A New Poem by David Lohrey – After Providence (1977) thevoicesproject.org


David Lohrey, author of the forthcoming book of poetry Machiavelli’s Backyard, which will be published by Sudden Denouement,  has a new poem published via The Voices Project. The title of the poem is After Providence (1977). Please take a second to read and share David’s wonderful poem. It seems that many people are coming to understand what we already know, David is a poet of the highest order. It is exciting to see him finding an audience. David is smart, and kind man possessing incredible wit and wisdom.


a messy letter to my child

lois e. linkens


i catch glimpses of you
on the high street
in the supermarket
in the park.
each day, i feel the touch
of your pea-sized toes
and the grip of your precious fingers,
beckoning me in longing,
in hope.

to know that someday
i will hold you and tell you
the stories that are
just tears and laughter to me now
makes my useless life
a fairy-tale

you will be
the sole reader
of my greatest story,
and then my greatest story
will be you.

but i hear you,
i see your brimming eyes
and your trembling bottom lip –

why did you have me
if you know our world was soon to end?’

my face fades.
i feel my heart dropping
below my lungs
that burn in the heat
of our aching planet

how can i answer that?
how could i be so selfish,
to let my own desire,

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Silent Infestations

Insights from "Inside"

when we whisper

in the naming

of agony

we birth cockroaches

that scuttle through the walls

dropping diseased


on our plates

while we sleep

when we hide

our wounds

under brightly painted

smiling rugs

we are sweeping vermin

into our abodes

incubating infestations

that crawl


our naked limbs

when we camouflage

our trauma

dress it prettily

as over-reacting

lacy concoctions

hysterical feminine

leather wiles

we breed amanita

brilliantly toxic


upon which we

perch daintly

ankles crossed

when we function



the rocks

upon which

legions lean

or clean

their dirty boots

day after burdensome day

we step over

rancid feces


on our thresholds

strewn across our hearths



scamper off

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A Conversation, Colored Lonely

Insights from "Inside"

(written in collaboration with the inimitable Lois E Linkens)

it is at night,
when the silence screams the loudest.
when the curtains are drawn,
and the candle snuffed –
the air is burnt,
with the orange glow
of the blackened wick.
a single star
in an empty sky,
a tiger’s eye
in the witching forest,
a lonely car
on the midnight highway.

in the daylight

the silence is shushed

its horns ground down

under the trampling of the day

it finds kindred spirits

lurking in the pauses

poised to pounce

between hither and yon

a rabid Chimera

intent on foiling its captors

it is at night,
when the silence grows its wings;
when it becomes
arms and fingers
that squeeze and squash,
leaving their purple stains
across my skin.
so tomorrow,
i’ll cover up –
for what does loneliness wear,
when it wants to make a friend?

in the daylight


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RamJet Poetry


In turn, interment

Interim intermittent

Enter, around the winter

The saints shake stones

Sharing the stories of

Impertinent youth

Impairing reasons, deliverance

Casual impersonation

Impermanence inspired

Taking tolls from souls

Imparting partitions

In parts unknown

interspersed envisions

envision immanence

Immaculate, inking

Incisions to grasp

Cold bone introductions

Inhabit inhibitions

Imprison, impartial

Improvising provisional

Empirical formulae

Interruption of vision

Inexact injuries

Idolized immolation

Infancy impinges upon

Impending implosion

Influx immunity

I or eye or i.e.










I or me or we or you or them or us or they or he or she or me or I

Or You

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Yes, I Remember You

The Lithium Chronicles

Yes, I remember you.
I remember the hitch
and the gasp before
my veins opened up
into fields upon fields
upon barren wastelands.
I remember how thunder felt
that night when a thousand
wild stallions carried my pulse
around the mountains of my bones
and placed it where I hoped
I would never remember you again.

© Nicole Lyons 2017

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The Bastardization of Valkyries

I am a poet! I am. I am. I am a poet, I reaffirmed, ashamed.

According to the author,
Valkyries became more appealing characters
when their true natures
were bastardized with the times
they went from warrior demons
to sultry, yet virginal servants
of endless meat and mead
their snowy skin, blonde hair flowing
constantly, helplessly
falling in love with the men
they were serving
instead of fiercely killing them.

According to the author,
this vulnerability
is certainly more appealing.
But the new Valkyrie
(according to the obvious, the poet, the feminist)
is a travesty that sends me reeling

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