2 poems by Stephane Guenette “Pipes of the Heartbeat” “11:11”


It was so desired
It has become quite clear
Light from Saturn’s rings
Appear around the equator
I am in the light
I am in the music
The light fills my six senses
I see and hear, feel, smell, touch and think
Notes are particles of light
Glory be to lightning intact
Thousands of lightning balls and concerts
I am the concerts of the ball
To be heard and seen from the highest level
Signs and numbers mark the music of the spheres
These are the commandments
To the sense of the sounds in the mind
What course of life
The beauty of it
That the universe might be perfect
The cause and effect of a creation
Comes into existence
The music chasing the sky
Bright with sunlight’s eternal cycle
A part of the celestial symphony
The pipes work the heartbeats


They took the long dark journey
Back into the void
Escaped the Earth’s black world of decay
The poisoned Earth was forgotten
The sons of freedom in their graves
Inside their children’s hearts
Grew the darkness
The start of all man’s wicked ways
They watched the cities rise up around them
Tower high over empires of greed
Killing sprees on distant worlds
A new apocalypse was born
The blackened sun brought an unending night
The end of all man’s hope and light
Once again they would fight for their freedom
As they headed into the Sun
Golden child of fuel and fire
Turn the key and make me run
Nitrous burning in my mind
No escaping what I’ll find
Watch the tears from the garden flow
Poison rivers into flowers they grow
One machine turning everything
‘Til the emptiness unwinds
Now my world is turning
And it seems I’m synchronized…

3 Poems by Shaun D Pace “Unrequited”, “Vindication” “Full Collapse”


A torment of self she was.
Writhing in agony.
Herself she couldn’t bear,
Self perceived waste of air.
She screamed out through the night,
No one there to hear.
Slowly dying inside with,
Nothing left to lose or gain.
Only self hatred,
Imminent pain.
Suicide; was decided,
She couldn’t be saved.
Made up mind she ran,
To the window that protected her.
Leaping forward,
The glass shattered.

As she jumped through the panes,
Tiny shards got stuck in her eyes.
Some sliced open her veins.
Falling through the night, paralyzed,

Free fall companions were blood and glass.
From thirty-seven stories high,
Her thoughts raced with adrenaline.
Higher than I’d ever made her.
Maybe that was why.

Death comes to all.
She’s just another statistic now.
A fading memory for the ones,
She decided should be left behind.
As she smashed into the ground,
The collision with pavement..at terminal velocity,
Broke her heart upon impact;
as well as broke mine.

She escaped this world,
Ran from herself.
Jumped from the love, In which we were bound.


You’re the flame that burns my candle.
Stay inside,
Because the wind will
extinguish you.
I wont ever put you out,
as long as you’re here.

Your wax drips from me,
As the days go on.
You’re my every thought,
my every feel,
I need you.
You light my way,
in this dark bitter world;
And my heart can’t bear to be alone.
The pain I cause,
Only tears you farther away..

I’m sorry im not the one,
you once thought i was.
I can’t help who I am,
But please don’t ever stray.
I hate myself so much,
for everything I’ve done.
Your crystalline tears,
Spill the same as my blood.
Every time you shed them,
I die inside all over again.

I can’t handle the pain anymore;
I can’t handle the numbness,
what keeps me going,
beats only in your chest.
My thoughts run dry,
as well as my veins.
I can’t keep thinking, because,
my fear is taking over;
slowly progressing.
Your words ring out,
drowning me in melancholy.
My sorrow takes flight.
I can’t cut them out enough,
nor let my feelings roll off my tongue,
at least not the right way.
You’re just everything to me.
I’m a mess, and always will be.
But I need you to become forever,
you’re my only future.
I just wish “I love you,”
was really enough.

Full Collapse

You walked into my heart, unexpectedly.
Even locked, you had a key.
The blackout was sudden, every light in the room
Suffered a shattered bulb, yet,
Everything was illuminated
By the glow you cast.
Emanating like I would perceive,
A holy Angel to bear.
Wavering only with your lungs.
Waxing and waning, oxygen breathed,
The air allowing your animation.
Such a miracle we could share in it.
My paramour, your beauty is not an essence,
Words can do justice to.
If there are such words, I’ll never know them.
Awestruck, yet I remain,
As you still exist here with me.
In shared time, vastness all around us.
But you chose me,
Even as undeserving I was of you.
For every reason we experience,
Through each we create our path.
Each happens unknowingly, only making sense later.
I’ll never understand why I was chosen,
Or why you embraced me.
You’re too breathtaking, too pure.
Your innocence contrasts my sins.
Your allure began to break the walls,
The floor slowly decided to give way.
Yet we still danced inside my heart.
The broken glass lacerated our bare feet.
We shuffled in each other’s blood,
Mixing it together, impossible to separate.
Your song will never cease, my love,
Not that I want it to, It’s enchanting.
Even as we bled out together,
Waltzing while the walls crumbled around us,
Your glow still didn’t falter,
Though your wings were a flutter.
I had hoped to hold on to you,
But my hands failed to grasp.
My loss of blood took my strength away,
And I plunged into the darkness alone.
At least I know, when the structure collapsed,
You flew to safety, but not too far.
Your light is so bright I can still make my way around,
As I stumble through what’s left
Of the debris of my home.

photo by Issy Bailey

A Poetry Feature for Rickey Rivers Jr

Glassy Houses

Pour yourself a glass of eyes.
See how swiftly you move to dramatics?
Saw how slippery you were and used that to slice you open.
Funny how broken we are.
Even our houses are made up of oddities.

Oh, I know how silly it must seem to be who you are yet still – not be seen.
Perceptions are everything and superficial.
Officially be direct.
Stick it to social expectations.
Then you can see yourself in the shards.

Closed Mouth Thoughts

The truth isn’t wanted.
Some prefer a sweet lie.
It’s easy to die.
It’s much harder to try
and convey
how you feel everyday.
Without sense of doubt
you feed a shut mouth.

You Try Hard to Hurt

I am not shocked.
Your behavior doesn’t surprise.

You are watching me walk
Keep the talk.
I won’t listen.

I move in strange rhythms, steady within chaos.
The back stabs don’t hurt anymore.

No fresh wounds, expected, yet pain rejected.

You thought you were clever yet surprise only yourself.

I laugh a lot loudly.
I laugh a lot proudly.

Baby Bird

A baby bird jumped across the grass.

I came so close.

I couldn’t believe it let me.

In the moment of then I wish to return, so close to nature, the beauty of then.

Simplistic moments are to be cherished, remembered.

A baby bird so young and free, hopping from here to there,

allowance of observation, as if knowing I would not interfere.

I did not.

Simply, I enjoyed the hop: a small bit of peace in a chaotic reality.

Anonymous Somebody

To be anonymous and adored, self-esteem has taken hits.
I’m bored.

A cord cutter yet tied to the net.
Lines to you extended contain lies I haven’t wrote yet.

I wrote a lot about the outfitters, the house sitter.
The kid and the carriage I carry.
I’m pretty pitiful.

Don’t pity me though.
I do that enough, a shell of myself in a shell of myself.
Don’t go.

I say that a lot.
I shovel the dirt and lie in the grave.
Surely you can see me peeking out from the cave?

From your standing which do you assume?
Am I the bride?
Am I the groom?

Rickey Rivers Jr was born and raised in Alabama. He is a Best of the Net nominated writer and cancer survivor. His work has appeared in Brave Voices, Sage Cigarettes and Hell Hued Zine (among other publications). Twitter.com/storiesyoumight Sensurlon here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09XDHZXHB

photo by melethril on unsplash

Poetry by Tony Brewer : “You and I are Human Beings” “the Seashell & the Clergyman”

You and I are human beings

small enough to be details
large enough to care
destined to disappear
containing all Earth talk

land mass from the feminine
to be time divine Father I suppose

laughing thinking fretting
even dreaming we lie awake
peopling other lives
finding ourselves living
our own lives when awake

O comfort you and I are the muse
when the world is like this
(and it is never not exactly this)

love secondary to no thing
as we rise from shadow nests
bleary with a dawnward work look

no small think to see & squawk
human consciousness a terrible burden
I will carry when you are weary
(and you are often tired)

I will always give it back

sharing not a human invention
we constantly realize
after the fact

The Seashell & the Clergyman

He holds it to his ear
& hears the universe
speak his name

an orchestra
of clear reverence
& wizened listening

while I get static hiss
echo of my halting
tinnitus for reveries past

shhh they shush
shut up

a collection
of soaps in a basket
on the back of the toilet
in the bathroom at Mr Lubie

TONY BREWER is executive director of the spoken word stage at the 4th Street Arts Festival and his books include: The Great American
Scapegoat (2006), Little Glove in a Big Hand (2010), Hot Type Cold Read (2013), and Homunculus (2019). Tony has been offering Poetry On Demand at coffeehouses, museums, cemeteries, churches, bars, and art and music festivals for over 10 years, and he is one-third of the poetry performance group Reservoir Dogwoods.
IG: @demand4poetry
TW: @WordsmithTonyB
FB: @xtonybrewerx
website: tonybrewer71.blogspot.com

photo by Catherine Ari-Harthiany (unsplash)

3 poems by Tim Heerdink : “In a City of Cathedrals, I Weep” “Veteran’s Day” “When the Cardinal Comes to Visit”

In a City of Cathedrals, I Weep

I weep upon sight of the towering cross
       each block there is a new monument risen by the faithful
     to stand and remind passersby
                that tithes and offerings can raise astonishing structures
          and account for the maintenance
                while cleansing your conscience and wallet.

Belief in the unseen isn’t impossible for me,
                              but it’s getting hard to continue practicing
         worship for an entity
                         who damned us at conception.

How can I find peace in such hostility?
            All these denominations standing
    like hotspots on a city map
                                have a common outlook.
        Chosen ones awaiting departure,
                                     waving farewell to the unforgiven.

What if there is a Creator
                   who gets off on our torment,
           events that could be prevented but play
                                      because of will and destiny?
       Is that love?

Perhaps we are entertainment
                       on the stage of a grand theater on opening night.
          A night without end
                           for death just begins the next act
                       where roles are decided upon your behavior,
                                                   how much you’re willing to sacrifice.

Veteran’s Day

When the eleventh day of the eleventh month comes
around, I am forced to relive the beginning of the end.

I still can hear the frantic cries of my dad on the phone
as he informed me that he was too late in saving Mom.

What we feared for months came into fruition with a wreck
that for us made all the clocks in the world come to a stop.

Others are celebrating veterans of wars on foreign soil
while I recall her internal battle with her brain tumor.

Cancer pulled the first shot to ignite months of struggle,
& it ultimately claimed her in the war, yet she is the victor.

This disease is like a bully that keeps finding more victims
to wear down until they no longer are themselves.

Mom has a new body where she’s at now & no longer needs
the broken shell that had no other choice but to crash.

When the Cardinal comes to Visit

It is said that when a loved one crosses planes
of consciousness & enter their new form,
they occasionally come back as a bird.

Cardinals are the commonly chosen hosts
for their red feathers are stark in the gray
skies which cover the lives of those in mourning.

Like a little girl tossed around among the crowd,
the cardinal fights its way through for a glimpse
& to deliver a message from beyond the treetops.

I hang special seed to attract only these kind
so I can feel my deceased ones’ presence
nearby whenever doing my best seems hard.

Several states share the cardinal as their official
bird to be treasured by all who watch with scopes;
we remain in eternal mourning in the Midwest.

Bio: Tim Heerdink is the author of Somniloquy & Trauma in the Knottseau Well, The Human Remains, Red Flag and Other Poems, Razed Monuments, Checking Tickets on Oumaumua, Sailing the Edge of Time, I Hear a Siren’s Call, Ghost Map, A Cacophony of Birds in the House of Dread, and short stories, The Tithing of Man and HEA-VEN2. His poems appear in various journals and anthologies. He is the President of Midwest Writers Guild of Evansville, Indiana.

Wolfpack Honorary Contributor: Tim Heerdink

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Tim Heerdink