scars and stripes
    Of all the memories
    Of your life

    Honored to show off
    The truth
    Of your sacred face

    Who instead remains
    Hidden behind the plastic mask
    Of a false prophet facade

    A buried treasure
    Of heaven now
    Lost to the world
    Forever

    { but not to God }

    Where somewhere
    Under the mirage
    Of the one
    Who believes
    Their age is a disgrace

    The real you
    Is displayed
    In all its
    Naked glorious
    Grace…

    { show me that face }

    >

    William Bennett was born and currently still lives and breathes in Illinois. He is written ever since he can remember and believes writing and creative expression have the capacity to create a safe space for healing and transformation to occur, and is powerful as a form of therapy. He is currently in the process of creating his business called “Heron Heartistry” that will support his talents as a writer, massage therapist, movement practitioner, cultivating and spreading compassion and selling his own line of gluten free granola called “Uncle Will-E’s Crack-a-lackin’ Lip Smackin’ Kick Assin’ Gluten Free Granola,” as well as, whatever else unfolds under the sun in cultivating Love…

    >


     

    the art of making snowflakes

    by Danielle Taylor

    >

    i bury myself, cold heart, 

    to be still for an unsoiled 

    answer to my sterile cries

    but i won’t commit to any funeral 

    unless my prayers stop 

    coming back a question- i dig

    i plant my garden but only surface

    soundless pets, eyes sagging

    mouths open like mine

    faces still at the gates wondering

    what happened

     

    what happened was a lifetime of burials:

    a window too full of life and sun and breath

    to see yourself who is none of those things,

    an ocean made of spit and salt and bird shit and 

    bodies alive or not alive or half eaten, and 

    virulent storms working their ejaculate 

    leaving everyone wondering

    what happened 

     

    it’s just the weather 

    we are working, we

    are burying we are

    singing, just

    a death

    we are 

    >


    .

    blank hue

    by Patrick Murphy

    .

    i seemed to like it.

    the way you looked away from me

    the way life tends to keep us distant

     

     

    distant from truths turned into fiction.

    where we once wanted to see each other

    in full color no remorse all picket fenced up.

    where the color white needed paint

    instead of faded realizations that we

    can be turned blank.

     

    i wish you painted me on your doors

    the cherry red we always wanted.

    where my auburn lights reflect the stone pathway

    of the hidden color we wanted so much.

     

    let my hazel eyes reflect on the surface of our grass

    where your tinted beige skin seemed oh so tantalizing.

    i wish to stay with you, as you paint my colors

    all around you.

     

    but color always fades, and life together seems

    only oh so faint.

     

    its hard to paint when you have the wrong

    paintbrush.

     

    its hard to paint when our canvas isn’t large enough

    to harness any kind of future,

    sooner or later you get tired of the layered paint,

    and you just let it drip.

     

    that is exactly what we did,

    we let it drip and fade away

    in the grey hues and blank whites

    we created.

     

    .


     

     

    Like Before

    by James Dennis Casey IV

    .

    Dig out the old
    Skull
    Time for new
    Magic

    Worn to a remnant
    Fighting the evil back
    Feel it rise

    Move in shadow
    Like before

    Be whole again
    Like before

    The absence of the mask
    Left face exposed
    Feelings run rampant

    Place it back
    Tie it tight
    For now

    Remember how good
    Hiding was
    Dancing in rainstorms
    With a long legged owl

    Clapping hands
    Calling down thunder
    Receiving lighting
    From a kiss

    Never expecting
    Anything
    Receiving the world

    Experiencing intimate wanting
    Of light
    Found
    Behind darkness
    Of masks

     

    James D. Casey IV is a published author of three volumes of poetry: “Metaphorically Esoteric,” “Dark Days Inside the Light While Drunk on Wine,” and “Tin Foil Hats & Hadacol Coins.” His books are available for purchase through his Amazon Author Profile. Mr. Casey’s writings have been published in print and online several times at places like Triadæ MagazinePink LitterIn Between HangoversIndiana Voice JournalPoetry BreakfastBeatnik CowboyDissident VoiceScarlet Leaf ReviewHorror Sleaze TrashZombie Logic Review and others.

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