Via Dolorosa- Bishop Hermes                                               

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Via Dolorosa- Bishop Hermes

Walk do we sluggishly
Dragging our mistakes shortcomings regrets
Ever so slow and closely behind
Pleading that it will not
Come along side or skip ahead
Our crosses displaying the horrendous
For the multitudes to see and scoff at
They drat through there clenched teeth
Not understanding they will soon
Too be on exhibit
But what will our Golgotha render us
Who won’t break then fad away
Our crosses will transfigure
The grotesque into the beauteous
If we embrace them without buffering
And find our hope as we travel down
The way of suffering

© Bishop Hermes 2017

[Bishop Hermes is an poet/musician who resides in the Houston area. He has wonderful poetic sensibilities, and we are honored by his participation.]

Swarming Voyage to Impregnate the Five King Hermits

Charlie Zero/Charlie Zero The Poet

Charlie Zero The Poet

Onomatopoeia stolid –
moon dryer glockenspiel,
Cicada puffs the imagery –
behold the smokeless chrome.

Who exodus meatballs?

Youthful anchorite –
halo glued your chasm
and it spoke discretionally –
thoroughly, mouthed, & sine.

Impregnate voyage…
birth screams…
and the five king hermits clap.

Carmelite queens…
Mascara sperm authenticity…

Meanwhile,
Elijah grooversim
stirred the record possessed –
back to envy
back to subsequent.

The author in you –
disturbed by electronic samsara,
castanets gasp
comb the air backwards
its patapinion licking blear.

Leonhard Euler –
reciting websites,
to mammal feeding…
to Captain mythical crabs…
to Moses four-footed committee braids.

Pet the harking bishop –
of swarming empires
eating at Cistercian eremitic.

Archduke Exuvia –
you Faustian clone,
don’t mention the tenth wrinkle.

Pentateuch diaphoresis –
its rings shy
as fly-infested cenobium.
Trappist Camelopardalis,
decameron spite foe,
away you, dice this facile motley just.

Copyright © 2017 Charlie Zero the Poet

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With Starlight For Dessert

Ward Clever & Aurora Phoenix

Ward Clever

Written in comments, of all places, with the amazingly talented Aurora Phoenix at Insights from “Inside”

We’ve been eating word salad
With obfuscation vinaigrette
At a table set with bewilderment
In a confuse booth
With the daze de resistance
And an after-dinner cafe misto-fied
Will we ever get our just desserts?

He set it up
And she fell for it
He caught her just in time
Buckling his legs
Stopping them both at the last second, with a wink
She swoons, overcome with giggling
He gently lifts her to her feet,
And with his smile promises
He’ll never let her fall
She hesitates…..smiles in return
Arm in arm, they go off to look for champagne
Since they are feeling bubbly
And effervescent
They toast in silly self reference
Giggling at everything, the bubbles tickling their noses
Sipping tendrilled wisps of joy
In due course
In the afters
Before the accomplish…

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Am I Still Here?/Jasper Kerkau & Nicole Lyons

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

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Emaciated by tortured flowers,
Bored expressions of expired emotions.
Stinging, charred words
dangling in thick air,
poisoned by expectation
Withered and violated
by meaningless conversation
he speaks softly,
vapid illusions
she lingers,
listens,
slowly decaying—
death beckons

I am still
here, pacing
through doorways
under a fluorescent sun.
My battle
cries flat,
pulled to hang
grotesquely
from cracked lips
plied into
an accommodating smile.
I am still
here, existing
behind shadows
inside a false twilight.
Or perhaps
I have eclipsed.
I am still.
Am I still here?

They don’t see me
swallowing knives as
they dance and laugh,
popping balloons while
I ingest their poison,
burning with acidic words
stinging the back of my throat,
I smile and nod to the world
look past the back-slapping
and soft kisses,
I disappear while they dine
on superficial conversation,
slivers of gold mixed with
trivial condiments smeared
over their delicacies.
The belching…

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When the Bough Breaks-S Francis/SailorPoet

sailorpoet

Meet me at the skeleton tree, Nick
I want to tell you about my girl,
Knew her just well enough to miss.
This feeling inside me, imagine
A vase shattered on the hearth.
Did I know her well enough to miss?
Memory has sought refuge above at night
Up late with the ghosts of regret, they rattle
Chains linking moments that cannot steal back.

Can I miss her?

Her tiny body, bathed in blood,
Drowned in dissolved organs.
Her eyes still stare me into hiding.

Through glassed eyes and skeleton tears
One not known for words, just his essence
Wraps me in strong arms, “I know.”

We know now.
He held his baby boy.
Rocking him after the bough broke.

Image: Berthe Morisot, The Cradle, 1872

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Themes for Disappearing-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

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While taking a bath, the sound of wind chimes comes to me through the window and for some reason, I feel like crying. Closing my eyes, I see her dancing in a void, and the delicate beauty of it is reminiscent of the sensation of a moth’s wings tickling the insides of my clasped hands. She reaches out. She collapses. She blooms. Sometimes she scratches and when I prise open my fingers she’s not there and neither is the moth but the void is still near and as the wind chimes chime and the branches of the trees call my name she is still with me like the shadow she is. The days are long and the sky mostly empty and the hours consist of mundane work and memories and fire and the lips of women and the words they force me to write and the subtle humming of ghosts…

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A Suitable Period of Mourning-Christine Ray/Brave and Reckless

Brave and Reckless

I do not have a closet

full of mourning clothes

I have never

inked the names of my dead

on my tender forearms in black

in solemn homage

The list too long

My arms too short

to box with god

I am a motherless child

who grieved

too long

for the comfort of others

Left me wondering if grief

is considered contagious

a virus?

What is the suitable period of mourning

for loss of my identity

as daughter?

as granddaughter?

We do not mention pregnancy losses

As if they don’t count

don’t matter

as though the hopes

the dreams

we embraced for those little balls of cells

were weightless

mere dandelion fluff

in the breeze

We are left

standing alone

in contemplation

of our empty arms

Is a man who never held his breathing child still

a father?

A widowed woman still a wife?

A boy who has lost his…

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