Cat Nap

by Lois Linkens and Christine Ray

catnap

 

sleep stalks me, finds me an easy target

slinks in to drag me under, into the depths
where unknown dangers lurk in my unconscious
what murkiness lies behind my drooping lashes,
what shadows hide between each whistling breath?
what sharpness snuggles buried
among the feathers in my pillow,
what traps will soon ensnare
and dangle me, just feet from death?

they hook me, by the ankle
and suspend me from the tree of dreams,
around which serpents rattle, tigers prowl,
insects scuttle, poisonous, foul.
blood rushing to my head
cheeks flushed
heart thundering
as i dangle helpless

great cats bat their armored paws
at my flailing hair
like beggars round a campfire.
their claws pull and snag –
draw drops of blood
that quench night blooming jasmine
waiting below

i wake with a start. temples throb and pulse,
the bed is dry as my parched throat, blankets cold.
perhaps a girl
can be herself without the hair of fairytales.

 

 

Lois describes herself as a “confused english student,” though one quickly finds a polished, charming poet in her work. She has an elegant style that compliments her keen insight and whimsical sensibilities. It is a pleasure to present her work, and we ask you to take a second to look at more of her wonderful work, lois e.linkens

Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and is a member of Sudden Denouement.  She is also curator at Blood Into Ink and barista at Go Dog Go Cafe.  She is an aspiring badass.

 

EMILY

samantha lucero

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.

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torrent

The Sounds Inside

there is something
deeply
religious
about being
caught out
in the unrelenting
downpour,
as though god
is driving
icy nail after
icy nail
into my naked
neck,
into my weathered
palms,
trying to execute
some grand design
of deeply buried
fanaticism
dormant within me,
it makes me
grin, deep on
the knife point,
it fills with me
leather exuberance,
oh spectre in the sky,
oh little wisp,
filled with anger
and melancholic thunder,
i am more of a god
than you, for i
still live,
the years may
not have been good to me,
but they treated me
better than you,
and as those glacial
fragments trickle
down my nose and
cling to my beard,
as they form rivers
down my breast,
over my mother’s mark,
over the scars of
a thousand darlings,
my mind is awash
with my lovers and
enemies, honing in
on every
fragmented timeline,
and the…

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Regeneration

Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

I bend my ear, fingers encompassing
its parabolic lobe
The twitch comes with an unusual pain
Like a remembrance

Bark detaches from Bark
Peeling of oneself
is not as complicated as it seems
We all do it, 
The retreating paw of time
scratching its own absorption

We build ourselves in memories
over and over, mowing of grass
Soils: Marsh red within damp orange
Cleave the skin to inherit it once again
It is where we are cut, after all,
that we truly begin

The regeneration of a lizard
is not to overcome its loss
But to defy it

Image and Poem © Aakriti Kuntal15-07-2017

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august 17

lois e. linkens

he believed her milky white,
created from the clouds –
untarnished, pure.
and hence, plans put forth were designed
for one who shared these traits,
written out for a woman
who had barely lifted her feet from girlhood.
eliza doolittle in her naivety,
mrs de winter in her foolishness.
he hunted her out like a sniffer dog,
following the lonely scent of failed dreams
to her front door
and found her…

yet she did not scream,
she was silently stoic
as one who has already seen these things
and watches from the wings,
as the two-minute bell rings

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Maiden Song

Max Meunier

my consciousness unraveled
under gravity’s conundrum

ivory wands
of autumn blossoms brooding

effused the words
that toppled my world

transposed
upon my heart transparent

wished
as i heard them ring
in cherried kisses
of wistful chime

to shore upon a disparate ponder

stinging
once again

the abandoned aril’s precious plight

such beauty nonpareil
begs bittersweet

blusters beckoning
the mem’ries blurred

when i wandered
in my shadow’s doubt
through balsam hills
of rolling ochre

determined to seize the vanishing flare
of dusk abrade

before its veiled taunting
from round the vitrified bend

in crept clusters of celeste

it was there that my perils would come to rest
nestled amid swaying tresses

swelling into lustrous clouds

where i clutched the wrath of heaven’s bane

daring its pallid complexion

pittanced by modest compare

the well of woes
in witless poise
composing wisps
to cast asunder

gave sopor pause

to reap the sorrows
lost…

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