Wednesday, 27 March 2019

This morning I wanted to send you a photo essay: The Year in Volcanic Activity by Marisa Silva-Dunbar

You’d see the beauty in a fountain of lava, fires spreading
across the blacktop, the necessity of creation after destruction.

I drink tea—try to swallow my suspicions with lemon and honey,
the bright sweetness doesn’t stop my obsession with destruction.

Monday, I will try not to disintegrate—try to unravel the lies,
how you once wanted a weak girl who shared the same type of destruction.

I find ways to eviscerate your former paramours in conversation
with others; I have been leisurely indulging in my own destruction.

Sometimes I want to spill the secrets that I keep from you;
I see ghosts around every corner—they poke at my fear of destruction.

My anxiety is death by a thousand cuts—yours a slow suicide;
we do our own dances with the Grand Dame and Varlet—Destruction

Even on the days when I rage alone, I long for the nights curled next to you
tracing sigils on your back to protect you from self-destruction.

Archetypes sewn in my bones—I’ve mastered the Earth Mother & Maiden,
but I want to be your Femme Fatale—harnessing the power of destruction.

There are times I want to runaway—Marisa won’t live here anymore;
You must call me back, and promise there is no need for destruction.

---

Marisa Silva-Dunbar is a Pushcart nominated poet. Her work has been featured in: Royal Rose Magazine, Pussy Magic, Bone & Ink, Amaryllis, Midnight-Lane Boutique, and Constellate Literary Journal. She graduated from the University of East Anglia with her MA in poetry. Marisa is the founder and EIC of Neon Mariposa Magazine. She has work forthcoming in Honey & Lime, The Charles River Journal, Dark Marrow, and Apathy Press. You can follow her on Twitter @thesweetmaris.

Wednesday, 20 March 2019

Visiting Dolls by Tianna G. Hansen

Sneaking into a wizard’s home offers risk
to a high degree, Dalmation guarding doors
toss a juicy steak to occupy his jaws and slide
inside, feet pattering soft like any ballerina does
like a dance with no audience, swinging your body
into a dead-silent house, you want to reach her, his
living doll. Not sure what your plan is once you do,
kidnap this macabre creation or kill it before it can
destroy you, your allure once seemed enough but you’ve
come to realize, he never wanted you, it was always her.

He keeps her in the sunroom which reflects moonlight
piercing beams straight to your heart. Creep across to
darkened dollhouse; one ring of light shimmers
in the center like a beating heart, or sliver of moon.
upstairs in a Victorian draped bedroom lies the shrunken
ballerina, perfect as ever even 10x less her size.

Creak of floorboards alerts too late, you’ve barely caught a
glimpse before you feel him, sinister shadow crawling overtop -
you are in his sights, bullseye, your heart tremors knowing
he could kill you in an instant or shrink you down to
mousetrap size - you’ve heard tales of a wizard who could
capture mermaids in a globe of glass
Who could turn men into starfish without a thought.

Dark magic curls its finger at you, beckons alluring and seductive -
you hear him calling to you, he is below…
you turn from the dollhouse, tiny dancer dreaming
anything but peaceful, tossing and turning in a miniature world.

Follow his dark pull through halls, black and blind. Reach
for something to grasp, nothing — entering a black hole.
Feet hit stairs, he calls you to join him, below,
beneath the earth, a secret cavern belching from
the house’s belly and why are you surprised a wizard’s
home has a mind of its own? your body automatic heads
down
down
down, smell of earth and…
dead dreams reside here.

A glimmer off glass in one corner of the room,
walls close around you - Congested, cobwebs
wrap you like film around thin arms, claiming
your ability to dance for their own.

This darkness is a human, breathing, beating heart
and you are now a basement dweller, door
closes above behind you, fear you will
never see the light again.

You will never see the light.

---

Tianna G. Hansen has been writing her whole life. You can find her published works on CreativeTianna.com or check her out on Twitter @tiannag92. She founded Rhythm & Bones Press in 2018 and continues to work for progressing the idea of turning trauma into art. Find them at RhythmNBone.com or on Twitter @RhythmBonesLit.

Wednesday, 13 March 2019

Life Skills by Kathy Gee

Small hand in large,
they run along the shallows,
turn and dip for full immersion.

Stretch your newly upright legs apart
and drop towards the water, let it go.
Now cup a fist of water, front and back.

A mother teaches her pretty toddler
how to pee in the sea.

---

Kathy Gee’s career was in heritage. Her poetry collection was published by V. Press and she wrote the spoken word elements for http://suiteforthefallensoldier.com/. Her next small collection – Checkout - is due out in March 2019.

Wednesday, 6 March 2019

Friters by Alisdair Hodgson

From form to form
we become masters of fraud,
checking boxes marked
writer
playwright
poet
grown-up
God.

We have hardly assembled,
filling out nothing
remotely official-looking
in our adult suits
with pockets full of pens,
gushing.

---

Alisdair L R I Hodgson is a Scottish writer, frequently found @Youthanised. He has published poetry with Adjacent Pineapple, The Kindling Journal and Shoreline of Infinity, and is joint editor in chief of digital literary magazine Bandit Fiction.

An Eavesdropper Walks the Streets by Joe Cushnan

It’s my relationship, nobody’s business and it suits me. It was a hammer-and-tongs conversation outside a pub, A young girl with a scre...