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Carlo C Gomez May 30
Fading chorus
to a sing-along rapture
a laugh of clarification
a hasty placement of hands
and knees, dovetailed
yes, those eyes
~ still lit and power-surged
but give her a moment
for all the sudden
it tickles
Jordan Gee Feb 23
It all started with a walk through a graveyard.
We came to sprinkle glitter,
we came to ring the claw bells,
we came to read the eroded epitaphs on 200 year old tombstones.
Instead we found a “working” aimed at killing someone.
A black bird without a head.
Lopped clean off.
Some kind of voodoo.
Consecrated with a dark blessing by a tombstone.
Naturally we took the bird home.
Laid it out back in the freeze.
It was a “working” aimed at killing someone.
A santera over on east King street informed us of the details.
Told us to burn it and take a sweet bath.
Told us to put water next to the door to catch the demons off our shoes,
tracking in all the demons off the street.
I put water next to my bed to catch the demons in my sleep.
I wondered to myself just what exactly was going on.

A cat got to the bird before we could
but it left us the wings by the fence in the yard.
Monica stretched them open and now they are drying in the garage.
A set of wings to fan the smoke once we light the sage on fire.
I didn’t have a good feeling.
I wanted to burn the black bird.
I wanted to stop the “working”.
I wanted to leave a green pumpkin for Oshun by the waterside.
But instead I only watched it lying on the leaves
out back under a tree
from the kitchen window each time I did the dishes.
Then one morning it was gone,
but I didn’t say anything.
I thought about other things until I saw
the stretched wings in the garage,
until I pulled the Raven card from
the Oracle deck.
Black birds came to visit me.
I was advised I better start getting crafty.
I had been diligent with the water by the bed.
I purified the demons with the singing bowl every morning.
I bless my demons in the water so they don’t use
my mouth to scream
and my eyes to cry.
But the raven came to see me still.
The one without a head, and the one in the oracle deck.
And the ones that fly around the power lines outside where I walk,
cawing and cackling in a crooked ******.

Fancied myself a priest
baptized by the Holy Spirit
home of the Sacred Feminine.
Found myself screaming in hysterics like a little boy in his blanket
after he's told nothing shall be as it was.
So much for the priest hood.
So much for the New Earth.
I pulled the Tower Card.
And that,
along with the ravens
and old man Saturn…
I had never been so afraid for my body in my life.
Now we walk around town and find bird heads on the sidewalk.
Starlings, and a little wren.
I learned my demon’s name is John and that he stands behind me.
Big and wooly like a wild thing on two legs.
He doesn’t fit in a glass of water
so I brought him to the Lemon Street Cemetery
and said bon voyage.
Buried him by a gravestone tree stump and said the prayer of two deaths.
The walk home smelled like ginkgo nuts
and the dust from the crumbing of the Tower hasn’t settled yet.
Now it’s as if I've been inoculated.
I lost my sense of taste for a week and didn’t break a sweat.
I’ve pulled the rug out from under my own
two feet so many times
that if I don’t learn to levitate
my poor tailbone won’t have a chance to heal.
Home of the root
Abode of the World Serpent.
I wasn’t prepared for what was awoken within me
that day up in the promised land,
and it's been climbing my spine ever since.
Now I bless the water by my bedside every night
in case John comes back to roost.

I cover my floors with happy feet
I paint the walls with candle light
I light frankincense and tie prayers to the smoke
I watch them float to heaven
I ring a singing bowl
I put the demons in the water and I drink them.
I see the demons i forgive the demons i am the demons
Cece Jan 15
a torn heart,
ripped eagerly, unwittingly,
by gentlest fingers on pretty strings,
a sweet voice
with cracks like the sidewalks
that take me home.
tears streaming,
i find that i am home,
among the notes that tug at heartstrings— no,
not tug, wrench.
a closed fist over my soul,
i couldn’t escape
if i wanted to.
jailed in this floral prison,
there is nothing i want more
than to listen
as you take me
pov anyone that can sing immediately has a hold on your soul
Elizabeth Kelly Sep 2021
“I think there’s something wrong with you and that’s okay,” she sings with all her heart
and strums the guitar with my pick.
I’m in charge of the chords,
holding the guitar so
she can reach it where she sits.
We dream it up together, but
I phone it in
I admit.

A, D, E - 1, 4, 5 -
arbitrarily chose.
She keeps it alive with her prose
Just 5 years old
A poet with her eyes closed.

You can be anything you want to be, and that’s okay as long as you’re happy.

Like she knows
The greatest longings of the whole of humanity,

Like she’s peered into the depths of the vast ocean of broken hearts,
And know this is the best place to start…

Like it’s easy.

“It’s okay”, she sings with closed eyes,
and strums the guitar in musical bliss.

And it is. For that moment. For a heartbeat.

It is.
Ceyhun Mahi Aug 2021
My words are sharp like stings of bees in spring,
But I will die lastly when I shall sting.
I have become a nightingale right now,
To only sooth the hearts, I now shall sing.
Ahmad Attr Jul 2021
My vocal chords have been tattered
The lyre in my throat has been sent on fire
Now I can’t sing my songs to you
Is it because my voice
could have shaken the Earth?
My lamentations
could have been heard by the heavens
there are so many things that I can’t say
but they can be sung
there is so much pain flowing in me
and I want to scream on the top of my lungs
but I have been stripped of my power

Now I can’t sing my songs to you
Is it because my voice
Could have changed the seasons?
My melodies
Could have turned the ocean tides
I could have sung you love songs
My hymns could have sent chills down your spine
Like a distant winter long gone

But my strings have been plucked apart
Is it because my Crescendo
Could have taken light from the sky?
My Vibrato
Could have made the heartless cry
My voice could have theft the moon of its beauty
It could have stopped the skies
It could have eclipsed the sunrise
It could have harmonized with the larks
It could have birthed the stars
It could have made time get lost in itself
It could have saved me from the depths
It could have shown you divinity
It could have made you fall in love with me

But the lyre has been set on fire
Is it because my Harmony
Could have done something not meant to be?
My Symphony
Could have made you feel love for me
Now I sing softly in my solitude
Hoping my whispers can reach out to you
The whistles, and falsettos coming from my chest
Are only capable of causing unrest

Looking back on you my dear Eurydice
You’re a lost cause
For my enchanting voice is long gone
FC Azaele May 2021

Love, love
rest your sleepy head
your in no shape to make amends
I swear, all will be fine in the end

The winds are silent,
the waves crash low
Doubt no more that the world
will stream once more

Hear the chirping
sing to the humming
Hear that?
The nightingales are singing

I swear to you
All will be fine in the end

Now rest your sleepy head

Morgan Vail Apr 2021
Like the choir in heaven,
Like the death of my eleven,
Like the many who have tragically died.
There’s a devil over yonder,
And she’s getting a little closer,
And what’s the point,
If it’s not played,
In blue?

And the trees outside keep dying,
My shattered windows keep lying,
I keep myself alive like god sleeping on the seventh.
Stray cat, come back home.
You’ll step on glass if you roam.
God, what’s the point,
If I’m not there,
With you?
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