Sunday, November 3, 2013



Elmast Kozloyan
 
RIGHT OF PASSAGE
 
I wanted to kill him
so I did
It seemed like the rite thing to do
I stretched his limbs
Tied them down
 to point
      North
West    East
      South
I burned his right arm
Froze his left leg
then amputated
just shy of living flesh
Continued this pattern
until he could take no more
sage burned
blood shed
sob-blinded
It was better he did not see
I carved out his heart
snipped a lock of hair
and placed them  in a silver case
Disposed of the remains
and went to bed
 
I don’t have time for boys anyway


Lori Wall-Holloway
 
Evil
dark, oppressive
stalks, hovers, intimidates
ominous feeling creates fear
Nightmare
 
Nightmare
malicious, foul
pounce, suppress, attack
I fight with prayer
Dream
 
Dream
victorious, peaceful
understand, believe, hope
anguish of past departs
Vision

Saturday, November 2, 2013



CaLokie
 
GHOST STORY*
 
I was
walking by
my house.
And all of
a sudden
I hear,
“Ghost!”
 
And I
looked
and I
see somebody
and I didn’t know
who it was.
 
“Com’ere!”
they say
and they
keep on
getting closer
and yelling
“Ghost.”
 
And then 
they say,
“Where’re
you from?”
 
And I say,
“Nowhere,
homes.
I don’t
bang 
no more.”
 
“Where
you from?”
 
Nowhere.
And then
I hear,
“Ghost!
I thought
I knew
you, fool!”
 
And then
they shoot.
BAM!
And I
could see
my body
on the 
floor.
 
and then
they come over
and say, “See
I told you,
I fuckin’
told you...
STUPID!
 
See I
told you.
Fucking
told you.
Fuckin...”
BAM!
 
*A found poem from PP. 101-102, Celeste Fremon, Father Greg & the Homeboys, Hyperion New York, 1995

Jeffry Michael Jensen
 
DEVOUR
 
Of course, the house was painted to look dark and deserted.
A perfect place for Jessica Lange on horror night.
No candy on Halloween for me or my discontented cousins.
I was not the chubby boy in the picture on the mantle.
I was the skinny kid breathing hard at the end of the block.
Black cats on roller skates did figure eights around spiked scarecrows.
Cotton balls puffed up the hostile clouds at the corner of the sky.
The moon shamed a coven into gathering in the kitchen.
I chose the science of girls in loose jeans over the circadian
rhythms of mothers calling in their offspring
as Jessica devoured the airwaves with her smile.

Friday, November 1, 2013



Deborah P Kolodji
 
PLANS FOR THE DAY AFTER
 
His eyes
burn with candles,
this pumpkin head creature
who lives on my front porch.  I dream
of pie.


Bryan Story
 
MOON YELLOW EYES
 
I can’t be heard I can’t be heard
This wind howls and hurls my voice away
I am so small I am so small when trouble comes
I have to hop from branch to branch
My broken wing it traps me
My feeble call betrays me
In this wind my mate can’t hear me
But if I look and look at this moon
The gypsies say
And if I look and look and look
I heard them say
 
My eyes will burn my body turn
If I do not blink my eyes will burn    
So I do not blink my eyes they burn 
I can see the moon and feel my feathers
Turn to fur my beak grow teeth
This broken wing a hairy leg 
One of four and claws
Claws like this I never had before
And fur and teeth
And my voice my song howls it howls
Above the wind
 
And my moon yellow eyes turn to you and burn