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The Work of Mothers – Anna Laura Reeve

Yes. Find more of this poet’s work here:
http://www.annalaurareeve.com/

Vita Brevis Press

Mother with Children – Gustav Klimt

A mother has a soul.
A soul needs

to walk uninterrupted down the train
and through each car,

emerging alone at the balcony
of the last car, steel shrieking,

black night opening
suddenly like a blade

or black parachute, sucking loose hats, change,
dust, into it,

divulging nothing. A soul
has seasons.

It practices death and rebirth. Its hair
grows lush,

then sheds; its love fills, then empties;
it dies absolutely

to the ground, but a root persists; or,
even roots wither

in drought, but a seed-case
swells—

then shatters—
dropping one seed.

A door slides open. White bones
turn, lightened & expressionless,

to re-enter the last car.

Anna Laura Reeve is a poet living in East Tennessee with her husband, daughter, and heirloom vegetable & native plant gardens. She’s working on her first poetry collection. Previous work of hers has appeared or is…

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Cancer Scare – Kevin Blankinship

Stunning work by a local poet and educator, Kevin Blankinship. Enjoy~

Vita Brevis Press

Landscape with two goats – Paul Gauguin

A flash somewhere, then suddenly
ponds that sprout starflower and shrub,
jasmine and beard lichen, spreading white fingers.
Rustling—here comes a net of curved horns
criss-crossing against each other, sturdy,
brown scythes moving slow.

The herd stops and looks. Now the world
is calm. See—no steps. Only the wind
pushing a branch caught on another branch. 
And then soft screams. They rise from
little mouths wet with mucus and tears.
The wild goats weep like a drone of hornets.

There—on the ground between grasses
and hooves, there spreads another pond.
Crimson, carmine, precious. Red sulphur
painting the dull rocks till they shine
like gold. Skinny legs set at hard
right angles, piled up unnaturally still.

Tan yellow fur ripped from skin
by a canine tooth and jaw—it dusts
the stone like fresh fallen snow.
Then, up the plain comes
the howling of hounds…

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No Secrets by J.A. Carter-Winward

I admit, I had to go back and read the last two lines of the book.

Yeah… they’re hilarious. #IfIdosaysomyself

Shout out to The Gnome Appreciation Society! MWAH!

Gnome Appreciation Society

28441320What Da Cover Says:  No Secrets is the second volume of Carter-Winward’s genre defying writing that is part poetry, part fiction, part memoir and all told with a clarity that does not allow secrets. These short pieces tell us the stories many of us hide, even from ourselves.

What I Says:  Another fine collection by the amazing Queen Mother cunt. (QMC)

The last book I read by the QMC was “No Apologies” a very angry collection, no holds barred, it was really in your face. No Secrets is calmer, it reads like you have sat down for a coffee with her and she is telling you stories from her life, from abusive husbands, sexual conquests, children and religion to some very moving poems about her mum. I don’t think there is a single weak poem in the lot, every single one gets a response from the reader.

The…

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Casey Renee Kiser

There’s music to the edge of this sword. A fantastic poet, find her chapbooks on Etsy, and of course, her poetry on HSTQ.

Horror Sleaze Trash

I’ve Lost My Head and Gained Sight

he thought the head he gave
would have me razzle-dazzled
like the others
he thought the head he gave
would make my mind frazzled
when he ghosted
he thought the head he gave
would be all he needed to kill
my spirit one day
let’s hope someone comes
and changes that bulb of his,
that dull, dull light

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solstice

Comes full circle, thank goodness…

Writing in Blood

48GoodbyeBlueSky (2)Goodbye, Blue Sky, JAcW Photography©

solstice

it is the longest of nights
and there is comfort in
this blanket of black.

it reminds me that we were all once
beholden to it.

and so
i honor this darkness.

when i paint
i start with a black canvas.

when i write
i start with a black page.

i bring in one pinpoint of light at a time
and as your eyes adjust to one,
i bring in another.

soon there’s cohesion in
the daubs of illumination
on canvas, on page, and
if you step back—if you see the whole
of what I raise from my depths—
you’ll feel the warmth of the sun
as it brings your skin
to life with its

promise of dawn.
but first, always—

i honor the dark.

~j.a. carter-winward

work in progress: poems and dialogues
(Coming Soon)

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