September Update

Hello everyone, hope you’ve been well. Here’s another update of recent publications.

Various drabbles appear in the Legend of the Night series by Black Ink Fiction. 1 and 2

Two poems in Coven Poetry Issue 2

Three poems in the Fevers of the Mind poetry blog

A poem in the Pink Plastic House Haunted Dollhouse

Two poems in Sage Cigarettes Issue 7

And last but not least my story Good Coffee published in Stellium Magazine has been nominated for a Best of the Net award!

This is my first nomination for anything. Happy to share this with everyone and thank you for supporting the blog and it’s contributions.

More is on the way. Continue doing well in these trying times, and once again

Thank you.

Surface Level

When you’re around I don’t feel so down

I know that isn’t deep

Surface level, I am the same

We wade

Why worry of the deep?

There’s nothing there for us

When we wade it feels like time is kind

Time is a lifeguard

Making sure we don’t drown

In a dangerous place

False Date Memory

A first date

Vendor gives a cone for free

You offered to pay

I said that was dumb

Mistake number one

This day was a dream

A small one

It was innocent

All so free

I now know

What a long time ago means

Day Mares

Day mares

Worse than night

At day you think you’re safe

At night you know you’re not

Day creeps up on you

And screams in your face

Just to let you know

You’re alive

Zebra / Horse

A zebra gallops wild and free, somewhere far away from me.

Somewhere near, a horse dreams lyrically

This dream mirrors reality, though different indeed.

When the zebra sleeps it dreams the horse’s dream.

Knowing the dream is not only that, the zebra sleeps in peace.

However, the horse cries an awful neigh, tossing, turning.

These two will never meet.
These two can never meet.

If so, it would only be in dream.

One would have to wake
With wanting neighs of drifting hay

On this day one seems to gallop
All the wanting thoughts

Small Lessons

The man before me

Is now dead and gone

But lessons taught

Will live on and on.

Bookish

A barefoot book, open and clean with a beautiful spine

Her pages were soft and sweet.

He read her story, inside and out, front ways and back.

Yet still she threw him out.

His eyes felt too much, his fingers tasted too often.

He did not know these acts to be intrusion, unwanted attention

That some books wish not to be read

Quiet Now, Noise

It’s dark

I hear a noise

Be it person or beast?

I do not know

I listen and wait

In waiting I am still, I am afraid.

It’s quiet now

Time is unmoved

This quietness: a personal tomb.

Sweet Inspiration

Oh,

You do inspire me so

Eyes are filled with lust

Pen moves in hand

Like a crazed man’s dance,

Brain all toffee and mush.

Not to Blame

The child was not to blame

For the splitting couple

Though the child felt at fault

The child grew in separate homes

Influenced by both parents

Carving a path

Finding a place

In this quaking world

Oh Person

You’re the shadow

Of a much more interesting person

It’s unfortunate how you’ve regressed

Oh person, if that’s what you are

Won’t you leave me be?

I’ve seen so many places

Those places don’t involve you

Therefore, they are better for me

Oh person, don’t you see?

You’re unneeded now

I’m happy

I’m where I want to be.

Plugged In

I plug in, am now in reality, a quite different one, yet still the same.

People are here, also plugged in, their minds elsewhere in a digital world.

Bodies are here, souls sucked optically.

Zombies talk and feel, they don’t know reality.

Humans plugged in, unattached from machines.

So, I say, am I the same?

I am, I say, I am the same.