I didn’t

Tell her about

       The gavel, chestnut and

        condemning in its conviction, about

                The sentence that was read

                while I studied

                                my shoes,

                      About the bars that lined my vision morning, evening, and

                                Night,

                        About the time

                        out of the sun,

                               The hours

                                away from the world, about

                                The room I was given

                                At the castle, about

                                        My only friend

                                        on the range, about

                                                The stain

                                                That limits my ambition. Now,

                                        How do I tell her?

I am in love with her.

Kristal Peace is a lover of words. She loves their puissance; their ability to charm, dazzle, puzzle, stun, comfort, help, heal, inform and transform. In her free time she indulges her love of words and uses those majestic creatures to write stories and poems.

Poetry Drawer: The Provisional Monarch by Kristal Peace

apocalypse now

sitting here drinking
watching apocalypse
now for maybe the
thousandth time

when i was younger

i was about the
napalm in the
morning

when i got older

i was martin sheen
face painted, coming
out of the water

now that i’m old

i’m fucking brando

isolated genius
spewing madness
into a microphone

waiting for someone
to release me from
the horror

the horror

so, if you ever come
over and hear the end
by the doors playing
a little too loud

do yourself a favor
and duck

i am the one

happiness is as
elusive as a woman
deciding i am the
one

plenty think that
at some point
then, reality
settles in

between the abuse,
the poverty,
the emptiness
and despair

it certainly doesn’t
look as rosy as
before

and no one likes
a dream that gets
muddled with
some real life
shit

brace for impact

say
hello to
the most
beautiful
woman
you know
and brace
for impact

one of
these
days

she might
actually
acknowledge
your existence

endless worries

the lucid skies
of neon dreams

polluted with the
endless worries
of a population
under attack

divided

we have fallen

this
is what happens
when you refuse
to learn from
our history

the world he brought you into

every scar
is a memory

engraved into
your brain for
posterity

every lash

every harsh
word

every single
time your father
threatened to
take you out
of this world
he brought
you into

there aren’t
enough drugs
in the world
that will allow
you to escape
the pain

but, there’s
always a
bullet

Poetry Drawer: Five Poems by J.J. Campbell

http://www.inkpantry.com/poetry-drawer-if-i-was-an-optimist-when-an-old-woman-%ef%bb%bfsingle-in-my-forties-but-as-the-light-fades-no-desire-to-even-think-by-j-j-campbell/

Poetry Drawer: lost a battle with suicide: for the rest of our lives: an old lover whistling in a graveyard: my therapist: pressing my lips by J.J. Campbell

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is currently trapped in suburbia, plotting his revenge.  He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Record Magazine, The Dope Fiend Daily, Horror Sleaze Trash, Synchronized Chaos, and Chiron Review. His most recent chapbook, the taste of blood on christmas morning, was published by Analog Submission Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights & Goodreads.

Become a superb troubadour who loves
an eaglet in the starry night full of autumn miracle fulfilled in
the meek ontology!

Taste a beverage of holt-like fairies from a stunning tumbler – to wit
the cranberry juice and some dew enchanted
in the metaphysics!

Sit down near a propitious tumulus – where the archpriest
of the ancient Druids was buried with first
summer starling of epistemology!

Hum a weird-ravishing tune – whose words
have been hidden in the oaken hole in medieval time
full of the aesthetics!

Bee a pleasing trustee-friend of the King of Pixies – your
magician of dawn bewitched by the Morning Star
in a logical dreamery!

Give as a present a smattering of grand tulips – flowers
consecrated for the Apollonianly miraculous dwarfs
loving tender Zeus-like aesthetics!

Find out a gorgeous twig of a willow that was
adored by the most romantic poet in his more tender
poesy of historic ethics!

Carry a divine tunic of ancient sibyl of Artemis
who liked the dreamy-meek butterfly of wood loving
the stoicism!

My dreamiest Erlking!!!
Tarry until the first moon-time
from Ionic philosophy of nature!
Enchant all morning starlings
and evening starlets – the beings
from dreamy muse’s hearts
Yes – no woe – they belong to Apollon

Pawel Markiewicz was born 1983 in Poland (Siemiatycze). His English haikus and short poems are published by Ginyu (Tokyo), Atlas Poetica (USA), The Cherita (UK), Tajmahal Review (India) and Better Than Starbucks (USA). More of Pawel’s work can be found on Blog Nostics.

Poetry Drawer: The bee in the calyx by Paweł Markiewicz

Poetry Drawer: My dreamy manifesto under the starry sky, cometward by Paweł Markiewicz

Poetry Drawer: Poem about Prometheus by Paweł Markiewicz

Poetry Drawer: You, springtide by Paweł Markiewicz

Poetry Drawer: Pearls-Dreams by Paweł Markiewicz