Safe by Celestiel East
Safe by Celestiel East
sling your words quicker
bounce insults off my flesh like
leather straps
that leave bloody wounds
clenched fists
bitterness
(you will not break me)
monosyllabic razors slice at me
they miss
as I step aside
dodging is the easy part as
nothing touches me, pain slides off
like I wallowed in K-Y
(why?)
jelly like me, like my knees
after hot sex in cold cars
with footprints on windows as
reminders of where walking is
no longer allowed
mind flashes red as blood, mental
(stop!)
signs that tell me that
it's time to go
strap on my spurs, load my six-guns
dance into the light that
consumes the scraps of darkness
and becomes the blue and red and green
and me
--Peyton Barnes
Today or Yesterday by Matthias Jung
Poetry is a mirror-reflection,
of one that is
and one that isn't
reversed in role,
and upside-down,
turned around, and
back to front.
Reach through the looking-glass
and touch a reality,
not our own,
yet closely linked.
When we pass through,
what escapes?Paradise, Eden,
Lost world.
Shattered reflections
of past glory.
Man walked,
side-by-side,
backwards through
the silver backing.Bad luck,
strange fate,
glittering pieces
on the floor.
Gone forever.
--John Morris
Integrate this function
Run a mile, and read chapter two.
Rip off your clothes, pay tuition.
Designate a driver, into the night.
Expand your horizons.
Take a hike to the mail room.
Wait there for the postman.
Wink at him, beg him to stay.
Pledge alliance, stand up.
Sit down, shut up.
Imitate me.
Brush your teeth, and smile for the mug-shot.
Entertain, frequent, prostrate.
Stop hitting your brother.
Lean back in the chair,
Upside-down.
--Heath Holley
Start . . . Start. . .the words are shameful,
perhaps unaccepted
but I shall try
to conquer--
face the memory.Your hands
invaded me
my childish body
by daddy
"Never get in bed with him"
mama said
but I did
laid down by daddy
my daddy, my sick
hero poisoned
by chemically altered
yeast feces
and you rubbed
--I can't relive this--
up and down
and my baby mind
--never knew such torture--
wished it had
a small bear trap
hidden in my bald vagina
that could snap--
your hand off
bite those fingers . . .
the light was on
I remember
and I closed my eyes
trying to ignore
--what?--
was happening
who was touching
my little silk panties
that I don't
fit in anymore
did it last an hour
or two minutes?
but then, somehow
I've forgot
I got into bed--
and cuddled up
to my long pillow
and you knelt to
kiss my forehead
goodnight
--why didn't I say no
run and get grandma
grandad would have killed
you--
And I was glad as you
went to say goodnight
that my pillow covered
my little private
space
because you reached
for it again
--My God.
I feel sick, let me faint--
forget . . .
But then you
returned to bed
you drunken swine
or at least
I want to believe
remember you were
drunk
and I got up in the
morning
you sat on the
couch alone
with an odd look
--No threats, no
"I'll hurt the ones
you love if you tell."
You gave me nothing
to hold my silence . . .
except
disbelief, my love for you
flavored with self guilt and shame--
and I said
"morning daddy"
with a kiss on the cheek
--morning, I want revenge--
and gave you a hug
and stayed silent
for ten years
--I didn't do anything wrong!
do you remember, Father
my baby body touched
by your foul hands--
I forgive you, but can't
forget
I wonder have you?
I cannot judge
--I'm not God
although I wish I were,
to send you to purgatory,
the eighth circle of Dante's hell--
I will not condemn
but I don't
understand
childish mind
still can't comprehend
but
we will
have this out!
--Kristina Snowden
Savage Garden by C.C. Merrell
In the dream,
I leave open the window by your chair,
The chair you read in when you can't sleep.
It's three or better in the morning,
The room is cold, low fifties at least,
And you're lying behind me
Under a single sheet,
Your breasts against my back.
Some man with no face
Is standing just in front of me
As I lie there on the bed
In the dark of the room.
We're facing each other,
This stranger and I;
Me on my side,
The prowler only feet away--
I can touch his torn trousers.
He is speaking in hushed tones
(So as not to disturb you)
About world banks relocating to Tokyo,
And a need for deeper ditches in Texas and New Mexico,
And Farrakhan promising never to seek public office,
And state militias and fertilizer and diesel fuel.I feel no need to force myself awake
(I am certain this is at worst a dream or
A dream about a dream
In which I am lying in bed
When a man in dark trousers enters the house
Through the window by your leather chair),
When I hear your voice,
"Darling, wake up, you must be dreaming."
I hear that sound your gown makes against the sheets
As you slide your hips across the bed to lie behind me,
And I feel you tug the sheet tight to your chim.
"CNN is predicting low fifties across the South," you whisper,
"Did you remember to close the window by my chair?"
--Delmar Brewington
I am not
bones covered by browned
tainted skin
all housed in an operable body--
Just mere surface.I am not
the antithesis of this
Patriarchial society;
which labels me and my kind
as an addendum,
to this hierarchy's
established master piece.I am not
just
WO-MAN.I do not,
expect for you,
or you,
or even you,
to treat me differently
because I am what
your society has cast
a double negative.
(Because, in my eyes that's all the more positive).I will not,
tolerate the injustices
that my foremothers have endured;
those indoctrinated into a system
that did not
encompass them.
(Because I can read between your HIStory).I will
make you socio-polipsychologist
perform a an experiment
thatEFFECTSall of the elements that make me
SUBJECTS
AFFECTS
OBJECTS
RESURRECTS
and
PROJECTS
a multifaceted being in
your scism of order.
I am a
BEAUTIFUL, BENEVOLENT, BOUYANT, BOUNTIFUL, BODACIOUS
BLACK WOMAN
Who gives and expects
RESPECT!!
--Gloria Moton-Nelor
You tilt
your Braves baseball cap,
and they are calling it
a fashion faux pas
matched with your wife's
best blue dress.
you have come to
execute the dare
you are the hot talk
all over the city this morning,
the ratings will probably double
because of you.
So, let's say
for a moment,
that you really liked
Hootie and the Blowfish--
then it might be worth eating
fish for free tickets.
The woman on the radio
begs, "Reconsider Buster,
this is inhuman!"
The D.J. at the scene
on the steps of the local
T.V. station says
"we're ready!".
Copland"s "Fan Fare
for the Common Man"
plays overhead,
and you lead the crowd in dance
as they to harmonize,
"H o l d m y h a n d,
I want you to h o l d m y h a n d"
the woman on the radio
breaks through again
with "You can't do this!
Buster, No!
Please!
Don't eat the goldfish!"
But your adrenaline is going now,
You don't want to stop.
Three and a hand
in the bowl . . .
Two in the bowl. . .
You dangle the fish,
open your eyes
wide.
The crowd goes up
an octave.
Like a famished Bass
you take the bait
head first.
Scales
against your teeth.
Flapping tail,
an uncontrollable
second tongue,
against your cheek.
lips sealed,
you wrestle
one tongue against
the other
and flex your throat
to guide it down
'till you feel
glittering life
in your belly.
--Jannette Giles
Scot-T by Angela Waktins
A while back I attended a convention for accountants. Normally at these conventions there is a business luncheon at noon. On one particular afternoon I was contentedly eating when a man named David Bryner began to talk about something he had seen on television about how in South America tribes, rats were a delicacy. He then described how the tribes could even exist on rats when their crops had a poor season. What the hell brought that up, I thought silently. I looked down at my food and felt a nauseous feeling envelop my senses as my meat loaf seemed to take on the shape of a rat wiggling itself around helplessly on my dinner plate.While the other accountants stared at him in mute anger or revulsion, I closed my eyes, and, when I opened them, once again there was only meat loaf centered on my plate. At the end of our luncheon I ran after David, and, catching up with him, I asked what had provoked this less than tasteful dinner topic. He gave me a quizzical look, saying it amused him to see his colleagues become enveloped with revulsion at the many mysteries life had to offer. "Besides," he said, "I was totally bored and figured I had to do something to liven up an otherwise drab event." Accepting this peculiar reason for making others want to hack up their food, I then voiced my doubt (verbally) that being able to exist on rats alone was highly unlikely. Laughing at me, David asked me if I would like to hear a story which might convince me I was wrong. Becoming curious, I told him I would be delighted to hear his story. Finding ourselves a table where there was less noise, he began to speak. . . .
About a year ago I helped a woman named Olivia Bellview with her taxes. For years I had helped Mrs. Bellview, but last year, when I came to her home to do her accounting, I found a pale and haggard looking woman greeting me. Although she had been getting along in her years, I had never before noticed such a change in her appearance. Before she had had a paunch belly, gray hair, and skin with wrinkles etched across its surface. She had even more wrinkles, of course, but there were also bags under her eyes which hung downward like black lumps of coal. Long scratch marks were displayed on her arms. It was as if a cat had dug its claws into her and dragged them downwards, searing her flesh. She greeted me at her door in a nightgown which clung to her body in a limp fashion. I smiled, made some small talk, and then she let me in.
"You must forgive me for my rather casual attire, Mr. Bryner, but I must confess I haven't felt like dressing up to do much of anything these days, let alone entertain guests," she said, hobbling along on a white cane into her den through her living room.
Mrs. Bellview lived in an old one-story white house. Her den, always filled with plush furniture and decorative pictures, lay in tattered remains when I entered it. Her reclining chairs, each fitted with light green fabrics to match the color of her carpet, all lay in broken pieces upon the floor. The den walls, once painted impeccably white, showed cracks and what looked like claw marks on their exterior. The beige ceiling fan hung precariously on a gray cord. The cord seemed to be in a tethered state, due to the numerous snips in its body. Though my eyes have never been in top form (for lack of a better phrase), I could have sworn the snips in the cord resembled teeth marks.
We settled upon an old green couch that was centered in front of a double-wide window frame from which one could have an excellent view of Mrs. Bellview's front yard. At first we sat silently by one another, and, after a few minutes of waiting for a brief explanation of the destruction in her den, I resigned myself to pulling out the tax forms to begin our annual ritual of figuring out her taxes. Before I could begin, she held up a hand and said I need not bother figuring them out. Why not, I asked, rather flustered, for I thought perhaps she had retained herself a new accountant without even bothering to tell me.
"I have no money to give to the government," she said.
"Why, what do you mean you have no money? How can this be?" I asked, completely unraveled first by the state of her den and now by this outrageous revelation.
"I mean I'm broke! You're a smart man, you know what being broke means, don't you?"
"Yes," I quickly interjected, "I do. But how could this happen?" I asked, genuinely bewildered, for she had always been able to sufficiently support herself in the past.
Instead of answering my question, she asked me if I wanted some tea. Seeing that I wouldn't get any answers out of her right away, I said that I would be delighted to have some. Slowly getting up, she sauntered off to the kitchen, while leaning heavily on her cane. I continued to sit on the couch, when suddenly it occurred to my mind's eye that I had never seen Mrs. Bellview use a cane before in all the years I had known her. But before I could more closely analyze this new problem which had arisen, I began to hear a faint scratching noise coming from down the hallway which led out from a side door of the den.
The den door, which acted as an entrance to the hallway, was closed, yet I could still hear the faint scratching noise. At first I thought the noise must be Mrs. Bellview's cat, and then I remembered she had never owned a cat during any of my visits with her. Of course she could have obtained a cat without my knowing it, I silently told myself. True, I countered back, yet why would she keep it locked up in a room all by itself when perhaps she might want its company, since of course, she in turn was lonely. The voice of skepticism was silent on this issue, and so I quietly got up off the couch and ventured over towards her door.
Checking to make sure Mrs. Bellview had not returned, I leaned against the door and pressed my left ear against its frame. The scratching sound was even louder, and before I could caress my hand around the door handle to turn it, I heard a repetitious thumping sound coming towards my backside. I quickly deduced it was the cane and hurriedly went by the side of an end table to feign a small interest in some pictures of Mrs. Bellview's daughter and son-in-law that sat upon its top.
"I forgot to ask you whether or not you preferred sugar in your tea," Mrs. Bellview asked, holding a glass of tea in her right hand while leaning on the cane with her left.
"Yes, I definitely want sugar, lots of sugar!"
She smiled and slowly headed back towards the kitchen. I swept over towards the den door then and, ever so gently, opened it. The scratching sound reverberated throughout the hall even more now, and, when I slowly began to creep towards the room from which the sound was coming, silence ensued. Not knowing whether this was an ominous sign, I nonetheless continued to edge myself along the hallway. Reaching the room, I once again leaned forward and pressed my left ear upon the door frame. Presently I heard a gnawing rather than a scratching sound.
But then I began to hear a slight moan emit itself from within the room. My heart began to beat in a rapid succession, and beads of sweat began slithering downward upon my skin. Rationally, I thought there must be a cat who had captured some sort of creature, perhaps a mouse and it (the cat) was just tasting the spoils of his victory. Feeling courageous but at the same time a bit embarrassed for thinking there might be some evil creature inside, I turned the knob and opened the door.
There was a man lying on the floor in the far left corner of the room. I could see from the man's torso and arms, to his head, but below the torso of his legs were blocked from my view by what looked like some prodigious creature, with a long tail extending from its lower backside. Blood soaked the man's shirt, and, before I could see exactly what was going on, the man turned his head towards me. He moaned and then mouthed a pitiful plea of help me. His eyes had been gouged out, leaving gaping black holes. A nostril had been torn from his face, and lacerations seemingly appeared everywhere across it. There were also teeth marks upon his arms.
I knew this man. He was Mrs. Bellview's son-in-law, one of the people whom I saw standing with her daughter in the picture on the end-table. But as this realization began to dawn on me, the creature on top of him slowly turned around. It looked like a giant rat, except some of its features were different from those of normal rats. Its hair, though flat and smooth, was blonde. And though its hind legs were those of a regular rodent, its front legs resembled the arms and hands of a human, perhaps a woman.
The head was oval shaped, yet it had a flat, elongated nose. Below its nose, of course, was its mouth, which suddenly opened and hissed. White, sharp edged teeth greeted me. The rat raised itself on its hind legs, and then, with its teeth gleaming as saliva slid down their figures, the rat bolted for me. Its green eyes hungered to rip my flesh apart as it leaped towards the door. I screamed, and, before I could slam the door, it was torn from its frame as the rat scrambled past it.
I began to run. My heart beat against its frame as if desperately wanting to claw its way out of my body rather than be eaten by the rat. Almost upon the den door, I felt a searing pain envelop my backside, as teeth tore into my flesh and bone. I fell to the ground and turned over on my backside, kicking and flailing my arms and legs. A table-stand stood beside the wall on my right side, and I grabbed one of its legs with my right hand, flipping it on top of the rat's backside. It squealed and fell against the wall.
Pulling myself up, I ran through the den door. Struggling to grasp a hold of the doorknob, I saw the rat pouncing its way down the hallway toward me. I grasped the knob and slammed the door. A loud thud shook the door frame before the rat fell to the ground. I turned around and screamed for a brief second but then recovered myself when I saw Mrs. Bellview holding out my tea.
"I have to feed my daughter. She eats a lot, as I'm sure you could see. That's why I have no money. It's gone towards keeping her alive," she said, and sipped my tea.
I stood, totally perplexed. She must have wanted to soothe my mind, so she began to speak.
"My son-in-law kept rats as pets within cages down in his basement. He was a cruel man towards my daughter. He used to beat her and to torment her even more, he'd sometimes make her kiss the rats or fondle them like little children.
"One day he decided to torment her enough to let her know who was master of the lair she dwelled in. The rats were let out of their cages, and my daughter was thrown down in the basement with them. God knows how many diseases those creatures have. When I came over one day and found her, she had been locked away for a month. But somehow she survived.
"But her survival was no small task. She had to fight off them devils for a long time, but then it dawned on her that her husband might not let her out of the basement. She had to live somehow. . . . Well anyway, when I found her, all those rats were dead, but of course there were no bodies. As I said, she had to survive. When I found her, she wasn't the way she is now, but then again the metamorphosis process, I'm sure, does take an extended amount of time. It's taken everything I have to keep her alive, but it's been worth it.
"Her husband wanted to know what had happened to her. He said he was gonna call the police if I didn't show him where she was. So I showed him, and he ain't bothered me ever since," she said, smiling as she finished her tea.
I quickly gathered my belongings and left. The next day I made an anonymous phone call to the police, and, the day after that, I read the headline: Man and Woman Killed by Rabid Possum. That definitely wasn't any possum, but, then again, who'd believe a story of a human-size killer rat, um?
David stood after asking this question.
"Yeah, who'd believe something like that," I said glumly and stood up as well.
"Hey David, uh, did you ever get something done about your bite?" I asked.
"What bite?"
"You said the rat bit you on your backside."
"Oh, that. Nah, it didn't amount to much. Would you like to come up to my hotel room to see the bite marks?" he asked, his eyes giving off a brilliant green glow.
I tersely replied no thanks, seeing the piercing glow of his green eyes and a drop of saliva slide from a corner of his mouth. I began walking back towards the convention, when I turned to stare at my new acquaintance a last time. He was nibbling on a piece of bread, sporadically turning his head back and forth, looking for something unknown. Perhaps it's a cat, I thought to myself, snickering at my own sick humor. But then he turned and smiled. His teeth resembled razors that had a green pool of saliva dripping from them. My face contorted in horror, and I desperately ran away. I ran, you see, because there was a rat in the dining room, and, as many of you know, rats tend to have a mean bite.
Rat by Matthias Jung