Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Poetry Today: Trends and Traditions 10
Compiled by Anthony Servante

Welcome, readers, to the Servante of Darkness's 10th venture into the world of Poetry Today. As always, we seek to find poems that reflect new directions for the craft, while keeping an eye open for those works that echo the classic poetry from bygone eras. 

Now let's turn to our guests today. With us, we have Jaye Tomas, Rose Blackthorn, Lori R. Lopez, Kim Acrylic, John Boden, Joe Hill, and Tuomas Holopainen of the band NIGHTWISH. 

We begin with Tomas.

Jaye Tomas


Jaye Tomas has be a "scribbler" all of her life, but the Internet provided a way to more easily share it. Creating Chimera Poetry (blog & facebook page) has been an incredible experience. The fact that anyone reads what she writes is a constant source of amazement and gratitude to her. Her biggest obsession is books and her reading tastes are eclectic to say the least: Tolkien, Lovecraft, Gaiman, Plath, Ellison, Christie, Aaronovitch, Yeats, Blake, King, Barker, Straub, Lopez, Maugham, Poznansky .....to name a very few. Originally from the windy suburbs of Chicago she now resides in the UK. Lately she has been casting her eyes in the direction of Italy, but hasn't completely settled on that.....yet. It may be back to the USA, it may be Edinburgh, it may be Gallifrey..... the beauty of the story is in the journey, not the arrival.

https://www.facebook.com/jaye.tomas.7 (Jaye Tomas on facebook)
https://www.facebook.com/chimerapoet (Chimera Poetry on facebook)


Give Me the Madness~

Give me the madness
the exploration of nightmares
give them to me so I can show you
how to pull off their black masks and see them for the dreams they once were
before the darkness of fear covered them like treacle
sticking the mayfly wings together and tossing them into your
dreamscape like grenades
kernels of thoughts and guilts and avoided places of shadow
magnify when unknown
leech the murk and poison from them
unmask and let them flit away, reborn and wrapped in remnants of bright colors
give me the madness and let it write its own poetry
while I hold the pen.

Goddess of Depression ~

Portray yourself as you will
like the night
like the darkness
you are a liar
Goddess of Depression you may deceive 
you may wrap yourself in robes of ebony
and pretend a mystery
but you are colorless
merely a sterile landscape
hopeless, charmless, 
obscuring the light
the future
a roaming beast , a dog 
searching for another you can fasten leech-like upon
to pull the cork and let the joy drain away into the 
anemic sand
Goddess of Depression, you are no deity 
although you crown yourself with gilt and flimsy rhetoric
you have nothing more than any aging harlot
paint and perfume and magic potions cannot disguise
the paper flowers and mirrors 
perhaps a cheap parlor trick 
or two
which is all you have to convince those held in your thrall
that they can do no more.


Rose Blackthorn


My name is Rose Blackthorn.  I am a member of the HWA and have been published online and in print with Stupefying Stories, Cast of Wonders, Buzzy Mag and the anthologies The Ghost IS the Machine, A Quick Bite of Flesh, Fear the Abyss, From Beyond the Grave, Horrific History, Eulogies II: Tales from the Cellar, Blood and Roses, O Little Town of Deathlehem and The Best of the Horror Society 2013, among others. My poetry has been published in Cellar Door, Necon E-books year-end anthologies for 2011 and 2012, The Pagan Friends e-magazine, the HWA newsletter, and my poem "Inevitable as the Incoming Tide" is scheduled to appear in issue 2 of Jamais Vu Spring 2014.



Rose Blackthorn

it’s the wind again
sighing in the dark
plucking at the eaves
with impatient fingers
the house creaks
and sighs in harmony
shifting, just slightly
like a ship in stormy seas

in the dark, I listen
unable to sleep
the dogs dream and whimper
swallowing muffled warnings
they lie at my right
taking the otherwise empty space

eyes closed,
I see still the glowing numbers
as night marches so slowly on
ghostly fingers tap
against the curtained window
I will not rise, will not peek
monsters beneath the bed
wait for my naked ankles

somewhere in this dark
beneath other covers
a distance I can’t calculate
you lie alone
but do you listen
to wordless sighs, or
do you dream of me?

I wish for pelting rain
for thunder’s grumble
and lightning’s flash to blank my eyes
instead of fumbling uneasy whispers
and sleep that will not come


Forever Mine
Rose Blackthorn

in a box beneath the stone
wrapped in cloth and left alone
lies the heart of my beloved
            he is mine, forever mine

in the dark of moonless night
hidden always from her sight
his ghost is wandering and calling
            but he’s mine

she doesn’t know that he is taken
her faith has never shaken
even though he won’t return
            because he’s mine

sometimes I want to tell her why
he never came to say goodbye
but then I stop before I do
            for he is mine, and only mine

…the love he had for her is just a lie


Lori R. Lopez


Lori R. Lopez wears many hats, including as an author and artist, musician and actress.  She is also an activist against abuse and cares deeply about conservation and animal rights.  She has always loved books since being read to when small.  Her titles include OUT-OF-MIND EXPERIENCES, CHOCOLATE-COVERED EYES, DANCE OF THE CHUPACABRAS, AN ILL WIND BLOWS, THE MACABRE MIND OF LORI R. LOPEZ, POETIC REFLECTIONS:  KEEP THE HEART OF A CHILD, and THE FAIRY FLY.  Her stories and verse appear in THE SIREN'S CALL E-ZINE and anthologies such as MIRAGES:  TALES FROM AUTHORS OF THE MACABRE, MASTERS OF HORROR: DAMNED IF YOU DON'T, BONES II, SPLATTERPUNK SAINTS, DARLINGS OF DECAY, I BELIEVE IN WEREWOLVES, THE EPOCALYPSE: EMAILS AT THE END, SOUP OF SOULS, THIRSTY ARE THE DAMNED, and SCARE PACKAGE:  14 TALES OF TERROR.  Fifteen of Lori's poems were published for an anthology titled IN DARKNESS WE PLAY.  She unapologetically takes pride in creatively bending and reshaping the rules of writing when it suits her style.

Lori writes a peculiar column called "Poetic Reflections" at Fairy Fly Entertainment, a creative website she is establishing with her talented sons: http://fairyflyentertainment.com/category/category/poetic-reflections.

You can find her poetry collection and other titles at:  http://www.amazon.com/author/lorirlopez


under the rainbow

by lori r lopez

so here i am
holding my umbrella upside down
to catch the drops
that fall under the rainbow
out of starry eyes
wrung from the hankies of clouds
who do not all have silver linings
that’s just a myth
some of them are shaped like ogres
and sundry sorry critters
that go bump in the night sky
not all nursery rhymes end happily
just as fairytales can be grim
and wishes could make the stars collide
like marbles or billiard balls
which crack and thunder
in delayed measures
of rimshot or bass-drum moods
to cymbalize the hot sparks
of cosmic temperament
so here i stand
absorbing the sorrows
of the universe
catching rain with my umbrella
saved for a sunny day
when i will turn the umbrella over
and stand in the shade
to bask in my tears


by Lori R. Lopez

We hold at bay our deepest fears
Grown like mushrooms in the moist dark
Of attics and cellars where once we
Dwelt alone inside

We know full well ancient memes and foibles
Have no power upon us, still
We know this to the bottoms of our souls
But cannot convince the heart

A ling’rous crescendo of risen panic
Accompanies its strings as they are strummed
Tightened too far until they snap
With a reverbent whine of sorrow

Who’s afraid of the big, the bad?
Whether snarling beast or grinning lamb
There are cosmic ripples that would us guide
If we only could anticipate

New torments acquired
The strifes and strickens of a harried life
Are no less troubling, no easier to brush
Off like a shrugged regret

Yet the brittle leaves of long-gone seasons
Scrape the pavement of the steadfast mind
We can’t seem to clear the cobwebs from
The rafters, the crevices, or the past

Such thoughts are best to disregard
And let the wounds close up a spell
I’m not afraid of the big bad wolf
I’d just like to forget him awhile

Dreads combined or one by one
Are just as poignant, keenly felt
Some things won’t settle or ebb like the sea
All we can do is stay afloat.

Night Howls

by Lori R. Lopez

In the stormulent surge of a black-laden morrow
Shredded by the screech of a cloaken night owl
A bristling voice cried with absolute sorrow
But its meaning got lost in the shatter of a howl
Where the pieces were sown to the soil disarrayed
In an eloquent pattern of leaf-stricken pangs
While living upheavaled on the edge of afraid
Only knowing the dark bares a mean set of fangs

From a corner so dim that a shadow looks pale
With ill-fortunate bane creeps the truth of the day
A screamenous shame that is hurled to the gale
When the silence crescendos for there's nothing to say
And the heart is so heavy with the knowledge of grief
At the cutting of losses that will make the soul bleed
Like a vein that's carved open and spilling belief
In the teardrops of trust that can't fill your great need

Your whimpers unheard below the scud of indulgence
That drowns out your voice as it coughs up regret
How vividly etched is the tarnished effulgence
Of a symbol so transparent it is hard to forget
At what age do we cease to repeat old mistakes?
Or to cower uncertain neath the shade of the past?
What point will we grow up and do what it takes
To stand for the image in which we were cast?

But it's always the same in the end, don't you see?
A night tallying hours as the content count their sheep
It is never the way that you wished it to be
In the dark the view's clearer when you should be asleep
Shining brighter than daylight to a subconscious eye
That was watching, head shaking, the clever antics of fools
With a voice growing louder in a wrenchening cry
That had long ago surrendered the fighting of duels

Lying faceless in fear that the morning arrives
And nothing has changed but the calendar's date
Catlike you pray for a set of nine lives
Hoping one will at last be the wish you await
If only these mirrors and this smoke could be real
The flourish of deeds be as grand as they seemed
If we only could erase how we've been made to feel
Then perhaps what we've lived would live up to that dreamed.


Kim Acrylic


Kim Acrylic, from Seattle Washington is a Poet/ Recording Artist/indie Music Journalist, who dedicated her life to poetry at age 15. Since then she has worked for several online music and poetry magazines and has been published in several anthologies including Little Episode's first volume of poetry "Back In 5 Minutes" She also collaborated post-death with Andy Warhol for the New Britain Museum Of Modern Art by writing a poem inspired by his painting of Manray for the book "Visions, Voices, and verses" As of to date Kim has two CDs out "Fan Fare Melt Down" and "Techno Eyes.She continues to collaborate to this day with artists all over the world.


Dizzy Lover
Here he comes to dizzy your head again.
corrupt heartbreak sneaks through the shadows.
Faces morphed into abandonment and shaded loss.
Birth your own happiness to be forsaken in jewels of forgiveness.
Love your skies, dawns and moons that spin inside your tropical worlds.
Follow the flailing beauty, drowning in your self esteem.
Nocturnal doom ebbs and flows like broken lucky charms.
Fear no lies or deceit for they are plastic and pretend like kindergarten days.
Dusty memory of your own bliss and over-looked courage....
You, soft and fragile beg for see-through mercy of this heart shaped curse...
Tumbling through the moods of mania and blue hostility you reach beyond!

“Elaborate Gods”

The elaborate Gods of my existence forever fly through eternity.

Danger runs sacred through the blissful promise lands of chaos.

Come to me, kiss the serpent’s tongue, understand my reasons for death.

Be aware of all mysteries that surround my place of rest.

Now run to fate my love, study the candles flicker as it slowly burns

to nothingness, taking you for the ride.

Touch my face with a sense of mysticism,

Breath in all words that I shall speak.

Except empathy for our lust, and always be afraid of the darkened

rooms of the Lord.

don’t be in terror of death, take with you laughter of the next child

of ravishing worship!

“Heaven and Hell”

I see you there in a smoke filled dot com world with shadow puppets as late night guests.

Do you fancy yourself a trendsetter?

I believe in you as you lie day after night in your coffee stained pajama pants reciting old English prose.

Is this what moves you so?

You’re a martyr for your own compound fracture of an existence.

Is Jesus your father?

I brush my hair with a vengeance.

Plump up my less than zero lips.

Who am I kidding YOU’RE the star here!

Green and gold prisms shoot around the stagnant air like a Willy Wonka dream.

I fell from grace one too many heartbreaking times between these four walls.

The silence that made my ears scream with strange men, and heavy metal.

I bathe away my infectious offspring- a form of abortion for the ill.

Unknown to the world of fact or fiction, you generate superficial fame from your fingertips.

No one will despise the tainted shadow you keep, only the realism in your voice, face, and hands you shake.

Keep an open mind while the door stays closed. No outer influence will scar you in your battered rusty shell.

Where are the lovers, the kissers, the poets you long to be?

Have they collided with their hell too?

Someday heaven and hell will collide, and it will equal...me.


John Boden


John Boden lives a stones throw from Three mile Island. He works as a baker by day and divides the remainder of his time between spending time with his wife and sons, being an editor for Shock Totem magazine and writing his own things. His stories have appeared in 52 STITCHES, METAZEN magazine, WEIRDYEAR, BLACK INK HORROR, the John Skipp edited PSYCHOS anthology and O LITTLE TOWN OF DEATHLEHEM, a charity anthology of holiday horror stories. He also wrote the prose/poem/fiction nightmare packaged as a "children's book that is not for children", DOMINOES. He has bad ass muttonchops and likes mashed potatoes.

"Simple Math"

The ants in my eyes all hiss her name
They make it taste like a four letter word
I sit alone and stare at my upturned hands
scrutinizing fingerprints
They swirl and drain and promise
idenitity and you
minus you
subtraction makes the heart grow fonder


A survival kit
in an old lunch box
-a super ball
-a thumb tack
-a razor blade
-a string
-a page from the book of Ezekiel

A survival kit
in a hollow soul
-a sharp stick
-a compliment
-a razor tongue
-a string
-a page from the New York Post

These things....these lists are mirror twins.


Joe Hill 


According to the AFL-CIO Web site about Joe Hill, here’s what happened.
On Jan. 10, 1914, Hill knocked on the door of a Salt Lake City doctor at 11:30 p.m. asking to be treated for a gunshot wound he said was inflicted by an angry husband who had accused Hill of insulting his wife. Earlier that evening, in another part of town, a grocer and his son had been killed. One of the assailants was wounded in the chest by the younger victim before he died. Hill’s injury therefore tied him to the incident. The uncertain testimony of two eyewitnesses and the lack of any corroboration of Hill’s alibi convinced a local jury of Hill’s guilt, even though neither witness was able to identify Hill conclusively and the gun used in the murders was never recovered.
Many prominent people, including President Woodrow Wilson tried to get Hill’s sentence commuted, or a pardon, or something, but the Utah Supreme Court would hear none of that. And so on Nov. 19, 1915, Joe Hill was executed by firing squad for a crime he probably didn’t commit. Perhaps he really was “a little too active to suit the chief of the burg.” 
Joe Hill was a union organizer, songwriter and a hero to working men and women in America. Before he was executed by firing squad in 1915 he wrote this poem.

The Poem: 


My will is easy to decide
For there is nothing to divide
My kin don’t need to fuss and moan
“Moss does not cling to a rolling stone.”
My body? – Oh. – If I could choose
I would to ashes it reduce
And let the merry breezes blow
My dust to where some flowers grow
Perhaps some fading flower then
Would come to life and bloom again
This is my Last and final Will
Good Luck to All of you


Tuomas Holopainen


Tuomas Lauri Johannes Holopainen (born 25 December 1976) is a Finnishsongwriter, multi-instrumentalist musician (but mainly keyboardist), screenwriter and record producer, best known as the founder, leader, keyboardist and songwriter of symphonic metal band Nightwish. He has also studied jazz and classical styles, but prefers to be influenced by harmonic film music (Wiki). 

Poem/Song Lyrics: 
From Nightwish Imaginaerum: Purchase here.


It was the night before,
When all through the world,
No words, no dreams
Then one day,
A writer by a fire
Imagined all of Gaia
Took a journey into a child-man's heart...

A painter on the shore
Imagined all the world
Within a snowflake on his palm
Unframed by poetry
A canvas of awe
Planet Earth falling back into the stars

I am the voice of Never, Never Land
The innocence, the dreams of every man
I am the empty crib of Peter Pan,
A soaring kite against the blue, blue sky,
Every chimney, every moonlit sight
I am the story that will read you real,
Every memory that you hold dear

I am the journey,
I am the destination,
I am the home
The tale that reads you
A way to taste the night,
The elusive high
Follow the madness,
Alice you know once did

Imaginarium, a dream emporium!
Caress the tales
And they will dream you real
A storyteller's game,
Lips that intoxicate
The core of all life
Is a limitless chest of tales...

I am the voice of Never, Never Land
The innocence, the dreams of every man
I am the empty crib of Peter Pan,
A soaring kite against the blue, blue sky,
Every chimney, every moonlit sight
I am the story that will read you real,
Every memory that you hold dear

I am the voice of Never, Never Land
The innocence, the dreams of every man
Searching heavens for another earth...

I am the voice of Never, Never Land
The innocence, the dreams of every man
I am the empty crib of Peter Pan,
A soaring kite against the blue, blue sky,
Every chimney, every moonlit sight
I am the story that will read you real,
Every memory that you hold dear


Thank you, readers, for joining us today for another visit with today's poetic talent. We look forward to seeing you again soon. Till then, keep the Darkness under your pillow. Sweet dreams.

1 comment:

  1. Once again I have enjoyed your work Anthony. It is always a pleasure to read words from the heart.