“Cherry Black Blood” by Kay Bess

Let’s outgrow our selves and be something bigger
Let’s forget them who ruined us, and be new and ripe and sweet
Let’s not go to a grave of their making
Let’s not let them win.

They cut from us our youth and beauty
But we know better, you and I
Though we crack and moan in winter’s rime
Our perennial Spring will soon become.

You’ll be my sun, and I’ll be your rain
We’ll soak up and stir and spill into each other
Climbing, reaching, blooming our way
To maybe, to somehow, to yes.

By the dogged and cherry black blood that teems through my veins
I swear I’ll never take your heart from you.
I will love you and the fruit of your future yet to be born on your steep stone hill
Not for what it might give me, but for what it’s given you –
Birthed in your dreams, formed by your hands –
Hope… promise… life.

Kay Besswww.sometimeslife.com

© 2008

“Encounter with a Vampire” by Mitch Hicks

My eyes closed for a short spell as I recounted the following:

Oh the howls of a cruel remorseless wind bellowing at thy brethren.

Kleptomania sweeps along a moving shadow stealing souls.

Yet for some there will be no equanimity.

Gnosticism warns of incubus.

Sounds of claymores clashing unyielding.

Alas not one ounce of compassion.

Blood flowing scented molecules abound.

The lone black figure sparkles a fang of brilliant white flashes past anomalous.

Just a shimmer of subconscious awakes.

Legs now fill with osmium.

Uncanny spirits hover above.

Intuition spells out danger.

Bilious takes a hold then ponderously stumbles.

Yowl in terror at the supernatural aura.

For a Vampire tyrannical crossed my path.

Photo & Poem by Mitch Hicks – U.K.

All Rights Reserved


“Over, There” by Matthew Hetznecker

A shepherd’s farm littered with tin cups.
A pond grew up form a mortar
and in it two fingered bones
draw circles in the brown water

A crooner’s voice whirls like
yellow smoke, bitter and chocked
from a window four miles away.

A Catherine’s wheel or chariot rides
on a sky too dark.
Something small
crawls under
a horse’s rib and rest
his head inside it’s throat.

A green wool coat stained
with mud and blood,
tightens around
a rope on a tree.

Barren hills with pillbox hats
and orange plums
that spit,
with a rhythm that marks the time.

A whistle blows, and a wave
of green or blue unearths itself.

Rattle Crack, ricochet and thud.
Yells and moans, it’s 4 pm again.

There’s a line in a channel of dirt.
A shifting moving millipede of
a creature, it peers over the rim
into a world.

A photograph, a girl with hands
folded in her lap.
She wears black coat with a laced sleeve peeking out.
A blade,
pierces the top and a time piece is wrapped around the handle.

On a rusted, curled razor wire is a
It beats like a wing with the breezes.
An honest flag,
blue bays of wishes, walks, caresses
and kisses.

An angrier god,
One who knew this farm as wood,
full of nightmares.
Woke up from idyllic sleep, cut open
the pasture.
Lay bear a wound,
and claimed his children.

Matthew Hetznecker

Photo by VC Ferry

All Rights Reserved

© 2009