Immortal-Karem Barratt/Singing Heart

Singing Heart

K. Barratt

VAMPIRE_2008-2011_00_c_Stage_Entertainment                                                                                                                                                                  (image by ja_-_produktion_-_TANZ_DER_VAMPIRE_2008-2011_00_c_Stage_Entertainment.jpg)

He would come every night, tapping gently the glass of my window. He would come in the shadows, in the mist, he would come to me. His touch soft as breeze. And as a winter breeze, just as cold. His skin, smooth and cool, a soft marble of sorts. His eyes, the moon, appearing from the thick veils of clouds, and my doubts would wither, like flowers in the snow. And his kiss would drain me, burn me, kill me -and yet I longed for it, this burning, this draining. This death. For never was I more alive than in the arms of my immortal. I was his offering, his sacrifice, his wet nurse, his lover. Only he would give meaning to the dread of my days: to the long, agonizing collapse of a world with no emotion or hope or love, just tarnished glitter and…

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I Die in the Water – Jasper Kerkau

Brilliant, piercing writing from Jasper Kerkau.

The Writings of Jasper Kerkau


I died again. In the waters as usual. It is always the water. Somehow it all makes sense. It is always the minor things. The minutia that pulls me under. The little, wet idiosyncrasies, stuffed words, distant miscommunication. I die over and over again. Each time, I emerge from the waters, gasping for air. Shedding my wet skin, warming myself by imaginary fires. There is always a new life, new thoughts springing forth from moist soil. But, the disappointment is daunting. The little, sad failures leave me paralyzed in bed, stomaching churning, limbs seized. I stand in the grocery store, gazing at nothing, avoiding mediocre conversations with a neighbor about apple trees. There is a scream boiling up inside me. A smile creeps across my face and I nod, backing away slowly. There is nothing I understand about their world. My days are secret disasters giving birth to revelations, new…

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Taste of Dust

Reverent beauty from OldePunk of RamJet Poetry

RamJet Poetry


World’s twin bastions

wounded phoenixes

ridden by shadows

plummet on evil wind

casting thunder into cloudless sky

a quaking of steel roots

and iron limbs

downtown sandstorm in the boroughs

the taste of dust

and ashes in my mouth

Pulverulent colossi groaning from

the bloody hands of undead men, 

tainting a loving belief

seek with daggers of speed

to murder those pictures

of an ideal

The hymn of great sorrows

mirrored in every home

victims and heroes all

lay down that eve in burial shroud

the taste of tears and ashes

in our mouthes 

And where

do good men seek

a reason for atrocity bound

innocence claimed for nothing

but the taste of dust

and ashes

fires burned at the peaks

broken angels falling to earth

and all who bore witness

could do naught but weep

for what was undone

a kingdom forever changed

by the taste of dust


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A. Marie/The Larkspur Horne

The Larkspur Horne

She’s got her heartbeats timed, rural baby waking, traveling, drinking,
buying instead of baking pie, burning her toast and rolling up
a dozen pink socks, a six pack of infantile dreams
that never left; she drove right on through her teens
and now languishes in her twenties,
went international and cross-country, went scuba diving
in Máncora, Peru, but never shook off the little ghost.
She’s still seeking
that adult high.

She’s iGen, with two Bachelors and going for her Masters, but she’s still bouncing
from cashier to cashier to Patreon, galvanized by pro-women
pop-culture icons, weighing herself five times a day,
counting Likes, Pins, Hearts, Right Swipes, Followers, Hits, Shares;
she’s lonely, but tries not to be afraid. Licks the sovereign blanc
from her lips and gives sad boys the finger, makes her signature
bubbly and large, thick and dashing.
She keeps her jets cool.

she’s thrashing, popping anxiety…

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Spoken Word Spotlight: I’m Afraid/Billy Pilgrim with The Heartsease Kid

It is no secret that I am a huge fan of spoken word poetry and that if I had a little more time (and a maybe a little more ovaries), I’d be out at Poetry Slams.  I was contacted today by Billy Pilgrim with The Heartsease Kid.  They are a Norwich based duo who combine spoken word poetry and digital music, which in their own words is an attempt to create a form that is accessible to a wider audience.  They just launched a WordPress site and you can check them out on YouTube and SoundCloud.  I kind of love what they are doing and it is my honor to introduce them to you.

Stirring- A Collaborative Poem from Kindra Austin, Aurora Phoenix & Christine Ray

Your swift flowing water

Elusive, quicksilver

Brushes past my shores


my roughing grains


a flash flood


cut into earth

New veins carry fresh lifeblood

Awakening me

from long slumber

longing rippling outward

concentric circles


by turns urgent

and languid

your ebb

begets my flow

See the colors of infant life



brilliant resilience

inherited DNA

Kindra Austin is the voice at Kindra M. Austin

Aurora Phoenix writes at Insights from”Inside”

Christine Ray blogs at Brave and Reckless


All three can be found at Blood Into Ink and Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Help Stephanie Bennett-Henry Recover from Hurricane Harvey

Writer Stephanie Bennett-Henry needs our help.

The Lithium Chronicles

Our beautiful friend and writer Stephanie Bennett Henry desperately needs our help. She and her husband had just finished a full renovation of her childhood home and were preparing to move into it over the next coming weeks when Hurricane Harvey hit Texas. She was in the flood zone. Her house consumed by water. The clean up will be long and heartbreaking and without flood insurance or help from FEMA the financial burden to redo all they’d worked so hard on is a mountainous amount.

A fund has been set up by a group of her friends and fellow writers to help her family as best we can. We ask you to please donate what you can. Every little bit helps.

Stephanie’s words have helped heal thousands, now she needs healing. The campaign was started this morning. The link is here, please offer what you can and please share…

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Yellow Butterfly- Stephen Fuller/Stephen Fuller Poetry

I want to share this lovely poem from my dear friend Stephen Fuller but also the TedTalk. Trust me when I tell you to watch to the end. It has not been an easy year for me (medical problems, mental health struggles, transitions) but even during some very deep and at times scary challenges, my life has changed in amazing ways. Both in terms of reaching in and finding parts of myself I thought were gone forever and in reaching out and making connections. I have had amazing opportunities this year to grow, to connect, to take risks, to trust myself, to trust others and it does feel seismic. In many ways this has been one of the hardest years of my life but also a year where I have lived fully and embraced opportunities. And yes, I am very grateful to still be here today and to have been given such richness.