2020 Eligible—Colleen Anderson

Long Poems

masquerade

The passageway is a harvest—clothing and hooks.Brass shows its age in the amber shineas she removes one of a hundred coats kept for all occasions.

When she leaves on a coldand damp as whale tears dayshe pulls on the plastic coat of lemon and orangebright enough to shock away the clouds.A shawl rustles, quiet walksunder trees as lush as romance novelsobserving lovers at their ritual.A tailored coat of wine-colored melton insulatesas she hunts through stores containing a wealth of forms she cannot touch.

For every situation there is a coat:The worn at the elbows, dreary-as-the-day-is-long coat suitable for testing in the lab.The no-nonsense denim jacket for buying hardwaresuch as another hook, wires, circuit boards for repairs.She mounts the hook in the aluminum corridor mounded in textile waves, insulating against Earth’s cold.There she adds a new acquisition, another layer.When she checks the hydroponicsshe is aware of the neighbor’s burrowing lookswears her I-want-to-be-left-alone-botanistI’m-working-with-the-earth, floral coat.The slick black leather with the slim twists of metal that murmur a mysterious languageguides her into dangerous territorieswhen she stops to take a little DNA.

Even in that outer world her coats eventually sag, lose shape.It is then she retreats to her shipcocooned with cotton and linen and wool and leather and silk and rayon and vinyl and suede as soft and enfolding a womb as she could want when crawling out of the worldback to where she belongs.

/2

Masquerade cont.

The engine purrs as she seals the hatchremoves her coat, gives it to the waiting hook’s arm then steps out of her dress.But she does not hang it on that last bare spot farthest from the world outside.She reaches up behind her ear, digs with calloused fingerinto flesh cooled by a yellow sun.Her other hand reaches to her belly, fingers bore into navel and the downy skin above.She pulls slowly, smoothly, removing in one piecethe last raiment that covers her attempt at cloaking.

Bared, she awaits a new skin to be woven, madefabricated into the being she needs to be when nextshe lands and is moored in masquerade.

52 linesOnSpec #115 Vol 31 No 1, Dec. 2020

https://onspecmag.wpcomstaging.com/current-issue/

SNOW WHITE’S APPLESA bulimic knowsthere are two ways to consumeone is not to eat at allthe other, take the world into yourself sins, joys, painsthe full sensory experiencebut not grow fat on it but purge again and again... for balance, feel despair so that joy is all the richerwhen devoured guiltlessly again

Starved for love or a word of praiseSnow White sought out something to fulfilltook the path of runaways, of precocityof survivors from broken homesnot all girls who run endure or find peaceshe managed lodgings with men of splintery mienstriving to be gentlemen all the samebut good intentions and preordained destinies can still go astray

In hunger to fill a need, hide her shameSnow White was tempted by an applethe oldest crop seeded in memory

a blush of thought on the tree of life or abundant knowledge of good and evilshe saw in the mirror, the roseate lieherself a hybrid queen filled with envywho tried to join the halves togetherobliterate the exposed bruised side

Those apples had special weightever since time beganthe first fruit a sweet tease leavingthe bitter aftertaste from the corea weighty illicit craving, a dark desirefor savoring a beginning neverendingfor going beyond safe borders

How could she resistin the end her wish bloomed truethe desire of all who seek eternityan apple poisoned with all of timeSnow White bit and chewed and chokedthen fell into a suspended worldthat her predecessor had long knowna goddess once, who may have droppedjust as windfall apples do from the wind's lecherous touch

Idunn of the golden apples won hardharvester’s knowledge and full of powershe never punished, only rewarded the giftthat kept on giving, endless life, youth, beautyGods grow bored when millennia passIdunn and the Norse sailed onto other realmsleaving a distillation, an elixira breath of remembering in the apples of Midgard

Fairy tales are the memories of gods long gonewishes of mortals for what can never beSnow White frozen in her world of in-between received the eternal gift but not as it once had beenShe was stuck between the realmsneither dead nor alive, preserved for all timeuntil the day some random princeheimliched her back to life

She has spent an eternity sandwichedinto film and print, but wanting neither

immortalized yet seeking always seekingan apple that will give her a taste of a love that’s not foreseenthat destiny cannot touch, something naturalthat happens on a whimlike apples falling from a tree

Polu Texni, Apr. 2020, http://www.polutexni.com/?p=10602

THE LOOKING GLASS

Revealed as volcanic glass and deep lakesthe pin-dot speck of contemplation from the human eye, the mirror imitates by way of vanity, Celts polished brass enough to reflect their glories when the sun shone auspiciously

Egyptians, Greeks, Phrygians all have walked forwardto peer at their image, know themselvesgazing into pools, brass, copper andgleaming pieces of glass, then backed by silverthe looking glass revealed one’s true worththe color of one’s mien even if not golden

Long after Narcissus was ensnared his lovely guise rippling in a pondAlice found a mystical gateway mirrorphased through and fell into awakeningwhile Snow White was a victim of conspiracieswhen a prophetic mirror dared to dictate the futurethe fear of seven years or an eternity of bad luck

Alice took the invitation to dive into her inner self slide past the sharp-edged stern upbringingdiscover ferocious roses, rampant cardsand a crazed, demanding queen crammed into her underworld

Snow White’s red queen lived beyondthe mirror, never truly looked withinbut glared at tapestries woven with dreamsvisions of chastity, immortal youthneither of which she could achieve againexcept through sorcerous envy

If you asked her, she would sayit was all for Snow White’s good and growth

to give her depth, to strengthen virtuesas she lay bound in faceted crystala reliquary that let her look upon the worldbut never touch it through the glass

Alice chose while Snow White was pushedneither expected the twisted inside-out worldthe mirror’s shards cut a path between two lands, one where blood flows from the cutfor a looking glass is not a windowlooking in nor looking out

Mirrors are one way only, looking forwardno matter how we peer into the pastwishing, dreaming for what once wasthey reflect lives passing by, moving on Alice and Snow White blindly took the leap onto a spark of light that continues to the future

Illumen Spring 2020, https://www.hiraethsffh.com/product-page/illumen-spring-2020

THREE’S THE CHARM

The first time someone kissed herbeyond familial fealtywas to bestow protection

The good witch laid her charmlips like a cool dewy tear from the northern lands she nurtured in her winter years, advice and patiencea crone’s wisdom she hoped to conferstaining Dorothy’s forehead

But that brand worked in oppositionas spells of complimentary magic often doIt sparked an ember burning softlythrough the farm girl’s visionfiring her to find a way home

She had not yet discoveredthat every path that’s left behind can never be traced againeach step changes who you werepropelling you from the familiar

The next kiss in the Emerald city’sblush, ripe color flushed everythingin promise and growth Dorothy viewed the girl clothing her in silk

a dress prettier than gemsShe kissed the maiden on the lipsa butterfly’s flutter alighting in the castle for several days waitingtheir fingers explored the summer of their youthblossoms opening amidst indolent sighs

She said it was for goodbyeyet was stingy with her kisses for anyone elsewho had guided her to the golden roadbut gave freely to the girlwho pressed garments and food and heat into her hand

She thought more of that girl as the first kiss still permeatedimpregnating her heart with thoughtsthat shivered her limbs ‘til she was tornbetween going back to Kansas or on to Oz

She was never sure in years to comeif it was her wish or her desire kindled by a kiss that spurred her fingers pressed her lipsrooting for an imprint, a memory to stir to life her motivation

The last to kiss her in that enchanted placeGlinda, a fit ending to journey’s startThe southern witch oversaw her departurelike a mother bird, let Dorothy find her wingsbeat them against her kiss-warmed breast

The kisses three from crone and maidenmother all magic brimmed Dorothy brought to her womanhood’s glow she clicked her heels and set out to completethe circle, learning that it’s sometimes best to say goodbye to one life before moving on anew

She waved to Aunt Em and the farmset her back to the gray Kansas skythen went in search of the kissthat had released in her a maelstrom

Songs of Eretz Fantasy & Fairytale, Mar. 2020 http://www.songsoferetz.com/

TELLTALE MOON

Fish-belly Woman rocked on the porch,

looked to the stars and snorted.The stars stared, her needles click-clackedand ate up the finely spun thread.

Marshmallow Man bounced and fidgeted,chased licorice bugs on the steps.He plopped with a sigh, then winced and whined

“I think you’re overly dismissive.You must always respect those whose station is space.”

His fingers plucked lint from his puckered white navel.Fish-belly Woman rolled her eyes,laughed and spit into the night-dark dust.Marshmallow Man mauled the grime with his toes,scowled as the needles twisted and twined.Fish Belly Woman leaned out of her rocker,poked Marshmallow Man and replied,“The problem with you is you worry too much.Seal-face Girl will turn the world at her whim.No flowers or farts or chocolate burnt offeringswill stop this orb as it twirls.”

Marshmallow Man huffed and puffed till he tilted and yelled till the night shivered blue.“If Worm-eye Man and Satellite Girl heard what you said they’d uncurl.They would rumble and tumble the trees,

and the world would crack like a foul egg. Seal-face Girl would halt at their command

and your threads would scorch and your needles bend.Your plans would unravel and you’d be fried.”“Ho, ho, it’s not so,” chortled Fish-belly Womanand her pallid belly shimmered and shook.“Satellite-Girl moves beyond their reach,spinning to deep space crooning.Worm-eye Man keeps his views to himselfand cares only for what I reveal,and he’s never complained of it yet.”

Marshmallow man squinched down on his rump.“Well, I think he would if he knew what you think.So I’ll tell him you mock the earth and the stars,

and all of us who work through the night and the day.”Fish-belly woman yawned, then smiled.“Like me, he always gets what he wantsand cares little for ways and means.You upset my stomach with your officious plansand your trilling makes the night noxious.”She squinted and clacked her needles in a flurry,worked quickly forth and back as she twisted the threads.“It’s time for you to spin on—spin out your yarn someplace where it will do less harm.In fact, I’ll help send you on a grand journey.”

Then she pulled out bright scissors and clipped the fibers,and reached deftly for Marshmallow Man’s leg.She wound thick wool about his ankles and toes.Secured with a knot, she then blew up a strong windand tossed Marshmallow Man into the sky.“You can holler your complaints until the rainbow rings true.”Marshmallow Man whimpered and gaped.He waved stubby arms in the strobelight sky

as he floated through Satellite Girl’s space.Fish-belly Woman poked at her nose and grinned.From her flower print bag, she grabbed a new strand.Marshmallow Man’s cries bled the night black.She shook her head as he bobbed and soared through Worm-eye Man’s lairbetween laughing stars brimming bright.Satellite Girl awoke on her helixbisected Marshmallow Man’s orbit.She reached out and snagged the cord dark and frayed,twined it with starlight and hung it on the edge of the sky.

Marshmallow Man sniffled, the stars winked and sighed.

Satellite Girl twirled the stars till they twinkled in mirth until dawnand left Marshmallow Man bouncing forever.

Dreams and Nightmares #116, Oct. 2020, http://dreamsandnightmaresmagazine.blogspot.com/p/ordering-dreams.html

Short Poems

THOR’S HAMMER

Always a case of overcompensationhis mighty thews, sunspun hairnever enough, a surfer, jock in his father’s all-seeing eyeand Loki, always Loki whispering uncertaintiesthe slacker tech dude to the athlete

So Thor threw his hammer as far as he couldslammed it in frustration into mountains and Norn’s headsSome day when his fury is spent the blood and sinew driedwhen he’s not cracking open heavenMjolnir will return to him subduedPerhaps he will learn the gentler side of a hammer of the gods

for humans have mastered its humbler trade

Thor may then take up the cause use Mjolnir to beat metalform a shell oft called armorwhere he may dwell secure in godly mightuntouched by parental ridiculesibling rivalryor the questing mortal touch

Mirror Dance, Apr. 2020, http://www.mirrordancefantasy.com/2020/04/thors-hammer.html

ACCIDENTALLY, HE GIVES HER DREAMS

He says she is beauty, like Snow White in her crystalline chrysalis. Unlike Snow White, she will change. He cannot allow that, and pulls her close where none can reach her, a creature kept unto him alone.

She beats at him, but her fists are like silken wings. She cries out. He clasps her mouth, saying he will soothe her, and pushes her deeper, sows the earth with her flesh. Her strength is within if not without. She will find a way.

Light is eclipsed as soil fills her. Her mouth is sealed with the earth’s kiss—she struggles on. He tells her she is planted in his garden, that she is not even a memory without his tender care.Each day he cannot resist sitting nearby and speaking to her, buried in the loam. His words rain like fire on her mind and she dreams. Like Sleeping Beauty, time suspends her, tended by vines and roses that shroud her.

He hears quiet rustling and must check that she is as he left her. He shovels away the moist soil. She lays preserved perfectly. Something flutters under her gown. As he pulls back her shifting robe she is hollowed, bones evident, but something moves within. Her casing cracks and bioluminescence bathes her. The phthalo blue light expands, breaks apart and each thought, each dream flames, congealing into butterflies spent on velvet wings.

She has changed. Butterflies disperse upon a zephyr’s breath, seeding her through the world beyond his reach.

Engen Books, Kit Sora Photo Contest 3rd place, Apr. 2020 https://mailchi.mp/45ca381efbc3/chilling-new-anthology-teams-best-in-the-business-with-new-talent-2750094?fbclid=IwAR054is5cqVO4qTOYe8zeiYmjEr3NH-KwdwskluEI6MEwSsQxdXUfsNO3sY

TO THE CORE

trees, young saplings sproutfrom solid rock gougedby rivers and canyonsblistered by sun and furious stormstoughened graniteresists hammering

tremors

belowmagma slips and pulsesbetween rocksimmers about the core where all is molten blood and golda churning hubthe crust revolves

awake

the earth is fedfrom the corewherein all life of thoughtsbeginsstirsreturns to subside again within me

TERSE Journal, Mar. 2020, http://www.polutexni.com/?p=10602

SCHRODINGER’S BOX

Schrodinger's box had its formation long before a scientist poisoned a cat withinor maybe did not

The earliest box was not born of natureexcept from human thoughtthe brain’s convolutions up to no good First there was a cart but not before the horsethat became a container in which one hoarded treasures and trinkets the added lid locked from prying eyessaving fingers from taintor maybe not

The box became a home with cornersto hide secrets and shadows and later closets for skeletons

and forgotten ghosts in garretsburied far beneath the family plotor maybe not

The rooms, boxes within boxes were endless permutationsa labyrinth where domestic bliss festeredinto deadly events and people to frameinto a window, a box with no wallsyet capturedor perhaps not

Someone thought to perfectthose boxes, so many ways to containremove the sides and replace with barseven the black sheep heldfor indefinite periods of time while clandestine trysts became mere shadesor maybe they did not

So don't blame Schrodingerfor a lengthy line of crazed peoplecraving ownershipintent on secreting richesmemories or species for viewing or obsessingHe may have really killed the catand he may be in his own pine boxor maybe he is not

Really System #24, Jan. 2020, http://reallysystem.org/

TWINED

Midnight rituals, I dined with my other selfIn the mirror I searched for a kind other self

In Earth’s womb I excavate history’s storiesRemove cauls of rubble to find my other self

Verdant jungles drip earth’s sweaty vitalityTime seeded, I cut vines to bind my other self

This fossilized egg once birthed possibilitiesNow housing nothing, a rind not my other self

I have always felt this hollow, and my side achesSince my twin’s death I pine for my other self

Silver Blade 46, May 2020, https://www.silverblade.net/2020/05/twined/

CLEOPATRA

Have you ever felt the hungerAs if ants crawl in your bellyAs if an abyss consumes your soul

Have you ever felt the stingAs if an asp bites your breastAs if the world is ending in your heart

Have you ever felt the kissAs if lotus petals brush your cheekAs if the gods caress your thoughts

With each one I received the restA bounty that drains meMy blood seeps into the earthWraps me, feeds me so that I may rise again

Illumen Spring 2020, May 2020, https://www.hiraethsffh.com/product-page/illumen-spring-2020

PENNED BY MY HAND

I entered disguised to give her final testno threat, she crouched, clasped in ironher hidden truths torn out We now waited for confession

A sword no more can killnor a pen can writeShe laughed a sprayof blood and teeth

My fingers crossed to save my soulher glare as searing as the brandsused to bare the secrets she hoarded

A child cannot be a wrenbut can sing like oneShe hawked up frothy pinkYou’re not one of us

I cautiously askedYou mean a witch? Did she hex?

My feet retreated from her spittle

I brushed dirt and rat droppingsfrom meticulously tattered robes

Look around and you tell meA carpet cannot weave its patternHer eyes shuttered like an owl’sIt is your hand that holds the pen

Riddleswas she working magic?

Then why on God’s earthdid she not charm away her pain?

Cascadia Subduction Zone Vol. 10, #1, Mar. 2020, https://thecsz.com/

SPINNING WHEEL

Her handprint is upon this wheelI touch the coarse-gritted furrowssift through bones, ripening seeds

The wheel turns shadowed indentationswhere her fingers pressedfaintest tender green reachestoward the sun

She spins the wheel around its centerI kneel, press my nose intomoist soil, rainbow bloomsmusty decay, tangy aromasentwine within me

She pulls the wheelthrough the seasonI lick at fruity nectarsliding down my throatit fills me with lightI do not eat the bruisespush them back into the earth

I hear the wheel grinding onwardturning lightly rhythmic rumblingher voice silently whispersthere are no words for that which is beyond

wordsshe shows me as I roll

Upon this wheelthis turning earthI will grow and dieand learn to live again

Cascadia Subduction Zone Vol. 10, #1, Mar. 2020, https://thecsz.com/

BROKEN WORDS

How can she taste the morning dewwhen gore pools where her tongue once lived?

Earth’s soft richness slips from bloodied fingers

Blood and soil form red claySilence is mortared into the soul

How can she hear the breeze shake leaves when needles pierce eardrums with silence?

The crisp relief of flowing watercannot soothe feet caressed by blades

Needles for sewing stitch wordsand secrets into the flesh

How can she plead with trees that once knew herwhen branches are clubs that come for her head?

The forest forgets she plucked sweet comfrey as her fingers become twigs for the fire

Nests lie abandoned and burrows unfilledfriend watches friend with an eye for the oddWood is gathered but not to heat foodthe forest forms walls to hide human purpose

Women stand still, fear freezing their mouths.Power forms the bond that shackles her wrists.

Who will hear her words now that her body is broken?The living won’t talk and only hear what they wish.

Cascadia Subduction Zone Vol. 10, #1, Mar. 2020, https://thecsz.com/

FUTURE VISIONS

armored feet thunder thud and clunkearth tremorsrelentless as the stormthe robot army heaves into viewconquerors returninggleaming aluminum, brushed brassstar-bright eyes of glassexpressions eternally frozenpositron minds churning

once the bees of factories, homesoffices, shipyardsthey fled citieschoosing autonomy their only demandgranted to evade slaughter of the fleshborn

now they tread over wrapperscracked asphalt, dirtied carspeople hidden in a cloak of fearprepare for warrobots wait hours, daysunmoving, unmovable

timid as terrified micethe short straws appear see only robot overlordscreation exceeding creatorthe doomed bravely askwhat do they want after libertythese lightspeed thinking AIs

the robots replywe saw freedom busied our days perfectingtoo much buildingorganizing, planningpoliticking eats our conceiving star-spanning Da Vinci designswith menial tasks once more we will have time to create so please take us back

Starline 43.1, Feb. 2020, http://www.sfpoetry.com/sl/issues/starline43.1.html

HACKER HALLOWE’EN

Gena the hackersailed the netwayswarped lightyearspast other sluggish glides

Mistress of manipulationin binary overdrivelived hours in surreal spacenumbers circling thick as flies

People were her downfallslow-moving, erratic meatshe had little use for bodies but to keep her brain alive

An invite flashed her screena party in the fleshGena surfaced mystified mired in realtime gab

Hackers and compu-jocksmurmured technical intimationsa comment dropped in passingsnagged Gena like a virus

Within her cozy hacker home Gena wired, coded and computed data bytes, cells, diode lights microchips and nanophages

Gena genius, first to succeedplaced her construct on the porchfor howling Hallowe’entimetold tradition, the children came

Surprised by trick, the children gawked“Get off the porch, you little shits!”screamed her organic golemthey fled the shrieking horror

Gena texted her hacker friendsthey arrived to stare perplexed Gena smiled, proud parentThe construct eyed a sneaker

Orange, misshapen, red glowing eyes and hands of decaying green it pulled itself up on spindly legs and gnawed the nervous guests

Why, Gena, dismayed voices criedWhat on Earth is that?It’s organic chips and bitestruly cybernetic, she replied

I heard it said everyone usesa Cyberpumpkin green machine

Polar Borealis 14, Apr. 2020, http://polarborealis.ca/2020/04/27/issue-14-of-polar-borealis-is-now-online-and-available-for-free-download/

SWEAT LODGEGasping, I try to be fishadapt to the waterthat pours from my skincondenses in the airfalls hissing against red stones

The dark enfoldsholds me closehot to equal lava plumes I am suffocatingly entombedfalling in upon myself

Then the drumbeat hits the airpulls my heart to throb its song

I am the beat that swells gives breath to the panting wallsthe sizzle and song of stones I am the heavy burning air

I am water whispering as it burnsthe scent of cedar on the earthI am beating drum and drumbeatI am molten transformation

Flowing, I embrace the nowcoyotes howling to the voidwolverines snarl from mescreaming eagles into air

I am molten transformation

I am I am

I am present here and now

Transition Magazine Spring 2020, Jun. 2020, https://sk.cmha.ca/documents/transition-magazine/

sprouts burst through fresh mossmemories of solstice daysdryads take back Earth

Frozen Wavelets #2.2, Jun. 2020, https://frozenwavelets.com/issue-2-2/sparse-wavelets/

DITHYRAMBOS

Come, you swift-footed godrescued from the Titan’s pyrenursed by nymphs of the rainborn twice in pain and fire

Come, oh great bull-horned godrampant in the fieldsripen me in fiery heatto you this crop I yield

Come, lord of the winding ivyyour roots know Gaia’s earthpluck me like a sun kissed grapetaste in me my worth

Come, god of deep seeking life stomp grapes in the agorapress from me doubt and worrytransformed to your amphora

Come, Eleutheriosbind me to the vineunleash my tempered spiritI feast on the divine

Come, dithyrambosI, your maenad wildlift my feet in primal dancelet loose this chthonic child

Come, Dionysusgod of the budding thyrsusI am your feral frenzylet them truly fear us

Come, DionysusLord of dark and lightGod of the mysteriesI follow you this night

Eternal Haunted Summer Summer Solstice, Jun. 2020, https://eternalhauntedsummer.com/issues/summer-solstice-2020/dithyrambos/

the emperorBLINDING JEWELS

The gems?Yes, I’ve seen them

emeralds veldts trampled by herded feetonyx black sticks hurtling down on skullspearls spit on broken teethgarnets dried blood on beaten browsrubies bloodshot eyes deprived of sleep

smoky topaz the stare of those who would defydiamonds bones shining from unmarked graves

Mounted to wearfor show

All this and morelaid at our feet

Slaves?No, I’ve not seen them...

Quaranzine, Third Estate Art, Jun. 2020 https://www.thirdestateart.org/quaranzine

A GOOD DAY TO DIE(in memory of Black Elk)

Wasichus infest our landblood snow covers babies bullets fly faster than geeseand Lakota yell, Black Elkthis is a day for something great

Blood flying from the peoplefaster than they flee the bulletswhere is the nation’s hooptrampled under soldier horsesmy vision seems so far

Children and women run to gullieshiding from the cavalrymenbones to grow at Wounded KneeI drop the sacred bow for guncharge flying as the geese of north

Bullets buzz around me bees

where is the sacred tree wiltedClose I shoot Wasichus shootingmen and women no homes nor weaponsour land taken to make our gravesI don’t fear a good day to die

I fly away geese leave meand fear settles insidea thud a bite through my beltI nearly fall Protector catches binds my insides red and hotback to me the nation’s hoop broken

Crazy to kill rest murdered Crazy Horsehelp me to my horse blanketed in bloodit’s a good day to die belly bound in blankets bloodied mudwhere is the sacred road

No, Black ElkProtector holds me backyou are needed by your peoplethere will be a better day to diemy vision seems so far away

Quaranzine, Third Estate Art, Jun. 2020, https://www.thirdestateart.org/quaranzine

SECRETS OF TREESIf you near a fireas it hungrily licks woodyou might hearthe secret of trees

Listen then, our time is nearIt is with growth we learnstriving we beginreach two ways to world and sun

Downward our roots toe blindly through warm earthwe only seek to touchthe ever-turning core

Upward our branches stretchto the source of seeing lightthe heat beyond our heartwood

In calm we listen, wait and movegrowing larger, stretching higherreaching deeper

In time’s layers our grain is tested

In the heartwood past the taproothere, the secrets born of trees

When the world-breath shakes uswe move with it, bend to it cry in concert when snow fallsburdens, yet we do not break

Ever from the heartwood we search for heatbranches open, leaves unfurlwe stay still as sap runs free

When we grow too tall, too oldtime laden, hear our stillnessthe ways of telling deafen soundListen now—sizzling, cracklingthe burning secrets of trees

Trees we are and wood we dieWe are hissing fire consumes us transformed light for which we strove

Light and fire are the beginningand all-consumingbecome our end

The Life of Beasts and Trees, Academic Journal of Inventive Literature, Jun. 2020 https://www.vulgarismedia.com/product-page/the-life-of-beasts-and-trees-ajil-issues-1and-2-anthology

THE TREE OF EYES

Every day I pass the arboreal guardits numerous perennial eyes open, watching all directionsthose burs of knotted woodcreased cellulose, brown and dullbut eyes nonetheless

They never change, but what is a blink in the span of a tree's long lifeit may take a month, or a sigha hundred years, and we have no timefor random speculation

The tree of eyes is a constant observeryet no bird, nor nest, no gnawing insectburdens its branches in summer

they are deceptively greenwith leaves that shade the eyes

Is it an eternal watcher protectingus from unseen interdimensional fiendsor does it stare upon us night and daydelving into our thoughts our night-drunk dreams

Is it a sentinel that ensureswe don't escape our cageIf we had the ability to ask the Treewe would never hear the answerthat could take a week or a thousand years to seep into our minds

Yesterday, I passed the tree againevery one of its whorled eyes were closedits duty done, now dormant we hopeasleep or fearing to watch our demise

Literary Hatchet #26, Jul. 2020 https://lizzieandrewborden.com/HatchetOnline/LiteraryHatchet/product/literary-hatchet-26

SPIRIT BOUNDThe forest chills the light blueI am shrouded from the night shadows flow around melike womb fluids about a childabove, dead leaves hang like batsand silence chokes all sound

In this time that will never be he whispers endearing threatsand tries to hold me close

Sun sweeps the day with heatwhile I shiver in his armsI do not fear his cold cold kissfor I desired him once before that final moment stretchesmy time now lasts forever

The wind howls and we become oneI drift away from corporal touch He thought he bound me by breakingthe links to the life I held dearhis sweet promise of belonging

dissolves when I look beyond

There are no ties—not anymorenot to you or me, nor Deathas I move between his hands

Arm in arm with the sparkling lady I spin now toward her inscrutabilityshe lifts the veil her kiss all firemolds me as we dance unknown horizons I welcome the mysteries as I breachthis membrane into a time of beginningsLiterary Hatchet #26, Jul. 2020

pawn shops, tarnished brassjournals with yesterday’s dreamsdjinn’s retirement plan

StarLine 43.3, Jul. 2020 https://www.sfpoetry.com/sl/issues/starline43.3.html

DIVINITY IN THE AFTERGLOW

There are shadows of angelsAll metal struts and bonesHow they fly, I don’t knowWhen made of earthy oresBut then they are only shadesThe ghosts of what was beforePerhaps that’s the reason angels came to be

If that’s the casethen this atomic blast

Has sent us all to heaven

Supplications fall as ashen powderDrift over bodies shrouded grey Angels do not reply, uncaring or unrealPleas distill through sirens, screamsThe agony of the world devoid

It is only in this final moment as flesh melts and bones burn

that I see forms aglow

The incandescent dreams of angelsCarries me on flaming wings

Space and Time 137, Jul. 2020 http://spaceandtime.net/

ELEGY FROM THE LOST COLONIES

Sing to me of distant mud bathswhere swim the cresting hornbacks One warm memory will buoy mebefore journey’s final freeze

Remember that eternity, yesterday?Seductive vapors swept lowYou and I, like entwined vineswere sure the land was ours

And the hornbacks, ah the hornbacks,with long-tested frozen smilesshone like gems from hissing poolstrilling counterpoint in wallowing joy

Hornbacks floated in steaming mudand shook exultant, rainbow crestsThe swollen cankerous, sky increased its dredging rain

And we were happy, for a time to ride the bucking worldWe ignored tempered warningsand tried to cool mud, tame geysers

The world disgorged, spit us outwhile hornbacks coasted stormsridged leather balls rolling alongThey alone flowed mud-way veins

Then the pumphouse hiccupped deathhomes collapsed in seismic shuddersHabitats dwindled, still we strove to see the hornback way

Among the ruins of a world’s steaming fury I fear my journey begins to frostSo let the hornback take my bones to warm in their life mud.

Time We Left, Exaggerated Press, Jul. 2020, https://exaggeratedpress.weebly.com/ 

EmbalmedMajestic reposeLenin grows restless

Chrome Baby #95, Sept. 2020, http://robindunn.com/bairn95.html

MONSTERThere’s a Frankenstein boltat the base of my skullmy head held stiffthe sensation cores megrinds my bonesevicts the other sensesabandoned and driedso light that they might fly awayMy skeleton remainslocked into flesh waiting for that one electric jolt that burst of lifeto reconnect and sew me from the sum of my parts

Did his monster feel this jumbling awkward heavy movementthat jars limbs loosethese lightning shafts that searneck shoulder armsthis electrified numbness spreading each extremity detached Not all those threadlike nerves and sinewswere stitched together with carethe urge to growl and roar voice this painunexplainable to those not part of its creation

Did Frankenstein’s monster heave blindlyin a red-eyed hazesearching for a soothing touch?

Breath and Shadow, Oct. 2020, https://www.abilitymaine.org/bs2020fall/%22monster%22 PUMPKIN’S WATCHservants of the hallowssuccumb to sharp incisionshollowed, scraped free no seed for vines to comeon this night of many plains

flaming eyes light the passing brighten the ancient pathsilent pumpkins bide their timeguide from one world to the nexton the way to in-between

spirits bound in mystic dancewith living the aerial commune no separation of night nor day for those who’ve gone beforeunnoticed gourds shift and watch

spectral doorways disappearpumpkin smiles leer then snarl gobble stragglers in the mistspark extinguished, eyes now blankhusks and blood trails stain the earth

Jack o’ lantern laughter echoes and distant wails fade with daythe veiling fog dissipatespumpkins wait for another yeardreaming of the crops to come

Sage Cigarettes #5, Oct. 2020, https://www.sagecigarettes.com/Issues

PHOENIXI am burning all my poemsThe embers will glow for yearsjust as I, once fueled with words

When the pit is coldI will take the ashes, rub them inre-anoint my fleshwait for the phrases to rise again

Yellow Arrow Publishing Vol. V, #3--Re(Formation), Nov. 2020, https://www.yellowarrowpublishing.com/store/yellow-arrow-journal-reformation-paperback

THE METALLURGIST’S DREAM

sheeting the sky, pewter rainwithin I stoke the furnaceglowing like a hundred sunsmine the closets, cupboards, casketyour glasses, shirt, hair and teeth

bones, your favorite ring and book

into the crucible I place your parts smelt everything for the essenceyour iron will and quicksilver pulsethat mercurial mind that fired you separating out the slagfrom remnants of a life lived

I pour the molten glory into a mold, set you as you werewait, watching the hours tick byuntil I break you free hammer out any flaws in your final forging

when I finish, you stand before mea hollow statue unmovingthere is no wit here, no laughterand I awake, tears fallingsilver in the night

what matters the cruciblethe hammer, the firewhat matters the miningand precious metals refinednone amounts to any worth

my leaden heart weights meyet too soft to solidify a way to bring you backour bond cannot be reforgednor you remadeand all I hold are memories

HWA Poetry Showcase Vol. VII, Nov. 2020 https://www.amazon.com/HWA-Poetry-Showcase-Stephanie-Wytovich/dp/1732803560

TALES NEVER TOLDYou don’t know what it was like condemn from fickle legendIt is nothing that his own great folly dimmed his vision

There is no mention, my yearninghunger for a man’s touchwhile he rode the landand flesh as wellHe neglected my armswhen he knew he had a son

Until the prophesy, that isThen, oh yes,

thenI was honored, the pureheld although I couldn’t be sownBarren, I, Guenevar

signaled the beginning of his end

When it came to my own follymy temptationafter living with a ghost of former gloriesI was not forgivenPunished before the fall and ever since

Was I rebuked for searching out younger lovewhen land and womb lacked fruitOr was it that I prevailed

while a king sunk into the mire

Penumbric, Dec. 2020 http://penumbric.com/currentissue/cover.html

THE HIDDEN TRUTH

This is how it really happenedIn those days Eden was a theme parkAdam and Eve like children exploring exclaiming after every flower, new flavor

Then Eve stumbled over a tree root her hand steadied against the trunklooking up, her mouth opened, awedat the sinuously sliding serpentemerald except for eyes alight, ambera burning flame of hidden knowing

After the snake slithered into her mouthflicking its tongue two directions Eve could not keep quietIt made her want to undulatedance upon the vibrant earth, windeffortlessly into Adam's thoughtsbrimming words that filled heroverflowing wonders yet to tell

Secret words, sensuous wordswords that whisperedmade her want to love a manas her own person, speak with powerdevour knowledge whole, expel the huskwords that said ponder explore challenge change

The swallowed snake drove her forwardtasting new things, seeking this way and thatand then the first words she spokeafter she spotted the snake“Open the gate”

Silver Blade #48, Dec. 2020 https://www.silverblade.net/2020/11/the-hidden-truth/

APHRODITE’S PEARLS

There are secrets in doves and swanswings dip so low you touch mysteries in the roses at your feetscents that wrap around you

Spring’s waking in all shapes buds unfurling from heat’s kisssoft and silken petalled jewelsdrink the moisture beading up

Floes above the ocean’s treasurescrash and cascade into lightmelt slowly coaxing dreams to settleborn from darkness nursed by time

I whisper to your nacred shellas ineffable rain nourishes allthen in languid heat all creations flourishyou are born, pearl of the world

Songs of Eretz Winter 2020 Spring Issue, Dec. 2020 http://www.songsoferetz.com/

DRAGON'S HOARD

Treasure is never meant for hoarding not the way of kings and queens who drool over jewels in ornamental coffers or churchmen paying gods in precious relicsand guild masters sheathing halls in grandeur

The fisherman casts a far-reaching net and owns the catch, so humans declareis it wrong for a dragon to maintain stockfrom a time when the earth bore miraclesbefore human feet pocked its pristine shroud

Much like the whale’s eye, a dragon’s ocular viewhas witnessed distant pasts, underground fissurestransmuting in earth’s crucible, the curve

of life’s long tail curling about all livesand visions of horizons yet to come

Animals may roam ancestral rangeswhere lightning strikes death in a fieldyearly the wild hunt claims its mortal dueand dragons harvest what has been sownbut only humans scream in outrage

Kings chose to levy grain and tax lives decreed by right, and strength over othersyet when dragons take a tribute they are branded ruthless, ruinousin what vein does evil run as pure as gold

The dragon race is primal with little callto procreate like teeming vermin on a corpseyet we must obey nature's supreme truthsto devour and produce beyond controllimits inhabitants by squandering fuel

Consume or be consumed, eat within your meansthus, has Draconis always been scarcefor what we eat is what hordes desire no interest in maidens, meat is just a treatbut our sustenance is also the stuff of kings

Now that is why we hoard all treasure is not for riches, nor powersimply the larder needed to survive

The 5thDimension, Hiraeth Publishing, Dec. 2020, https://www.hiraethsffh.com/product-page/fifth-di-december-2020-edited-by-tyree-campbell