Woman in the Morgue: Black Petals Magazine

“The ghouls ate her soul… sixpence and two shillings found within the woman’s skull.”

Issue #51, special thanks to A.M. Stickle.

Read at: http://blackpetalsks.tripod.com/blackpetalsissue51/id16.html

Monitary Military Minors A Poem

The ghost of tarots read
A fortune and a fate
Cast spells and chant instead
A seal to vaulted slates
Where gold embedded, lowly rich kin
Whose blood once shedded, now they declare wars
And smile behind unbroken skin
Are the talents of the warriors
Further reaching than life taking?
Or are they taught as they progress towards truth
The beauty they are forsaking?
Behind the errors sleuth,
Comes tapestry dances
Done so wily
Like private celebrations where perversion strives
They've stumbled upon the curse romances
All subtly drink senselessly and forget their war scars
And dream of tour's end and driving fast cars
Hold on, some say, hold on to better days
Where quieter truths once reignes
Not so now, benign hunger
And lust of all things monetary
Renders both beauty AND truth all too scary...
And what should they carry onto that battlefield?
Whose signs of victory are only the crops of wisdom one yields...
Hold on, look back, look back on better times...

Cloak- Poem

Darkest before the dawn
Helix aflame from out the tempest skies spawn
My weakness
My heartache
Have ye' lost the will to foresake?
The treasures of entrapment?
Wide, the plains of enfamy
Deep, the skies of harmony
Pay tribute to the tributaries
That form tribunal rule to coax the masses
Their masonic glean
Their deceptions seem
Like gentle messages from messengers of good hope
Yet that which they rob from us, right under our noses
The noises, the poems that release toxic chi
And replaces with glee
These things God put here for you and me...
They would tread and mull those plains down...
They would blanket the skies with lights and chaos...
Betwixt the wicker hourglass and pyrite grandfather clock
Lies a cloak which you and I must wear
It blinds us
We have no idea
Just toward either we head
And when our life is up
And cloak is shed
We realize our allies have truly been misread...

"Angry Angus" POEM

His anger seered, yet behind his eyes
Hid a petty steer
In a pasture of manure and tattoo ink
He stepped to me, and I did not blink
And thank God that he thought to think
That I would not be toyed with
That when he would swing his fist, it would be him
Who would pay
And when his fellow red Angus stomped and leered
I knew no fear
For both were dumb beasts
Vying for the last green leaf of taunting
Which I saved for the last stand
When neither raised a hand, but ridiculed and mocked
I got in, flipped a bird with a smirk on my face
Then left behind the inbred disaster
How humorous it looked in the rear view
And how marvelous
Now that they knew who was who

"S-Avus" POEM

She came in, overexcited

Seemingly exalted

For some higher purpose

That ultimately shun her, sent her home

For shame, the state she was in!

It seemed an exelcier wellspring of pain and tormented agony

Distorted, slurred, her perception blurred

A flat tire, she claimed

Her great stature defamed

For naught, that what she was on prior evenings

Was something calm, relaxed, still breathing

But when she stepped into the world of upset

All that was adept turned around

Revealed sad, stony eyes

Could not concentrate

Could not do the things which came natural

Just look at this woman's peril!

Sweeping here and there, breaking without care

The porcelain sheep in every one's trusting figure

A splinter she caught

In the form of a syringe

Before she came to work

Divergence Poem

Absalom!
They hold vengeance upon pedestals
Then balk when it is obtained abruptly
Take to our forefathers when harboring mistrust
Take to our Lord God when love must...
Be found
Arabesque, the universality of man and women's unity
What foretold the sight beyond a pale moon?
For within the dreaded, nocturnal flight
Upon that very same moon appeared
A death's head superimposed
Perhaps by high flying hawks or UFOs...
Be that as it may, a storm is coming...
Humming...
Waiting for mankind to choose its course of action
Will they be joining hands or banging on the battle drum?
Or will the simply cease to sum- up and down their fears creep steadily!
Like insects marveling at heavenly berries
None merry or too joyous
To realize these obsessions will destroy us

Black Petals Magazine

"His eyes narrowed as he motioned to a sign which read The Devil's Throat."

From "The Devil's Throat." Which can be read in full at: http://blackpetals.tripod.com/blackpetalsissue49/id9.html