Category: Uncategorized

WAR Poem: MERCY GOOD, by Hayden Carter

Do you know the tale of a girl named Mercy Good?
Born in prison’s sullen walls, and died between them too.
She spent four months a wailing, ailing, disregarded babe.
As swiftly as she choked on life, she met her makeshift grave.

The townsfolk denied her name- both first and last, they did.
For hope and mercy, fair and good, had long been tossed and rid.
Her mourning mother prayed to God with woeful pleas unsung.
For even He knew by week’s end, she too would be hung.

A magical world where infant girls see only walls of stone.
A magical world where hungry earth can feast on infant bones.
A magical world where seasons pass, yet never change the soil.
A magical world that grants us few the gift of guilt and toil.

SCI-FI/FANTASY Poem: The Modern Priest’s Prayer, by Alan D. Abbey

As I stand before the video altar
With millions watching me
And the animals waiting in line
To be sacrificed to You, Lord,
I utter these words of prayer
Beware therefore that you imitate not the doings of those
Whose tongues are polished by craftsmen
And themselves laid over with gold and silver.
The priests secretly convey away gold and silver
And bestow it on themselves.
Their faces are black with the smoke that is made in the house.
The things that are sacrificed to them
The priests sell and abuse
In like manner their wives also take part
But they give nothing to the sick or to the poor.

CRIME Poem: FUNKY PREMONITIONS, by Cassandra Ferro

You visit me like a ghost that is not yet dead,
scavenging for unclaimed patches of skin,
twisting your head, tilting your voracious
curiosity, impavid, wondering why I wonder, why
I let you eat from me; truth is, my only comeback
is poor quality drinking habits and an attachment
to vices far ill-suited for your impeccable taste. You kiss my
mouth open, my legs open, my secrets open, and
when I’m about to pour my miracles all over
your pale chest, an insidious thought plays
in the corner of your eye– and you doubt what
it was all for. You then proceed to evaporate like a
betrayed mermaid and I

cling to the dagger piercing these bones.

CRIME Poem: Poetic Justice, Jonathan Goldman

T’was my last caper, a risky but weighty score:
Safe dial whirred, door popped at speed,
No chance to focus, time to take a shot,
In n’ out in minutes, so why’d I get caught?

Cops cuff’d me, then questioned me, but I didn’t break,
The files stashed, they couldn’t charge me,
But wasted no time planting seeds of doubt,
“Somebody’s been talking,” they casually dropped.
If one of my crew snitched, I’d figure it out.

A close pack we were, tied by our trials,
Traditions oft’n lie, so I drilled down deep,
Only four knew the plan, a rare conceit,
Can any leave alive? Most bloody receipt.

My bag man, they call’d him the Butter Knife,
Never let a mark win, cunning ran rife.
He made the contact, he secured the score,
When asked, “Did you let me get caught?”
He refused to answer; Cross off one more.

Mac was the best driver–always got away,
A life lived too fast, no pause or delay,
Never stopp’d to think, rather chase the toast,
At the meet, I asked, “Why’d you ghost the heist?”
He made a run for it, so his corpse must roast.

Fat Tony wasn’t just a handler, but a made man,
My mate, he was–unlike Mac–consistent as sin,
` He did a dime for me, uncheckered loyalty,
But ne’er made the exchange, body floating out to sea.

None to squeal; the Feds couldn’t charge me,
Covert info, Fools gold, the law couldn’t bar me.
Then a congressman bid—more than info bought,
Money is evil, but censorship got me shot.