Hail the Empty Page-Lois E. Linkens

Hail the empty page; like an empty sky
It itched for birds. It ached for clouds,
Pined the cooling rain and wept for kites.
‘Twas a simple duty upon my maiden look,
To do as God; orchestrate the days and nights.
I might pull strands from blank, bald faces
Like wires through a net. And, behold this maddening thought –
I might love them, though I made their lives
In my own object. No matter. A golden child, and her floral friend –
I regret beyond my pen you’ll ne’er extend.
‘Tis responsibility more wild than parenthood.
See, this pitied child at yonder gate?
Her sorrow, wretched writer, did thee wickedly create.
One might a palace build, a place construct
Of Uncurbed Peace and Perfect Choice, easy plucked
From heaven, with fruits like jewels and space
For All. Would that be a sweet, kind thing?
Aye. But what use is Love, in such a dream?

My people live inside. At evening time,
In the orange candlelight, as the coffee steams,
(or sits undrunk) I leave that homely seat
And find myself a ghost among them all.


Lois is a poet and student from England. She is studying the literature of the Romantics and hopes their values and innovations will filter through into her own work. She is working on longer projects at present, with a hope to publish poetry collections and novels in the years to come. She is a feminist, an nostalgic optimist, and a quiet voice in the shadows of Joanne Baillie and Charlotte Smith. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkens

Sudden Denouement Classics: star gazers – lois e. linkens

stargazers

we drove all day, and into the evening
and when it got too dark to drive,
we parked the van on the roadside
and opened up the back doors.
the moon looked over
the scattering of stars,
like a mother hen.
and in the sun’s absence
all barriers dropped.
our curtains fell,
and all we had on
dissolved into warm ecstasy.
the sky melted into pools of dusky grey,
gathering on the horizon
like water drops down a frosted window.
throwing the doors open
lifted the latch on us.
was it the shimmer of the moon
or the intrusive breeze?
was it the smell of the leftovers
in their tupperware box,
or the ache
from the hard leather seats?
something in the air
led us through the doors and out,
onto the grass to walk about.
you leant on the wooden fence,
and gazed
at the sequin studded ceiling.
the stars had come out that night,
extra bright,
as if they knew
i held you, pressed my face against
the heat of your back.
i tucked my arms around you
and held you.
as the night lay quiet,
your heart beat through me,
loud and strong.
a bass drum in a marching band.
you were more alive than me
more alive than anything.
your body breathed into mine and
took me somewhere
made for me,
where i would be the only guest.
we saw orion’s belt, and
you were proud of me
because i spotted it.
there were legends in the sky,
stories and survivals,
dreams and departures,
histories and hand-me-downs.
you knew their names,
you told me.
‘there is no number created
that could count the stars
and make me tired
of stargazing.’
do you remember when you said that?
you know, my darling –
God could fling infinite stars across the heavens
and still my gaze
would be fixed
on you.


Lois is a poet and student from England. She is studying the literature of the Romantics and hopes their values and innovations will filter through into her own work. She is working on longer projects at present, with a hope to publish poetry collections and novels in the years to come. She is a feminist, an nostalgic optimist, and a quiet voice in the shadows of Joanne Baillie and Charlotte Smith. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at  Lois E. Linkens.

Best Man-Lois Linkens

AC4A55E2FA134267827D51E718890DE9.jpg

Pink tie

A long satin tongue.

Soft black hair,

Nutbrown shoes

And brown skin.

August sun

Is glitter

In the beer,

Like flies across a golden lake,

Bugs in amber.

The bouquet

Fell flat,

A red yellow green corpse

Of us,

And then there was nothing

But your eyes

And my crooked feet

And Bowie

Floats on coloured lights

And all I feel is you.


Lois is a poet and student from England. She is studying the literature of the Romantics and hopes their values and innovations will filter through into her own work. She is working on longer projects at present, with a hope to publish poetry collections and novels in the years to come. She is a feminist, an nostalgic optimist, and a quiet voice in the shadows of Joanne Baillie and Charlotte Smith. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkens.

The Loss in Us- Oldepunk and Lois E. Linkens

Life passes, unfettered by the loss in us
I want to touch the echo of you with hands
time has counted twice
Morning’s claw does rive mine empty mind
From dreams more full
And coloured than time aware.
arid fantasy does drift away
to morning dew upon lip of leaf,
to glisten in rays of layered gold
We are creatures on a strange ship
In a curious place. See – the island lies,
All life and shade, its green banks 
Like shiny apples on a ghostly tree.
behold the Fleece hangs dimly
upon crippled limbs, brittle coppers
casting what little light they may
comforts aplenty beseech us to shore
It had once known splendour, too.
The jewelled hands of kings did brush
It’s ‘chanted thread. 
And so it seems, we none of us
Have waged with Time and won.
A parade of somber gaiety
These feeble celebrations deem us hollow
For if’n that mighty Ram may fade
We must gone quietly quick
As dawn to day to dusk to night
A welcome blackness
To close the tattered shapes of what once was.

Oldepunk and Lois E Linkens ( Italics)


You can read more of Oldepunk’s writing at RamJet Poetry

Lois is a poet and student from England. She is studying the literature of the Romantics and hopes their values and innovations will filter through into her own work. She is working on longer projects at present, with a hope to publish poetry collections and novels in the years to come. She is a feminist, an nostalgic optimist, and a quiet voice in the shadows of Joanne Baillie and Charlotte Smith. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkens.

Oracle- Eric Syrdal & Lois Linkens

Pariah! They say
with open eyes but shut mouths
I can hear the gnawing between my bones
it rests like poison honey on their tongues
like a promise, the vanishing point of a dark road
anathema laid upon my brow while I was sleeping
in this waking dream

I see myself all sandy olive brown
A smudge in gold dust, damp but for dark leaves
Like feath’ry mother arms. I am restless,
A young Soul scraping bare
For love and comfort as children’s hands in
Honey jars. I crawl, dusty kneed and
Heavy-headed t’wards the Gods.

I stumble and fall
no arms to catch me in this concrete jungle
no high priestess in the high-rise penthouse
to cup my chin at this silicone confessional

The ground does wake,
Ears like white billowed sails — and hear they do,
A pearl voice soothes my blotchéd cheek. Good
Smoke, light and fresh as fruit fills this sunken soul.
Atë — Atë! Fair fallen goddess girl,
With sour brow and feet like deer. Curse her
Jet stone heart with tools of fear! 

But, how could the voice of a goddess speak through me?
how much longer should this exile be?
If I lay prostrate on this linoleum floor
what sacrifice can I offer, which a broken heart can afford?

Curse you, with your opal eyes —
My black grief ne’er shall be your wretched prize.

Only One of Us Gets to Be a Martyr- Nicholas Gagnier/Lois E. Linkens

Alive is not a competition but death calls to my indecision, before I fizzle out with weakening flames. 

The future has looked stranger, indeed, and yet these are 
troubled times; 
your hair dyed dirty
blonde like your mom 
said would never suit you, and 
longing to remain blind to her little wisdom instilled.

My quick red mermaid maverick,
You always were a thing between states.
A fresh face
And a scowl to snuff a forest fire,
What was it – the hand with many voices murmured, sharp as lemon –
What was it that made you stay?
Dear kind Harpocrates, yield to them
Until the curtain drops o’er this sweet sad story
I never chose to write.

Guess I’m still self-righteous,
somewhere beneath the spite. Enough so
I could immortalize the ego in your overbite, the 
hubris
we made heists of, 
cracking the dial safes of your inspirations,
only to set the world alight. 

When the pyre burns,
I would my flesh would peel and crack.
Still in my gloried self I hoped you’d see
That acrid bitterness your larval soul
Did at present lack.  

Fade to black, enlightened words
for these are are the supernovas which blind 
you to 
the stars. But only one of us 
get to be a martyr, and living is 
harder with the 
other’s dying breaths as gospel.
Insanity is 
probable,
tragedy quite certain.
But only one of us gets to be the 
subject of long-lived chronicle, 
 
the other mortal until his dying day. 

Image courtesy of Pinterest


Nicholas Gagnier is a Canadian writer and poet, and the creator of  Free Verse Revolution. He has published several poetry books, as well as a novella releasing this July. Nicholas supports and engages in conversations around mental health and social welfare, preferring strong literary voices and self-expression to traditional narrative and poetry. He lives in Ottawa with his young daughter, where he runs FVR Publishing and works on a million projects at once.

Lois is a poet and student from England. She is studying the literature of the Romantics and hopes their values and innovations will filter through into her own work. She is working on longer projects at present, with a hope to publish poetry collections and novels in the years to come. She is a feminist, an nostalgic optimist, and a quiet voice in the shadows of Joanne Baillie and Charlotte Smith. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkens.

There Were Things I Did Not Know – Lois E. Linkens

There were things I did not know (could not know).
There were words I was yet to write, a still
Small voice, yet to claim. ‘Tis life’s greatest thrill,
To light an unknown match, and watch it glow.
I would do great things. I would swing my feet
O’er fences, walls, tall gates to walk amid
The places I had never seen, and bid
Farewell to my young self, to future meet.
Places that could hold me fast, scoop me out
And fill me with their beads, their jasmine ways.
Here comes tomorrow in its dusky haze.
I have seen the future; she’s ours to sprout.
Where so much is known today, I decree
To stay a great surprise, most so to me.


Lois is a poet and student from England. She is studying the literature of the Romantics and hopes their values and innovations will filter through into her own work. She is working on longer projects at present, with a hope to publish poetry collections and novels in the years to come. She is a feminist, an nostalgic optimist, and a quiet voice in the shadows of Joanne Baillie and Charlotte Smith. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkens.