Sunday, October 6, 2024

The Western Sun by Kelly Moyer

The number eight is
a pair of farm-fresh eggs,
prepared on the griddle,
over-easy,
whereas I exist
in two paltry dimensions,
rendered effortlessly
on the page,
though not within space.
No doubt, there is a flaw
in my construction,
akin to your perception
of consciousness,
tethered, as they say,
to the manicured
hands of time.

--

Kelly Moyer is an accomplished poet, photographer and fiber artist, who pursues her muse through the cobbled streets of New Orleans’s French Quarter as well as the mountains of North Carolina. Hushpuppy, her collection of short-form poetry, was released last year by Nun Prophet Press. Notecards containing a few of her most popular images are available at www.etsy.com/shop/theunfazedmoon.

Friday, October 4, 2024

Negative Exposure by SOUM

Don't be so happy that the sun has come
out, showering all with its light and warmth
You still have darkness swirling around you
Beware, it will cost you a life of love

Too long hidden in the murk and the dim
Those bright beams invade every unlit nook
Now in your face the obvious unveiled

No-where to hide such stark clarity of
this shit-mess you’re bringing into your life

--

SOUM (Screams of Unfettered Minds) is a newly-formed female trio whose poems explore the darker aspects of life championing awareness for mental health and social issues. These private Kiwis consider their style to be raw, unapologetic, unfiltered, cheeky, but always heartfelt, using their poems as their mouthpiece. Twitter/X: @SOUMpoets

Tuesday, October 1, 2024

The Night After Christmas by Cat Dixon

After the soiree ends and the mess
is picked up, after the forgotten
friends forgive the faux pas
of lost invitations, after the babies
have screamed all evening, and exhausted,
they sleep in their beds, I still believe
that people are good, and fire is bad.
I retrieve and count the needles left
from the shedding evergreen,
and carefully pack away the shiny
baubles. After the candles
are extinguished without incident,
I drown them in the full bathtub,
and fill up a large garbage bag
with their waxy gray bodies.
Perhaps this is wasteful,
but the clock’s ticking,
the phone’s ringing, the alarm’s
screaming, and the dreams
of children are close to their end.

--

Cat Dixon is the author of What Happens in Nebraska (Stephen F. Austin University Press, 2022) along with six other poetry chapbooks and collections. She is a poetry editor with The Good Life Review. Recent poems published in Thimble Lit Mag, Poor Ezra’s Almanac, and Moon City Review.