JUMP-Rana Kelly/2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning

2nd star to the Left, straight on 'til morning

I love a fucking rush.
And so I had some hopes.
Last ticks on my list,
If that would fit.
Dive with White sharks
Jaws snapping.
Their
Jagged teeth
A split second from
Dismembering me.
I wanted to dive
Down in a glass casket
Stare in
Crocodilian eyes.
Watch them
Calculate and measure
Where
To bite to best
Take their pleasure.
Jump out of a plane
And flip a coin
On the chute
Straddle a Ducati
Wrapped tight
In leather
On a crowded street.
I wanted to dive
Off high cliffs
Into the roiling sea
Become a monster
Or a madwoman,
If only I am free.
Feel real fear
Eat my mortality.
Take into me
My frailty
But after I met you,
I learned what great
Heights really feel like
The terror
Euphoria
Strange, that.
All I had to do
Was feel like this.
I think I trust you.
So…

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indie support saturdays – tony & nicole i. nesca

Canadian Author Throws Literary Rulebook Out of Window, Releasing “Rebellious” Book of Short Stories that Captures Life’s Boundless Tapestry.

(Please note: all written content of this post is by
PR.com, and Tony Nesca, of Screamin’ Skull Press.)

The whopping sixteenth book by Tony Nesca, ‘Junkyard Lucy’ is a bold and intense collection of stories that free-flow to cover everything from sex and death to rebellious youths, music and love. It’s all part of Nesca’s mandate to wage war on literary mediocrity, stand out from the crowd and compel readers to cut to the core of what it really means to be human.


EXCERPT FROM JUNKYARD LUCY, “THE BOY, THE GIRL, THE FLOWERPOT IN THE SKYWAY.”:

It wasn’t so much the people he worked with that he hated, it was people in general – he went through all the proper motions, all the expected pleasantries, but still it came out all wrong. Nor did people like him. He didn’t bring out hatred in them, just a sort of disinterest, a boredom of types. Which he returned in abundance. He liked girls, liked their legs, their clothes, their minds, but could not muster the courage, the desire to actually interact with them. Still, they were more interesting than the boys. He often wondered how different they would feel if they actually knew him, if they saw how sensitive he was, if they saw that he was more like them.

And what if they knew that he wrote poetry at night, beautiful, haunting street poems that any editor would kill to publish, but that he kept hidden as a punishment for the stupidity of the world.

Yet, there was one girl, yes, there was one.


WORD MUSIC
By Tony Nesca

deadly silence got me low-down-hungry
thinking about that hot-dog stand on the dismal corner
beside the old beggar hand extended
16 year old virgin in hot-pants looking mad-bad-dangerous
crimson fireball streaking across the sky
middle-aged hooker front tooth missing
she beckoning my weary ass one I love absent in world-gone-hungry
Dixieland trio singing happy songs amidst angry
downtown laughter low-down drug-mood feeding me
blue music pornography rattling my brains
wrap your lips around my broken heart happy
whiskey bottle-shards hitting the off-keys feel that
fucked-up saxophone tickling your ribs
atom-bomb-luvly feed me sin-soaked dead flowers on my grave
warm kisses moonlight smiles
her distant touch,
her long-dead-musings,
her love-gone-missing,
her hips arching in the afternoon lust-dance,
and your blue velvet beauty grinding away from me
in the gutter-love sunlight…


(Read the press release for Tony Nesca’s book “Junkyard Lucy” and more information about Screamin’ Skull press, Nicole I. Nesca, and Tony Nesca below!)

Continue reading “indie support saturdays – tony & nicole i. nesca”

Imaginationland-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas

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The supermarket near where we live is flooded but we make the trip anyway. The aisles are full of driftwood and our clothes soaked but it’s no big deal because we have pizza and beer and we are young and free. I’m smoking, and although it’s just a few, you don’t like it and threaten to stop coming around but you never stay true to your word so I carry on regardless. When we pass through the shopping centre and look through the windows at all the things we can’t afford you squeeze my hand and whimper. You want jewellery and clothes and candles and books and cuddly toys in all shapes and sizes. You with that look on your face. Those puppy-dog eyes you pull knowing I’m a sucker for emotion. When we’re moving through the park I tell you there’s a place we belong far away from those…

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vices, and how their voices echo between us.-Ari Purkayastha-Fallen Alone

Fallen Alone

wp-1489064572806.jpgi have been passive smoking your grief for what seems like years now- what could have easily been months or weeks or mere days, but time walks slowly when you’re mourning the death of someone who was never awake, enough to know the effort it took to raise your lungs against gravity.

we’re falling down- wingless, and without care of how much it might hurt when the earth fucks redemption into our bones. we’re falling down like static electrons- restless and unwanted- experimental, in ways that churn the guts of men hungover half a shot of misery with a few drops of tequila.

love has always churned my gut, but longing- longing rips the skin off my muscles, and sews them into the tiny shards of bones skewered through my heart, making a facade of a spiderweb that has always spelled your name.

something beats inside my chest today, something…

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indie support saturdays – fundead publications is seeking poetry submissions about SALEM

(Please note: The written content/imagery of this post belongs to FunDead Publications.)

FunDead Publications is now accepting poetry submissions about Salem,MA, or poems SET IN Salem, MA.  Submissions for this collection close April 30th, 2017.  While we enjoy many forms of poetry, we are specifically looking for classic styles, especially poems that tell a story, history, lore, or folk tale revolving around our home city of Salem.  We welcome poems about witch culture in Salem, but we’d also love story poems about the spice trade, pirates, or literary history.  We’d also love poems about the cemeteries, or or other spooky locations in Salem.   Remember, we are a horror publisher, so the darker the better!  Think: The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes, The Lady of Shalott by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, ANY POEM by Edgar Allen Poe, Rain on a Grave by Thomas Hardy, A Reminiscence by Anne Brontë. While poetry does not have to rhyme, we do enjoy when it does, but it is not a requirement for this anthology.

Instructions: Send your submission by midnight on 4/30/17 to DearFunDead@gmail.com for consideration with “Salem Poetry Submission” as the subject line, but please read our guidelines below!

Content Requirements:  Poems must revolve around the subject of Salem, MA, be set IN Salem, MA, or discuss Salem, MA.  All forms of poetry, traditional or free verse will be considered for print, though we are partial to traditional styles.  We’d like to try to keep pieces below 2200 words each, so please keep this in mind as you write.  We will allow up to TWO submissions per person for this anthology. Unfortunately, we are unable to accept reprints at this time.

Required Information:  Please include your first and last name, phone number, e-mail address, and mailing address on your submission.  When sending us your poem, please include information about yourself and your writing/publishing history in the body of the e-mail, as well as any other relevant information.

Payment:  Accepted submissions will be awarded payment in the way of $5 upon printing. It may not be much, but we are a small and humble press just getting our start and it’s all we can offer at this time apart from our excellent social media promotion and beyond. If your submission is accepted, you will also receive a printed copy of the anthology!

Response Time: Please be aware that it may be six to eight weeks before you receive a response from FunDead Publications, and because we are so tiny, sometimes we get a little behind.  As the poetry anthologies do not have a set release date and a slower and lower submission level, you may not hear back until we have set the official release date (which will be announced by April at the latest).

Diversity Statement: We at FunDead Publications believe diversity is what makes fiction wonderful and unique and we welcome submissions from writers of every race, religion, nationality, gender, and sexual orientation.

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Final blues for the bloodied youth-Howl Davies/The Sounds Inside

The Sounds Inside

I started out watching from afar, the humiliation, the panic, the generational famine,
I wish I could con myself to identify as a flâneur, but the word sickens me,             leaves me
Stricken with the sense of observation without acting, as I’m watching others pounding the hard rock
With bloodied knuckles, repeating, repeating, leaving stain after stain for the sake of the action,
And I join in, and I let it strip at the flesh, leaving bruised bloodied knuckles to remind me of it,
And the act is there – but we aren’t doing shit, we’re persevering, surviving, waiting for
The night to roll around, shotgun, south bound, in the Argo of our own sort, wound up to hide
The scrapes and the dents and the cuts and the ruptures, and I miss my cue and we’re backseat, and hungry
And we’re looking for paradise lost, just waiting to get fucked…

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