Don’t Blame Me, I Voted for Vermin Supreme

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Poem and photo by Leah Mueller

 

I voted for a pint of my poems

on my door slightly before dusk,

and found them to be

extra kind to each other today.

I voted for a huge wave

of your profile picture,

with whom I was excited to

see my awkward pre-teen, years later.

I voted for $1,000 per month

helping me in an interesting niche market.

I voted for me with an hour.

This made me be exact.

I voted for a protest vote.

In fact, the skull looks nice.

I voted for a lot of lunacy.

I voted for Mother’s Day.

I voted for Hillary Clinton

in a cool video and wild music.

I voted for a product that my sister

built of automatic weapons,

on top of everything else.

I voted for a fine-toothed comb.

I voted for a hard rain.

I voted for legal marijuana, though.

I voted for me, but less bad,

for someone that

blatantly broke the law.

I voted for a couple more than an hour

layover/plane change in Salt Lake City.

I voted for her mouth,

and literally committed Treason

by students in such situations.

I voted for a sign

telling people not to say anything.

There is already chosen.

America is not quite normal.

And if you’re a Mean One,

in battle with firecrackers

until dawn.


You can follow Leah on Facebook

A Conversation, Coloured Lonely – Aurora Phoenix and Lois E. Linkens

A Conversation Colored and Lovely

it is at night,
when the silence screams the loudest.
when the curtains are drawn,
and the candle snuffed –
the air is burnt,
with the orange glow
of the blackened wick.
a single star
in an empty sky,
a tiger’s eye
in the witching forest,
a lonely car
on the midnight highway.

in the daylight
the silence is shushed 
its horns ground down
under the trampling of the day
it finds kindred spirits
lurking in the pauses
poised to pounce 
between hither and yon
a rabid Chimera
intent on foiling its captors

it is at night,
when the silence grows its wings;
when it becomes
arms and fingers
that squeeze and squash,
leaving their purple stains
across my skin.
so tomorrow,
i’ll cover up –
for what does loneliness wear,
when it wants to make a friend?

in the daylight
I dress to kill that silence
bedecked with breastplates
silvery self-reliance
protecting mawkish heartstrings
strained to breaking
by the violent plucking
of the silence in the
blue-black night
diamond crusted gauntlets
constrict my fingers
stretching toward contact 

it is at night,
when the ancient words echo;
Plato’s Symposium
rattles through my brain
like bullets fleeing from the barrel.
you are incomplete,
he whispers;
your God-given substance
will not sustain,
your severed arms
are bound to flail
in this darkness,
grappling for a mate
that never comes near.
as i topple on the edge of sleep,
the condescending voice
of old-age wisdom
bends my will across its knee.

in the daylight
learned philosophers
uncloaked 
under Ra’s harsh glare –
elderly drunkards
babbling in their cups –
beneath the penetrating rays
hypocrisy illumined.
I splashdown
in the well of loneliness
dug by my constraints
listen as they old-woman cackle
when I savor the dip.
I taste the madness
of love requited
sip from my flask
fractious firewater
eau de fierce independence
with the throatiest of howls
I birth my own
dancing star


Aurora Phoenix: I spent over 2 decades as a clinical psychologist, prior to the decimation of my world when I was suddenly incarcerated 2 and a half years ago. My writing was born in that caged existence – not a choice but a soul-saving necessity.  I write as Aurora Phoenix at Insights from “Inside”

Lois E. Linkens describes herself as a “confused english student,” though one quickly finds a polished, charming poet in her work. She has an elegant style that compliments her keen insight and whimsical sensibilities. It is a pleasure to present her work, and we ask you to take a second to look at more of her wonderful work.

Black Widow- Christine Ray

Donned my

badass black dress

today

Mourning colors

for a softer

kinder

woman

I think I used to be

she’s fading away

curves lost to angles

all sharp elbows and knees

Thorns create a protective trellis

around the remaining delicate petals

of my peony heart

Invisible barbed quills sprout

from my death white skin

Keep a healthy distance

lest you prick your finger

on my spine

I will greedily drink

the drops of your oxygen rich blood

from my cupped hands

before you fall

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved


Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless and is a member of Sudden Denouement. She is also curator at Blood Into Ink and barista at Go Dog Go Cafe.  She is an aspiring badass.

Ballad of The Knackered Mare…-Eric Syrdal

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Deidre’s the barmaid
at the Knackered Mare
with midday in her eyes
and midnight in her hair

She’s quick with a smile
and quicker with wit
and it’s said, once,
she carried a blade on her hip

Her father’s the owner
they call him Big George
and they say, before this,
he worked at the forge

A blacksmith by trade
he’d made many a sword
including the one
that hangs over the door

“Hubris” they call it
I know it sounds strange
but allow me to tell you
how it got that very name

It was grey rainy day
in the middle of December
those who were there
will always remember

A party of bandits
came down from the hills
and stopped by The Mare
in the search of some thrills

They kicked in the door
and brandished their blades
and each one of them
happily earned the name, Knave

They roughed up the patrons
and ravaged the place
and a sword’s heavy pummel
punched Big George in the face

They howled and they threatened
knocking George to the ground
until they were suddenly silenced
by the softest of sounds

Deidre had entered
from the kitchen nearby
and she stood in the doorway
catching each criminal’s eye

“What have we here?”
asked their leader
his voice black with intent
“There’s gold for the taking and also a wench?”

“There’s no need to take me”
Deidre said with a smile
“I’ll go with you plainly,
if you’ll grant me a trial”

The thief leader laughed
and his band did too
What could she ask
That he couldn’t do?

“I’ll fight you one-handed
With that blade by the door
If you best me
the gold and myself will be yours”

The brigand was silent
he reached for the sword
and he tossed it near Deidre
to land on the floor

“then take it”
he said,  sneering with pride
“And let’s do this quickly,
I’m eager to ride”

The barmaid stooped down
and plucked up the blade
and held it quite firmly
approaching the knave

He laughed deep and loudly,
her stature, demure
this fight would be over
very quickly, he’s sure

and it was over quickly
though not as he planned
the first thing he lost
was his blade, then his hand

then she took his head off
of his shoulders with ease
and it tumbled and rolled
to the other villains feet

This was enough
for the others to learn
and encouraged them to exit
and never return

Deidre returned “Hubris”
to the space above the door
and she helped her Dad up
from the dirty, cold floor

and it’s said to this day
when you visit The Mare
if you want laughter, be welcome
if trouble…..beware


Eric Syrdal is an independent poet/author. He’s an avid gamer and Sci-Fi enthusiast. He enjoys reading science fiction and fantasy literature and spends a great deal of his writing time focused in those genres. He is from New Orleans, Louisiana, where he lives with wife and two children.  You can read more Eric’s writing at My Sword and Shield….

DON’T BLAME ME, I VOTED FOR VERMIN SUPREME

13227229_10207641307605459_7422444449415585382_n
[Poem and photo by Leah Mueller]

[ Contact Leah Here]

I voted for a pint of my poems

on my door slightly before dusk,

and found them to be

extra kind to each other today.

I voted for a huge wave

of your profile picture,

with whom I was excited to

see my awkward pre-teen, years later.

I voted for $1,000 per month

helping me in an interesting niche market.

I voted for me with an hour.

This made me be exact.

I voted for a protest vote.

In fact, the skull looks nice.

I voted for a lot of lunacy.

I voted for Mother’s Day.

I voted for Hillary Clinton

in a cool video and wild music.

I voted for a product that my sister

built of automatic weapons,

on top of everything else.

I voted for a fine-toothed comb.

I voted for a hard rain.

I voted for legal marijuana, though.

I voted for me, but less bad,

for someone that

blatantly broke the law.

I voted for a couple more than an hour

layover/plane change in Salt Lake City.

I voted for her mouth,

and literally committed Treason

by students in such situations.

I voted for a sign

telling people not to say anything.

There is already chosen.

America is not quite normal.

And if you’re a Mean One,

in battle with firecrackers

until dawn.