Poem “It’s Getting Darker” by John W. Leys in Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen

It's Getting Darker

I searched for salvation
I yearned for the light,
Looking for the stars
In the cloud covered night.
I fold my prayer like origami
And stuff it in the crack,
A missive to the almighty
Asking if the Flame is ever coming back.
I close my eyes, reaching out
Caressing the cold aging stone,
Trying to touch the ancient past
My soul has come to call home.
The Temple is in shambles
The Mercy Seat is lost,
2,000 years of homelessness
Trying to tally up the cost.
Looking past Mt. Moriah
To the light of the rising sun,
Warming windblown faces,
Dreams of a suffering undone.
The Messiah isn’t coming,
To save this damsel in distress,
It’s an uncomfortable truth to which
We cannot fail to acquiesce.
The clouds are growing darker,
But the deluge will never come,
The promise made on rainbow light
Will never be undone.
I yearned for salvation,
Searching for the light,
Is there nothing here to greet me –
Save the unending darkness of the night?

Bio from 2019:
John W. Leys has been writing poetry since he was 14 years old, inspired by the lyrics of Bob Dylan and the Beatles. In addition to posting poetry on his own blog, he is a frequent guest contributor to poetry-blogs such as Blood Into Ink, Free Verse Revolution, and The GoDogGo Cafe. His first poetry collection The Darkness of His Dreams: Poetry was published in July 2019. He currently lives in Redmond, Oregon with his wife, son, three dogs, and two cats.

Darkness of His Dreams (Blog) darknessofhisdreams.wordpress.com/ Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/eliyahu5733 FB: facebook.com/darknessofhisdreams/ IG: https://www.instagram.com/johnleys/ GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/jwleys Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/author/johnwleys

I currently have one book published that is available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1733364501

Poetry “Research Paper” by Bradley Galimore from Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020

Abstract, Smoke, Background, Swirl
Research Paper

My friends exist at different levels
Of intermediacy.
So inconsistent, 
I often wonder if they schedule
Who has the burden this week,
Alternating & Arguing,
Deciding & Determining
Whose turn it is to communicate with me...

In the anxiety hours,
Middle of the night,
Recounting every conversation
In attempts to alleviate,
Agony & Angst,
We must accept our inability
To adequately evaluate and assess, 
Inaccurate analysis,
Another failed attempt to advance...

Then you wake up,
Realize where you are
And take a deep breath.
The cold room reminds you of yourself.
You search your empty bed,
For someone else.
No results found.
It's so quiet
Silence has a sound,
As you recall dreams,
Fragmented memories,
Suggestions & Sayings.
Fabric of reality no longer yours
Into the high thread count sheets
That subtly softens your realization
Of all of these things.

Trauma case in the ER.
Doctor asks for a prognosis.
Patient under anesthesia of a substance.
Emptiness and Regret.
Ever consumed by existence.
Unfortunately unable to forget.
Can't see the light of the future,
At the end of the tunnel vision path.
Lost in this reality,
Perceived failure,
Underlining a lack of success.

Another round.
Day drinking,
In a different space.
Whirlwind journey,
Cleared the room
Full of people who later claim
We are close friends and homies
Will pop up out of the blue
Find a reason to call me
Say hello and claim to positively have
Impacted my journey and story.
But with a small bar as my setting
I'm finding myself in my element
For more info check
Refer to all it's references.

#ChromaticStudy of existence
Sad story for the protagonist
Honesty & Heartache
Looking for a silver lining
Like desired character development.

Bio from 2020:
Bradley Galimore (he/him/they/them) is a visual artist, storyteller and poet currently residing in Brooklyn, NY. His work is shaped by his studies in fine art, special education, psychology, work with the visually impaired/blind and his personal experience as a synesthete. As a writer he incorporates all of these areas to give each reader an opportunity to feel expressed and/or understood. He is focused on the full scope of art accessibility and considers writing to be just as important as visual art in that conversation. He approaches writing  from a stance of philosophical introspection and narrative by utilizing a poetic/lyrical essay style. Because he wants his work to be a deep discussion, he actively avoids simplification of ideas, focusing on rhyme (per-say) or any of the traditional writing formats. Instead, he emphasizes on the sound of the words and if they work in harmony with each point of discussion. 

Check out his work on the Poetry Question below:


Poetry from Fevers of the Mind Anthologies by Richard Waring

Hypnos Turn His Back

Sanctuary no more in nights embrace,
lifes deeds now go unlaundered
in Lethe's poppy soaked waters.
The deepening need is ignored,
for leaden eyes sense a deeper darkness
waiting in that land, where the other brother tarries.
Dark slumber I long for your return,
my mind and body ache.


There was a time when my family was happy.
It was a time of five.
All of us, together, a whole.

Then came subtraction, 
One removed, forever gone,
and darkness followed.
There was a time when my family was happy
It was a time of five.
Now we live in four.


my old bedroom
childhood's stronghold
papered over and repainted
near the carpet's edge
a jutting nail
and underneath, the floorboard
the hidey-hole
the secret place
where treasure and shame
were hidden
reaching inside that hollow space
its contents gone
discovered and removed
decayed or turned to dust

Upon Waking

I remember ice
inside my bedroom window
even my breath did not melt it
a single pane of glass
rattling in the wind
colder outside than in
but only just

Bio from 2020:
Richard's work has appeared in the 2019 CAP Anthology and Black Bough Broadsheets Issue 1. Word Masher, Poet and Writer,  @blackboughpoems @PoetryN1 @_Re_side_ First novel "Shadows in the Firelight" now availabe on Amazon  

2 new poems by David Ralph Lewis : an untitled piece & ‘The early bird catches the worm’

              untitled piece

                The universe manifests itself in a particular
		arrangement of atoms for a time and decides
		to write these lines on a different section
		of the universe, with a fountain pen that is
		also a part of itself. From this perspective,
		the universe considers itself separate from
		the stars, the spinning galaxies, drifting
		nebula, thinks itself a sealed and unique
		world. Sighing, the universe walks to a window,
		sees its reflection in the clouds, mutating,
		never still and breathes in a surge of sadness.

		The universe knows the reasons for this feeling
		but in this energy configuration that knowledge
		is stored within a locked room, down a forgotten
		corridor, the key destroyed by rust and rot.

		The universe understands without really knowing
		that it is just a hum and given some time
		the bass note will change in pitch, just as 
		these words will vibrate to a different tune
		when introduced to a singing, dancing flame.

               The early bird catches the worm
		from a chain coffee shop, is rude
		and dismissive to the barista
		pecks down the wriggling body
		and a double espresso before 
		zipping off to a day of meetings
		and spreadsheets. The early bird
		meets all their deadlines, demands
		100 percent attendance at every meeting
		they organise, no excuses, blocks off
		time in a colour-coded, neat, hand-drawn
		calendar that they make every Sunday
		night in preparation for the week ahead.
		If colleagues were asked to describe
		the early bird, they would use the words
		'brusque' or 'serious' or 'difficult to get on with'.
		They do not hear how fast the early bird's
		heart is beating, do not see how it swivels 
		its head all day to see what everyone else
		is doing. The early bird puts in long hours
		is the first one into the office, the last
		one to leave. Exhaustion always wins though,

		so the early bird flies under amber 
		street lights, guided in the dark  by instinct,
		past lurid billboards and lairy groups
		of men in ties, back to it's nest,
		empty, wedged in a tree branch in 
		the expensive part of the city. It settles
		itself down into the twigs and newspaper
		shavings and tries to block out all 
		the emptiness around it, wonders
		what would happen if it just dropped
		and didn't even try to open it's wings

		before singing itself to sleep with songs
		its mother taught it long ago, on another 
		continent as its chest flutters
		too fast
		too loud.

David Ralph Lewis (www.davidralphlewis.co.uk) is a poet based in Bristol, UK who has been published in Marble Poetry Magazine, Nine Muses Poetry and Neon Magazine. He has two pamphlets, Our Voices in the Chaos published by Selcouth Station and Refraction. He enjoys dancing badly at gigs and attempting to grow vegetables

3 Poems from Anthologies by Norb Aikin

No and No

This is the noise that keeps me awake,
the tie-dyed sentiments flung
from dirt that can’t be un-dug,
and this is me saying no
to a wish that “no” isn’t an answer to.
The curl, pulled straight.
The antidote, failed.

Nothing good can come of this
and that’s why I’m here.

This is the lookalike and this is the duplicate
and I am the difference
that goes unnoticed
until it’s too late.
There’s something, and nothing,
and something from nothing,
but I walk on the outline of the void-
I won’t fall in from the push;
my recoil does all the work for me.

Let’s not and say we did
before we have to pretend,
or at least until we get caught.

This is the noise that keeps me awake
and this is the escape I can’t seem to make
when I least expect it
but that’s what I’m doing now
and no one’s gonna tell me otherwise
even if they wanted to.
Like a joke not worth explaining
to people who don’t understand laughter,
I can’t help myself from myself.

Everything is Terrible and I Think You Know Why 

a drum that whispers
riddling death sentences
backwards pointing fingers
fragmented pretenses
march prudishly fluid
pretending like it's nothin'
still raises your voice to it
master of survival           cunning
noise calls to rise and fall
crusted mistrusted bloated trap set
eyes of blistered 8-balls
change your habits

big bucket of double oh-no
emptied over your broken skin
burnt premise           shame so
indignant                 do it again
shut down but can't be stopped
government secrecy forgot
time hops drug shops crooked cops
the land's name the photographer cropped
what happened you don't claim to know
slim chance fat circumstance
eyes like bullet holes
act your age not your relevance

take count of what's left
mental calendar            rubber-stamped
courting slow death
at a right-to-life camp
train the robots to clean up
mice can freshen the environment
you signed your god's pre-nup
it's coming to collect past rent
unfolding stomach sweating churns
life showing reruns beyond overtures
eyes made of cigarette burns
watching the world              spurned

To the Love(s) I Lost
(via Leonard Cohen)

Everyone knows it as my fault,
not yours and mine;
your voice carries louder
over my interpretations and lesser designs.
I can't name your names because
there's too many,
and when I drink to forget
you remind me of memories I
know better than to hold on to.
I can't, but I can,
even when they're more the enemy
that I wish to comprehend.
You vested my suit and lies;
tied up my goodbyes.
We could say nothing and let's
just; rather than we tried.

Norb Aikin has been published by Eliezer Tristan Publishing and uses his time wisely on Twitter (@aikinNorb). His first poetry collection, 100, has been positively reviewed widely and his second, Mutants, recently was released for Kindles with a paperback  It’s a slim follow-up to 100 and features some older material along with his current WIP. Look for the full release of Also Mutants in the Spring of 2020.

BOOKS to Read in 2021: Mutants by Norb Aikin

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