Lost Love

Written by Kvothe


Glittering jewels scattered across a black abyss,
Darkness consuming the edges of light, stealing warmth,
Cold biting bone deep, despair folds around me.
Empty space of the only one I have ever loved,
Heart bleeds. Remembers the gentle safety of her arms.

Then, as if answering my harboring call,
A graceful beauty wanders in, filling the room with joy.
But my heart falters, while blood runs cold with loneliness.
I can’t find those perfect words. I want to tell you how I feel,
All past hurts lost, with only a mind for you.

As the bravest of warriors, I smile on seeing you,
Heart melting, happiness burning, cheeks flush.
But another takes your hand and kisses your neck,
Territorial and yet tender he claims you. Forbidden fruit.
I walk away leaving my lonely heart on the floor by your feet.

Time passes and wounds heal but the hurts stay the same.


Having written this piece largely to pass the time while on holiday, Kvothe’s poem hits us where it most hurts. Losing a loved one to another can be torturous, particularly if the one you love doesn’t know your true feelings. Kvothe captures those truly dark and lonely moments, wraps it up in a box of heartache, and leaves. We can’t help but feel for the poet here. If you enjoyed Kvothe’s work, make sure to read his lyrical beauty, “Tinker’s Tale“. 

Featured Image CC // JLS Photography

 

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L.O.V.E

Written by Katie Allen


Love doesn’t adhere to independent variables or boundaries,
Unconditional Technicolor Smoke
Never dependent on absolute conditions,
Towards ultimate fruition, spectrum un-temperamental
Chemical reactions causing our bond,
To steer clear away from being fractious
Reaching steadily this critical temperature when we melt together,
Yet still solidify stronger than ever
Our fusion, though is it an illusion?
Or worse delusion, creating collisions in my mind
Defined dare I say corrosive, ever so elusive?
Abusive juicy outcomes I cannot fathom,
Your hazardous material, deep down I feel
Kind of surreal, but who cares let’s seal the deal!


Showcasing a fluid mix of strong chemical reactions with sensual imagery, new contributor Katie has successfully bound us to our screens with her beautiful poem. Weaving science with logic and illusion, love is a playful and exotic experiment that we’ll always endeavour to correct or stabilise. Katie’s poem was inspired by those early, heady months of falling in love – where all sources of logic are usually thrown out the window. But by using clever wordplay, the science of L.O.V.E was born. If you enjoyed Katie’s work, feel free to leave a like or comment below. 

Featured Image CC // George Alexander Ishida Newman

Seasons

Written by Loulou


I watch the window, where the rain has dew drop races.
Out on the street, I see umbrella-sheltered faces.
My mind begins to wander to other rainy days,
You and I, no longer chasing the clouds away.

We’d be bareheaded and dancing in the downpour,
Singing tunelessly to make it rain some more.
Puddles as stepping stones, with squelching toes on lawns.
And later dripping wet, but not at all forlorn.

And then the bright-eyed, breathless removal of damp cotton.
Shivering though not cold, the weather now forgotten.
Wrapped up together listening to the drumming on the tiles,
And sleepily agreeing, that storms are best by miles.

Now, stood at the window and lost in recollection,
I fondly glimpse your face in the reflection.
I picture you there, tongue poised to catch the drops,
Face upturned, eyes screwed shut, puddles splashing into socks.

I ruefully suppress a smile, sigh and shake my head,
Thankful for your quiet company and a cup of tea instead.
But the rain was not enough to keep us both in check,
So now I’ll take the memories, and not the dripping down my neck.


Reflection comes in all forms within new contributor Loulou’s poetry. Windows, rain and thoughts of previous lovers all make for interesting reading in her work. But we’re most interested in how she loops back to her memory of the rainy day, and how the narrative voice would much prefer to drink a cup of tea than catch a cold in the bitter rain. And we certainly don’t blame her. Kissing in the rain may not be for everyone. If you enjoyed Loulou’s work why not leave a like or a comment below? It’s very much appreciated!

Featured Image CC // Daniel Stark

 

Thoughts of Copious Beer

Written by Eruantien

I am who I am
No one else
My thoughts are my own
as are my emotions

To think she would feel the same as I
is arrogance indeed
For each has their own mind
not to be moved by any

some may shout and scream
when they think they are short-changed
but who am I to disagree with her heart

I can still be there for her
to be her friend is my reward
and enough that must be
for I dedicate myself to her

and her happiness
shall I give myself for.


Smack, bang in the middle of the friend zone, Eruantien’s poem certainly hits the mark. Unrequited love may be difficult at first, but we learn to move on and cope in our own time. Rejection is cruel, but it’s something we all must deal with, whether it be through love, work or friendships. Thoughts of Copious Beer concludes our love-themed content for this month, but if you’ve enjoyed Eruantien’s work make sure you check out his other work such as, ‘The Art of Swordplay‘ and ‘An Address to the Coconut‘. 

Featured Image CC // Zach Dischner

Short Poetry Spotlight – Open Hearts, Sore Wounds

Written by Blue-Eyed Devil

Haiku XXX

Blinding, liquid light,
Steals and drinks luminescence,
Thirst never sated.


Written by Wasteland Explorer

I Feel

Have you ever tried to open your heart?
To someone whom you adore
But yet they walk all over you
and break you to the core.

Their callous, tearing, spiteful words
just cut you through and through.
Yet never even realize the hurt that they can do.

They walk along oblivious,
to what their feelings say.
And keep on crunching through your soul,
until you waste away.


These two splendid poems have been joined together as part of our Short Poetry Spotlight this month. Blue-Eyed Devil’s Haiku XXX – he’s written quite a number of these – gives us much food for thought, while new contributor Wasteland Explorer opens hearts to sore wounds, giving us the title of the piece. If you enjoyed their works, make sure to leave a like or comment below. You can also view more intriguing poems from our short poetry selection with Duality in the Beginning and Mattress & Graffiti.

Featured Image CC // Santos Gonzalez

Consummate

Written by Magnificent Mayhem

It is a cannibalistic carnival of carnal delights,
flesh consumed by flesh until there is nothing left,
of you or I, or the space in between. Disregard the screams.
To stop would be to deny the sweetest taste of taboo you or I have known.

It is painful pleasure to wait
as teeth graze the skin wrapped tight,
each morsel a reminder that we are free
only here, where you are most vulnerable
and I am ravenous.

This forbidden feast that you and I indulge,
the cavernous need it satiates: to devour:
voracity is truth; base instinct undeniable
a return to purest connection.

We can be no closer, you and I, than this
attempt to quench carnivorous desire.
With no conventions here to bind appetites,
I will leisurely explore every delicious secret you contain
while you luxuriate excruciatingly in each determined bite I take.

Submitted on behalf of the Fiction Frenzy’s summer theme last year, Magnificent Mayhem’s poetry is a celebration of our basic instincts for desire. It’s both seductive in language as well as its carnal pleasures, gripping us with such an intimacy we dare not let go. Consummate doesn’t just leave romance hanging in the air, but the sticky scent of nature. If you enjoyed Magnificent Mayhem’s poem, why not check out some more of her work including, “Rabid” and “I & You“.  

Featured Image CC // Stuart Conner

Differences in Love

Written by Hope75

With a relentless assault, the rain poured as it had done for most of that day. The crowd huddled uncomfortably in the tiny, dry space of the bus shelter as the passing traffic heaved by. Those unlucky enough to be at the front were soaked from the spray of the numerous puddles, shimmering from time to time with the light from the moon.

Nestled at the back, as he was at the same time most evenings, Dennis tried in vain to read the trashy fiction he had grown to love on these dreary commutes home. He glanced at his watch, noting that the bus was now over twenty minutes late. The hustle of the irascible crowd against him was beginning to wear his patience.

The growl of an engine followed by the screech of brakes caused Dennis to look up from his book. Turning the corner he spotted the 145 that would finally get him home and back to Amy. Boarding the bus, he flashed his travel card quickly at the uninterested driver before taking the nearest available seat. Resting his briefcase on his lap he returned to his trashy tale of the pauper who fights for the love of the fair maiden, hoping this would block out the chatter of those seated around him.

It was after ten when he stepped off the bus into the cold and biting, damp air. The smell of the nearby slaughterhouse invaded his nostrils as he made his way across the deserted small road that led to his home.

Dennis shivered. Soaked through, he unlocked the door of his shabby bungalow and stepped inside, just relieved to be out of the rain more than anything. Making his way down the hallway, he stopped at the bedroom and quietly opened the door. Amy lay with her back to him, her raven-coloured curls resting on the porcelain of her exposed shoulders. He pulled the fallen bedclothes back over her shoulders and went out to the kitchen to fix his supper.

He ate in silence, flicking through the files he had brought from the office. The McMahon report had to be finished within the next few days, but it could wait for the moment. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

Dennis moved through the house for his safety check stint – making sure the front door was bolted and the back door was locked. Happy that all was in order, he dried his thinning auburn hair in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom.

Amy felt cold on his skin as he spooned next to her naked body. He could smell the faintest hint of coconut still lingering in her hair. He ran his hand over her right breast, causing him to stiffen against her buttocks. Pulling her curls back he began to softly kiss her neck and upper back. Moving himself into position he guided himself into her. Her vagina felt dry and tight but continued, penetrating her deeper. He pushed harder, quivering, readying his orgasm. It didn’t take long. Satisfied, Dennis lay on his back and began to snore.

The shrill, electronic shriek from his phone abruptly stirred him from sleep the following morning. Focusing his tired eyes, he picked his phone up from the locker beside his bed. It was work.

“Hello”, he answered.

“Morning Dennis, Mr Boyce would like you to come in early today. Urgent meeting,” the tinny voice of his boss’s secretary replied.

“Oh, okay, sure. What time does he need me?” Dennis asked, scratching his eyes.

“If you could get here in the next hour, that would be great.”

“Yeah, sure. I have a few things to sort out at home but will try to make it in as soon as I can,” he agreed, before Mr Boyce’s secretary rudely hung up.

Dennis staggered across to the bathroom, turning on the shower. It was going to be a long day. He sighed and stood in front of the mirror, observing his sagging middle-aged body before turning away, almost in disgust.

In the kitchen, he once again ate in silence, organising the McMahon files for his upcoming meeting as the toast crunched in his mouth. Permeating through the smell of burnt toast, a pungent – yet familiar – odour drifted through the air of the small bungalow.

He dashed down the hall to the bedroom, gagging a little. Getting down on his knees, he lifted the bed covers and grabbed some air freshener from beneath the bed. Dennis put the box to his nose, no lime breeze smell. He pulled out another, followed by another and found they were all beginning to lose their freshness.

Leaning in closer to Amy he realised then what was happening. Dennis would have to get rid of his latest girlfriend. It was a shame he thought, he had loved Amy more than any of the previous ones. Danielle, Pauline, Sarah, he remembered the names he liked to give them.

The heavy rain of the last few days had made the soil in his secluded back garden soft and easy to dig. Dennis carefully laid the body, now draped in the sheet, into the newly dug hole beside his other girlfriends. They were all there, lined up in a row, his dear possessions. All lined up with pretty little flowers where their beautiful heads lay. What flowers would he grow on top of Amy? Yes, definitely lilies.

Terribly dark and yet somehow quite beautiful is Hope75’s short fiction. We love the fantastic twist at the end, though obviously don’t approve of Dennis’s actions. However, we know it’s almost Valentine’s so if you prefer to keep a bin by your bed when reading this, we understand! If you enjoyed Hope75’s writing, why not check out her other less gruesome but just as enthralling fictional piece, “Anna“. 

Featured Image CC // Kaz Kuro