In the switchblade of the night
The freezing jewel of barracuda delight
The tempting fate of failing light
The falling rhythm of dismay from this train
Of thought to obey the trunk is hidden in the back of time
The amulet is prised in line
The liberation a dance of swans
Some with beacon some with songs
A marching army of choruses
Bitter winds of self regret
From sands of time the tidal wave
The room of being the bloody knave
The haunting of the bloody cave
From which the nazi hunter gave
The Jew his freedom’s only grave
Atonement splendid in the light of days.
You valued me, you say, for my raven-winged remarks, Which yet flew into the face of humor as funnier still; And I, misunderstood to be a satirist all the time, Instead of only now and again, Spewed out toads and toadstools and all, Just to keep you in a happy mood.
A bubbling witches’ brew of concocted relationships, Of silly warts on a hedgehog’s nose, I delved deep into the territories Of the walking dead? No, but walking wounded, Looking for your key, That might fit the tune your soul was bound to screech in, If only I could get it to sing.
Oh, you howled all right, and all night, But never my secret name, For how could you know what I had confided so openly, When you were bound and determined To find it hidden in the stump of a rotten tree, Like a rotten tooth in a cankered mouth, That it had to be something befouled and hidden?
You looked right through me, as if I had been a mirror, And you casting a spell with your reflections, Your recollections none of my business, Not even if I were to save you from all this. But why? You loved it, you’re a creature of darkness By inclination, not out of an evil soul, But from wanting so much to be Thought fancy with fancy notions, Carping about the cost of having naïve people around Hurting everyone else by expecting the world to bubble rainbows.
You want me to hate things too, and I can’t do it, So we come to the parting at the crossroads, Where you make your deal with Ol’ Scratch, And I, finally I, get to sit back and laugh At one of the world’s biggest fools around. No, my dear, the rain forest doesn’t make me happy That there’s less of it every year, And I don’t like it that there are refugee camps, And I resent bad government and crowds of idiots Who spread contagion because they’re too selfish To be concerned.. But these aren’t the things that plague you, You’re unhappy by trade. I’m unhappy by conviction when I am, And there’s the difference. Have a happy Halloween!
The Intensest Fever of Sorrow Sings Golden to the Ocean
It is hard to decide if this day, this moment
Is the beginning of sorrow
Or only its latest turn,
It seems so to have been harbored unspoken
And hidden in the breast,
Like a lump in the throat
That comes on gradually into awareness,
A fever that never really was real
Until the moment when you elected
To think, “Yes, I think I feel a cold coming on,”
And then you are sick.
And you take to your bed,
And weather it through,
And wonder if you had stayed up,
And had not said “hello, old friend”
To the pesky virus
If it might not have left you alone this time.
But sorrow comes, like a bell, like a ball, Ringing in angry peals that roll Down town streets with intensest toll, Why so suddenly there, and loud and insistent That previously was mute and lost, now golden and singing? Deep in the archipelagos of your mind Winding through the islands, Taking its time, Going on the bright stream of painful waters, The current that hidden, winds and propels Your deepest thoughts forward, toward The piloting ocean where they can be seen, Sensed, for what they are, A poisoned trafficking From the winding-through sands Of round, dotted headlands Where mercy has no hand.
A Modern Bean Sidhe (Banshee’s Call)
Wander now, friend, near my hearthside,
That no hearthside truly is,
Hurt it is, and song-repelling,
Sad and lonely, botched and slow.
Would it be, if there were fire there
Better for us, warmer tuned?
With the crackling, leaping flamings
There for us to eye, be joy’d?
“Hearthside” is the word, acknowledged,
Many have no such a thing,
But we all can feel the comfort
From the notion, any clime.
Even in warm South Pacific,
At the evening, fires are lit,
And the people linger thereby,
Eyes bright with the jumping lights.
So I say, as poet-host here, I can offer only grief, If you find a sorrow hearthsome, I can give you that, at least.
Injured, upstaged by my pain, then I can tell a sorry tale That might make you feel more pensive, And, though even so, be glad.
Glad we are, sometimes in grieving, Meditations’ mournful stances ‘Round the selfsame burning brandings Find their places, trouble’s reach.
I have no quirky, frightening tales, No monsters, ghosts, or shadows here, Except the mind’s own fateful chasms, Where to fall is just expected.
Nor loves are here, nor lovers’ pinings. All of that has been expunged quite By the starker ice’s gleamings That, resulting, follows next, A sheer winter to fall’s frost.
For you know that once you’ve passed thus All the soulful long suspirings, All that’s left is the sheer essence Of the suffering, fleshless bone.
So, wander close, faint traveller, Neat and near come to my hearthside, In the end of day’s cold gleaming, Let me chill and sap your strength.
Limning a Line
I had not the right tools for my longing No pen or fine lead would have completed me The boundless was all around What good would a stick oar have been? And I can’t swim, I said To myself, or no, really to no one. But that wasn’t true for most waters, Just this, this big thing, This insurmountable swell of blue nothing-much All around me. How would I paint it, what thin-haired brush Would have accommodated my need to draw it out? For drawing a blue surge of longing Would be drawing it out. In waves drifting into more blue, I floated now, a balloon lost in space or A bark lost in translation Dragged away in the undertow For lack of a means of expression, Equal to feeling the ocean But not to escaping the rip tide.
*Author’s note: Limning a Line was inspired by a picture from Oormila Vijayakrishnan Pralad on social media.
Bio: Victoria Leigh Bennett, (she/her). Greater Boston, MA area, born WV. Ph.D., English & Theater. Website: creative-shadows.com. In-Print; “”Poems from the Northeast,” 2021, @olympiapub. Out-of-Print but on website: “Scenes de la Vie Americaine (en Paris),” 2022, @thealienbuddha. Between Aug. 2021-Sept. 2022, Victoria will have been published at least 23 times in: Roi Faineant Literary Press, Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art, Barzakh Magazine, The Alien Buddha Press, Amphora Magazine, The Madrigal Press, Discretionary Love, Winning Writers (requested for 2 newsletters), Cult of Clio. Victoria writes Fiction/Flash/CNF/Poetry. She is the organizer behind the poets’ collective @PoetsonThursday on Twitter along with Alex Guenther & Dave Garbutt. Twitter: @vicklbennett. Victoria is emotionally and ocularly disabled.
I know you love me, you say.
How are you so sure, I wonder.
I suppose I do,
as I love nothing else.
I don't love to write,
don't love bird songs,
the shards of sunlight
that spill through the blinds
So it could be true,
that I love you,
that compared to a dandelion,
a sparrow, a tree,
I like you a little more.
This small preference,
for the sight, the sound,
the scent of you,
accumulates daily, nightly,
hourly, monthly, yearly,
like drops of honey
add up to syrupy love,
which one tastes in one’s heart.
you are sweeter than stardust,
shinier than dew.
Let me know if you still love me,
like I do you.
If you do I shall take liberty
to revisit our abandoned past,
continue our story where we left off.
I shall reserve an entire page
to store your ever-burning smile.
However, if you no longer love me,
also let me know.
I shall respectfully remove you
from my heart, my dreams,
like a picture in a frame.
I shall discard memories of us
like long expired roses
inside a vase.
I shall not flip back the pages,
but will write a brand new story
without you in it,
but a different hero.
I'm Not a Fair Weather Friend
I love you
not only when you're smiling
the sun kissing your dimpled cheeks
but when sorrow depresses your lips
and the moon clouds your countenance
I love you in gold and silk
but won't think less of you
if there are holes in your shirt
For it is not in sweetness
but in the salts of everyday life
that I'm here for you
Bio Note: I write free verses, rhyming poems, and Japanese short form poetry, some of which saw the light of day in journals like Alien Buddha Zine, Spillwords, and Cajun Mutt Press, Fevers of the Mind Press. I am also a Jeopardy fan.
When right is wrong’s end of the straw
it mixes interests like colors for show.
It doesn’t matter what you intend
because it’s so easy to contend
right isn’t right without a fight
wrong isn’t wrong if you go with the flow.
After all, they are one straw
but each on an opposite end
And so it will all depend
on which end you choose to contend.
No need to pretend it will all end
but the question is will you bend?
Will you bend
When right gets a blow
from wrong having a go
because easy is ego’s trend
humanity’s best friend
that lets us forgo
what we choose not to know.
Will you try to comprehend:
When what’s what is squat
because tragedy is a sour tart
baked by greed’s cunning thwart
thrown as good for pretend
and mastered in the art
of condescend to defend
those we choose to know.
Will you dare to offend:
When tragedy becomes a show
and injustice its common law;
because death is a premium blend
humanity chooses to recommend
when saving lives, is a default
we all learned to stow.
Will you choose to portend:
When why and why not
define a not from a nut;
When care becomes a bile spat
on truth’s vile scat
to comprehend lies and expend
lives of crowds that wend
victory from humanity’s new low.
Will you commend those who chose:
When care became a bow
and hurt its sharpest arrow;
because truth became a dividend
that shoved us to fend
insignificance and indignity by law.
My good friend,
How do we tell what’s what?
Why are why and why not
out of the question when we are in a rut?
Do we know when to stop using but
or do we have to wait for our butt
to be where all is lost?
I don’t know what’s next
or how to live on the pretext
of low is the new law.
But I do know am not okay with that
because I still want to know what’s what!
It’s hard to think when your mind is screaming what’s going on, what’s happening with humans, I don’t understand. On one end you see suffering, on the other you see people marketing this suffering as a demise of their own devise. So you stick around trying to know what’s what and think hard with your heart and mind but in the end you shove your opinion and your findings in a corner with a tight lid. It’s easy to think right and think you can say what’s right but thinking, saying and doing are three different stages in an age where sages are long gone mages because we are just pages in another’s agenda put on display in stages. What’s What is a shout out for those who dare to think, speak, and take a stand for humanity. Thank you for reading.Into You
If profound were a pair of eyes
distance would be a guise
concealing your eyes.
If depth wore mellow
and allure were to tiptoe
your voice would make souls hollow.
If mystery were a pair of lips
yours would be a honey that drips
from a spoon twirling like pulsating hips.
If cahoot were a tribute
your nose would define cute
in astute wrinkles for a salute.
If gin were a sin
your chin would be a jinn
enticing with a grin.
If chocolate were a linen
your skin would be a bodkin
piercing red tones deeply within.
If wit were to wear a slit
your mind would fit
sexy like gloves on a bandit.
If souls were a cresol
yours would be a fireball
burning every eyeball.
If attraction were a hue
made in love to hew
a heart with a look at you
then I’m into you.
*Author's Note: Dedicated to E.E.
I live under a golden sky
covering berry hills.
Though my shores are pale
I doll up in a palette of waves.
From a distance you can see
my smoky hood like a turban.
So tilt your head slightly to see
my curves swirling in azul blues.
I can be a calm sea on a stormy day;
a calamity for those who isolate me.
I am your shelter and shrine.
I am both divine and humane.
I am the rainbow that strikes you
with truth flowing and ebbing in you.
Never grey or laid in black & white.
I am you in colors beneath the horizon.
I am you in motion consecrated in devotion.
I bear your reflection and consideration.
I am your soul I dwell on imperfection
to carry you through changes with conviction.
Be the change but don’t try to change me
for a rainbow needs both the sun and rain
to shine & over-arch all that is above and beneath.
Treasure me, and life will be your prize.
In the dark a pair of lips draw
a smoky line marking a dream
gone dark and no longer divine.
Love had broken its final straw
on hope’s back waiting for steam
to blow diverging stars to align.
There a pen drops lines from a
soul that pines to recall images
once sublime now tumbling in a
darkness like fallen leaves
stuck in a whirlwind dancing a
hurtful decline on open grounds.
Love is a light shining like a halo
beaming two souls upstream
like breams sporting lights that shine
beneath a stream as they grow.
Sadly circumstances always scheme
to fish them out and drown them in brine.
Hello and goodbye are a
straight line broken into ups
and downs that get caught in a
spiral of good and bad moments
building or breaking dreams in a
matter of seconds, losing lives to lines.
Snagged with hooks with nowhere to go
the breams fade to loss’s bleak theme.
Their lives drain on a line, blood for wine.
But the stream continues to flow.
There, reality stitches truth to tragedy’s seam
to fasten the breams to death’s neckline.
Author's Notes:Bream: A kind of fish. Breams here are a metaphor of two lovers facing life's mishaps on circumstances' various lines.
Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology. Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction. To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello @ello.co/pasitheaanimalibera where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.
*ALERT: We will be putting up new prompts every few days some will be 2 day/3 day prompts some could be up to a week according to what, whom, etc. it is* The hahtag idea was failing so that is how we are going to do it…less pressure on me overall. I will put up what comes up over the weekend based off those prompts and then we will re-evaluate which prompts .I also might do a prompt call out for Quick 9’s, showcases, reviews, etc at any given time. I’m unpredictable but reliable at getting your work seen for the most part unless some poetry I deem not in our view at Fevers of the Mind comes in. Also, as the editor I will be re-working my book “Before the Bridges Fell” new book “Cursed Houses” and my wife’s book (to be named later) in the next few months… I have also began a book with collaborator “The Empath Dies in the End” this will be a slower process…so as always be patient… If accepted I usually have your stuff up in a month. If not accepted I do not respond because, I myself hate getting rejection e-mails….just send us something else please. This is reiterated later on this page. Thanks! – David L O’Nan
Also still taking poems inspired by Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Chris Cornell, Andy Warhol & The Factory including The Velvet Underground/Lou Reed, Audrey Hepburn, Prince, Claude Monet, PJ Harvey, Instrumentals of Harold Budd
*On our twitter @feversof and our facebook Group; Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Group we are doing weekly Ekphrastic poetry challenges based on photography, art, & even music. These challenges go quick. So join our twitter or facebook page to see the prompt and send your responses to firstname.lastname@example.org
We are open for Poetry Showcases for anyone to send 3-5 poems/prose. If not all pieces are accepted. I will post the 1 or 2 poems but will not be considered a showcase.
We are unable to provide compensation at this time contributors. We have to reach out through the year for donations just to keep the site going. This is for the art of poetry, music, art & other creatives.
Some poetry/art published on this site will periodically be taken down if space is running low. You will be guaranteed at least 6-8 months exposure on our website. No promises after that and don’t take it personal.
Themes we are Looking for Poetry/prose/articles/other styles of writing are for Adhd Awareness, Mental Health, Anxiety, Culture, History, Social Justice, LGBTQ Matters/Pride, Love, Poem series, sonnets, physical health, pandemic themes, Trauma, Retro/pop culture, inspired by music/songwriters, inspired by classic & current writers, frustrations.
OnlineSubmissions could include Poetry, Art, Book Reviews, culture pieces, rants, pre-published poetry from self-published materials, defunct lit mags, pieces from other lit mags/books/blogs with permissions. All submissions will first be published on the website and then considered for print anthologies with a high probability of being in a future edition of Bare Bones Writing or any specialty anthology. Just trust the process. Pieces may not be immediately in books, but over time they should be for the most part. Unless they are website exclusives. I prefer Poetry Showcases, but if you have book reviews, essays, prose pieces, short stories, cool artwork/photography please send this way. See below for more info. If you just want to send a one off piece I will look at it and if it is really good it could be considered. I just usually like a variety of your work. Thanks.
All submissions with bio (doesn’t have to be long). Please let us know if something has been previously published, we will make a judgment call on whether able to include. For Bare Bones Anthologies I’d accepted I will let you know within 1 month of email submission. I have RSD and don’t love the idea of sending rejection letters. If you don’t receive acceptance assume we passed up this time and send something else. If you have simultaneous submissions out there, please keep this in mind. If not accepted at first, Just try again…We will not accept pieces that we deem racist, sexist, homophobic, or have pornographic themes, photos, or any type of nudity in submissions.
Please donate to our paypal at email@example.com if you enjoy this site and our anthologies. Anything helps. Thank you!
Out now the Deluxe Edition of “Before the Bridges Fell”
Quick-9 Interview Questions for writers below. Always send in word doc or in body of email to firstname.lastname@example.org or pdf if you have no other option. Also, a photo to go with interview is preferred.
Q1. When did you start writing and whom influenced you the most?
Q2. Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be a writer?
Q3. Who has helped you most with writing and career?
Q4. Where did you grow up and how did that influence you? Have any travels influenced your work?
Q5. What do you consider your most meaningful work creatively to you?
Q6. What are your favorite activities to relax?
Q7. What isa favorite piece of writing you have done so far? Any meaning behind why?
Q8. What kind of music inspires you the most? What is a song or songs that always come back to you as an inspiration?Or what is a writer or book you always come back to when you're needing that extra inspiration?
Q9. Do you have any recent or upcoming books, music, events, projects that you would like to promote?
Q10. Bonus Question: Any funny or strange stories you'd like to share during your creative journey?
Quick-9 Interview questions for musicians/writers. Always send in word doc or body of e-mail to email@example.com or pdf if you have no other option. Also, a photo to go with interview is preferred.
Q1: When did you start writing/discovering music? Who influenced you the most?
Q2: Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be a musician/artist?
Q3: Who has helped you most with your career?
Q4: Where did you grow up and how did that influence you? Have any travels influenced your work?
Q5: What do you consider your most meaningful work creatively so far to you?
Q6: What are your favorite activities to relax?
Q7: From your accomplishments what do you consider a favorite piece of music that you’ve done?Any meaning behind why?
Q8: What kind of music inspires you the most? What is a song or songs that always come back to you as an inspiration?
Q9: Do you have any upcoming projects that you’d like to promote? Concerts, books, events, etc?
Bonus: Any funny memory or strange memory you’d like to share during your creative journey?
***Any actors/actresses, artists, photographers, comedians, podcasters, bloggers, athletes that are wanting a quick-9 interview answer a set of the questions above and I will incorporate your answers to your specific job***