Poetry by Stephen Allen (Stoic Poetry) : Lonely Walk & The Veil

Lonely Walk

Cold grey dawn, mist overcoat
comforting as damp muslin gauze 
shrouding the eyes of the detached and departed.

Decrepit footpath, cracked and neglected
as the mothers graves across the field
backs cracked by careless footfalls no doubt.

My own gone these many years now
the Belfast cemetery not far from here
her stone unfound after searching.

Somber Irish mist, where legends and relatives mingle
sometimes seen, but always there,
waiting.

The Veil

On damp decrepit pathways hobbling 
Life, soul, and world, awash of grayscale

Dark wings in shadows sing
By design the spirit to impale

An artist's palette of black and white
Bright hues in daylight pale

Adrift in oceans of ravens night
Accursed walk beyond the veil


(c)Stoic Poetry/Stephen Allen

Bio: Stephen Allen was born and raised in Northern Ireland before relocating to Canada.
I have lived in the US and currently reside in Austria.

I have a novel and a poetry book self published, as well as several short stories. (Amazon KDP)

I also have a blog on WordPress; Through The cracked Window (revisited) 

Several Micro Poems from David L O’Nan

Stuck

We lived like stuck ants in a wine glass
In the red wine remnants
That was sifted impure
We lived like the homeless man,
Whose skin and jacket
Has become one with the epidermis
Who can believe our past truths, or fears?
We must be symphonia, forever
To a deaf vain psyche.

Predators and Monsters

Do you believe in monsters?
They speed past me every day
Then creep slowly by the staircases, or a window
This essay to be an urban folk legend
A paradigm of masking behaviors
Pockets with fading hands
Can we get away?
A freedom that makes predators out of choirboys.

TB Jailbirds

In white lines, broken coughs
It fills my chest with an extinct disease
in the distance I can hear harmonicas
From a desert
In a 1950's jail
Only the demons listen in
To the blues that die
Like the TB Jailbirds.

Through Faith

In the frame of heaven,
I became dust
Interceding with the sunlight of a narrow hallway
Dividing into millions of tiny poisons
A quotient of one malevolence
Why the hiding?
As the piling of sales papers and bills accumulate
Teases to aneurysms
Can I be more like Paul in Malta,
Impervious through faith?

Willowy Barn

That Winter weather smiles like
A goldfish in a swill water tank
Snow cresting inside the chambers
of an 1800's willowy barn
Breaking steadily into cracks
I bathe inside the warmth of ash
And I remember you,
When you were royalty in a laugh
And in a cry, we were united..then
This willowy barn will eventually
Fly away or burn to the ground
We have to be able to comfort each other then
Can we?

As Dolls

They opened the door to hatred hundreds of years ago
Every time we get that door to budge
Racist, sexist, bigotry, homophobic, narcissistic dictators
put more magnets to our metal minds
To fail us til we only become tunnels
Dark as night
As dolls we can only blink.

Value Menu

He left home faster than a manslaughter
A family,
Like the taxi drivers in the morning with an unknown name
A drunken father yells
Can no longer behest him,
To rolling cigarettes,
Neglecting your own appetite
Always eating from the value menu
He sold you to the power of his slurs
He reminds you he wished you were never born
As wheelchairs push against the broken tiles of a linoleum floor
Another broken bottle
Move away to the comfort of being a lunatic
And a farewell to the crowding hatred.

Jersey Cowboy Drunkard

In an immortal memory
You, a growing lily
Intercepted by the pushers
Whose medicines scream magic
Soon, they were the entrapment
And soon you were a wife
Married to an impulsive amphetamine
With devils dancing in whispering lullabies
Your Jersey cowboy drunkard
Un Viaje Sin Una Casa

Yesterday's Sky

Removed me from the healing of saints
Drowned a colony of us, like ants
Infernal flames
Remove me
I can't feel the power
You keep painting over my smile
My laughter lost in the fabric of miles
You are the manic artist
With an evil eye
Paint me back 
to yesterday's sky


Bio: David L O'Nan is a poet, short story writer, editor living in Southern Indiana.  He is the editor for the Poetry & Art Anthologies "Fevers of the Mind Poetry and Art. and has also edited & curated other Anthologies including 2 inspired by Leonard Cohen and an upcoming one inspired by Bob Dylan. He has self-published works under the Fevers of the Mind Press "The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers" "The Cartoon Diaries" & "New Disease Streets" (2020). A compilation of 4 books "Bending Rivers" a micro poem collection "Lost Reflections" and new book "Before the Bridges Fell" (look under books tab in Amazon) under Cajun Mutt Press & "His Poetic Last Whispers" (2022)  David has had work published in Icefloe Press, Dark Marrow, Truly U, 3 Moon Magazine, Elephants Never, Royal Rose Magazine, Spillwords, Anti-Heroin Chic, Cajun Mutt Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Voices From the Fire.  Twitter is @davidLONan1 and for the book @feversof     Join Facebook Group: Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Arts Group .   Facebook Author page DavidLONan1   and goodreads page is https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18366060.David_L_O_Nan 

 “Before the Bridges Fell” by me David L O’Nan Poetry book is out today on Cajun Mutt Press 

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren

Bending Rivers: The Poetry & Stories of David L O’Nan out now! 

#stopthehate poetry challenge by Rick Spisak

grayscale photo of people on street

Too Many

They stop a car

and just for par

check their manners and morals at the door

sink slinking down to the bottom floor

loud and angry brutal violence scores



as shouted Q's pepper a citizen, 

aghast

how long will the endless nightmare last



what in fear's name should I do

stand upon my basic rights in view?

become a target in your sights

for simply speaking up for rights



or meekly sink in fear and terror

and pray there'll be no fatal error

or stand up tall with freedoms fervor



does the citizen feel protected,

or neglected lost

when with faced with angry shouting 

selected COST?

no swerving service here, just neglected brutal loss



Puzzled by the need for vengeance

and when-where's the color-blind sentence?



what part of service does this speak

where have our rights gone? 

The where's the leak?

disparities of black and white reflected in the cops gunsights



not taken out for dining trips

but harrowing target car-rides and fatal slips

why should arrest entail a death sentence

why is there no justice, no bail and no repentance?



until the law falls on all equal, will we this troubles

repeat in sequel again, again, again, when all we want



is equal treatment under law, 

and our old blind justice

whom never colors saw

Short Bio:

Richard W. Spisak Jr.

 Richard writes both commercially and creatively poetry, essays, short stories and plays. His writing ranges from humorous to romantic, from political to absurdist. His first short story collection was published under the title “Two small windows, in a pair of mirror doors” to rave international reviews. He has produced a webcast for the last eight years. 

Link to My Book Website

http://www.twosmallwindows.com/

Face Book

https://www.facebook.com/rick.spisak

Link to The Webcast

http://www.NewMercuryMedia.com/Poe.html

Book Review: “Surfacing” by Annest Gwilym (review by Mashaal Sajid)

Poetry Pamphlet Review: Surfacing by Annest Gwilym | Sammi Loves Books
Surfacing by Annest Gwilym

A dauntless and personal debut poetry collection by Annest Gwilym. Surfacing was published in 2018 by Lapwing Publications. Annest is based in North Wales, near Snowdonia National Park. Her writing has been widely published in literary journals and anthologies. She has been placed in competitions, winning one in recent years and she was the editor of the former webzine Nine Muses Poetry.

Surfacing is a collection of poems all unified by themes dealing with mental illness, loneliness and anguish. One distinguishing feature of this collection is the speaker’s tenacity and spirit and how their vulnerability allows us to feel for and have a closer look into the internal world of someone struggling with mental illness. 

The book cover is symbolic of light at the end of the tunnel or in this case a glimmer at the end of a passage under a dark canopied forest. The 19 poems all with unique poignant titles are arranged into three parts, each denoting a shift in the atmosphere which is most evident in ‘Bright little pill’ and ‘Beach pottery mosaic’. The language is at times abrupt,flowing with underwater references and seascapes at other times like “The sea outside your house slyly slides past mine”, “My heart beats sea-surged”, and “even my broken glass can become sea treasure”. 

Evocative imagery paired with visuals of animals and the natural world world like “Before the Storm irises Black Star lilies”, “In a forest full of hemlock and wolfsbane”, “a sweet soil shelter” transports you to a welsh landscape and reminded me of Arthur Rackham’s illustrations. The first part heavy with imagery that invokes loneliness, desolation and being distant from the world, paired with everyday visuals like “percussion of washing machine”, “blinds are drawn day doesn’t break there”, “the cutlery is mismatched”, “slow as a Sunday afternoon” becomes haunting. 

The poems in the second part deal with fear, paranoia, treatment and drowsy liminal hospital rooms. The poem ‘Last night’ echoes Lady Lazarus. This part has a very dream heavy and sleep induced atmosphere, Some imagery that really stood out is “If they shut me in an attic I could fly out on singed wings”, “whaled woman lies beached drowning lungs broadcast”, “people move like smoke”.


In the third part of the collection the language becomes more grounded in reality and the atmosphere becomes warmer, the visuals calm and solitary but familiar as we move towards the end the tone shifts to one of hope. “The house curls in on itself”, “festive glow of pub and bistro”, “the steaming parcel a warm hand in mine”, “the sun’s yolk descends behind the island where I picked wild strawberries” are some examples. 

Life Underwater is my favorite Poem in Surfacing, it has a beautiful form and makes brilliant use of references and imagery. “Like Sisyphus I roll each jellied day one after the other, Without Orpheus to sing me back” this line leaves me astounded every time. 
Surfacing takes you on an intense reflective and emotive journey which ends for the reader in a warm and hopeful way.


Wolfpack Contributor: Annest Gwilym

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Annest Gwilym

Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Mashaal Sajid

Bio: Author of two books of poetry: Surfacing (2018) and What the Owl Taught Me (2020), both published by Lapwing Poetry. Annest has been published in various literary journals and anthologies, both online and in print. She has been placed in writing competitions, winning one. She lives on the coast of north west Wales with her rescue dog.  





3 poems by David Dephy : In the Dark, Reflection Shuddered, Drops are Heralds

IN THE DARK

Who says the hunt has begun?
Thank the Lord I stayed awake.
I thought of freedom running in the dark
with no difference of pits and graves,
when the mist of night was my only ally,
a man cannot be destroyed once and for all.
Now I feel the dawn is due to come,
right from your heart, from other side of alone.
I thought of you, how you took a deep breath
and said my name, how you exhaled the sky
from you with every letter of that name,
showing me the meaning of trust,
justification of my own existence,
there was no distance in the dark
when the fears fell away.

David Dephy
August 31, 2020
New York

REFLECTION SHUDDERED

I woke up to the sound of neigh.
The moon’s reflection shuddered in river.
The night streamed in. Loving life is seeing
with the eyes of another. Understanding life
is feeling with the heart of another.
I remembered how we knew
listening to the sounds at night
and all but the bitter
residue slipped away.

David Dephy
August 29, 2020
New York

DROPS ARE HERALDS

I remember one drop on my palm.
My personal drop, personal gift from above.
Yes, we all have our own personality,
as my drop, unique and distinctive,
always blends with noise and silence of memory—
the homeland of ghosts, and the dusk flutters silently,
and I am still missing you.
Still thirsty, and maybe you are thirsty, too.
Drops are heralds. Imagination is the thirst of a man.
I have enough to drink till my thirst is sated,
but I want to know what’s beyond the night.
Still, I want to feel what’s inside your breath.
Drops, skinned by the wetness of heavens
to quench the thirst of me, came from the depth
of future and gone back dry and parched, as that one,
a messenger of blessed rain, was shaking on my palm,
and silence all around me was empty and dry as hell must be.

David Dephy
April 18, 2021
Florida

Wolfpack Contributor: David Dephy

Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with David Dephy from the Poetry Orchestra

David Dephy — A Georgian/American award-winning poet and novelist. The winner of the Finalist Award in the 2020 Best Book Award National Contest by American Book Fest, the finalist and shortlist winner nominee of the Adelaide Literary Awards for the category of Best Poem, the winner of the Spillwords Poetry Award. His full book-length poetry Eastern Star has been published by Adelaide Books in New York in October 2020. He is named as A Literature Luminary by Bowery Poetry, The Stellar Poet by Voices of Poetry and The Incomparable Poet by Statorec

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