 PC:Lisa Marie KasparJesusWe were sitting on a blanket In the afternoon heat when You said you were Jesus You could see numbers And hear the birdsong And read the signs And answer to world peace Convinced, concerned, confused The zodiac and the colours of blue And the power of mind reading And the way light bounced off the walls Had the power of God Now indebted to you A leaf falls feather like and soft It parachutes down onto your hand That's it! Plant power, Psychology and Physics The pyramids and personality Splitting yourself into three Matching birthdays and future tense Laying down then jolting back up Fresh ideas swarming and swimming Consuming the person you used to be The one I thought I couldn't see I encouraged tiny sips of water To ease away the sleepless nights Relaxing those wide eyes and tired hands And sore taste buds from sour sweets The diet of a holy prophet Had to be one of endless energy Lighting a bonfire in the woods Hidden away in the washroom You kept a stack of notepads And art books and pens Alongside matches and Pictures of friends What else was there todo But sit with you and wait For older adults to arrive And take you someplace Safe About The Author: Sophie FiskSophie Fisk is an emerging poet and recently graduated psychologist. Residing in London, England, they took the leap into writing to ground feelings and experiences that would otherwise remain elusive. You can follow them on Twitter here: @SOPHIE_SESF
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 PC: Selma ReisManic WizardToday the wizard actor plays, a role he self creates. He energizes every cell and wanders stores and streets. Above his head, he calls the clouds, and mantras fill with rain. Thunder and his waving arms, keep time within his brain. This wizard knows the secret signs, of every oak and maple. He counts the numbers 6 and 9, and dances near the willow. Back at home the TV screen, gives messages of grace. Music from the phonograph, affirms the wizard’s faith. Nonetheless, the wizard rides, inside an institution. Believing wizard’s ought to hide, They make his reservation. As the wizard’s magic fades dissolving into gloom, he waits to greet the other saints who greet him in his room. Melt DownFrom deep in her soul, A feeling- purely inspired- ascends That promises magic and purpose. This girl unfurls her mind To chronicle rhythms and signs That quickens her poem’s foundation. But slowly her vision Grinds down into pieces of memory, And soon her ideas become fragments. As deflated thinking And dehydrated words lose their power, The left-over verse bubbles over. This insecure poem That breeds self-conscious musings Finally collapses in on itself. The “wanna be” artist And make believe mystical prophet Then sadly returns to her anguish. A Day in Hell for the Mentally IllForgotten residents drink tap water coffee and smoke hand me down cigarettes salvaged from the floor. They walk like zombies down dark dreary halls, while their silent screaming drones on within their hearts. Then half competent doctors Ask their sanity questions Like “Who is the president?” as if it matters at all. Then appear the nurses’ medications that make the residents sleep on the floor and perpetually wait on line. In the end the residents’ only releases are recycled Spam and a mind numbing sleep, from which they pray to God they will never awaken. About The Author: John F. ZurnJohn Zurn has been faced with the challenge of bipolar disorder for his entire adult life. Despite this challenge, he still managed to work as a teacher and counselor for over thirty-five years. He was also a member of NAMI of Dupage Speaker’s Bureau and has given around four hundred presentations to various groups including police officers, medical students, and volunteer groups. John continues to volunteer in various capacities. He has also published several books with Chipmunka Publishing and Authorhouse. Now retired, he continues to write and publish poems and stories and recently has had two stories published by cc&d magazine, poems published with FreeXpresSion magazine and The Avocet, A Journal of Nature Poetry, and a play published by Off the Wall Plays. As one of seven children, his experiences growing up continue to help inspire his art and influence his life. John was born in 1954 and has an M.A. in English. He has been married to his wife, Donna, for thirty seven years. Website  PC: Iosune de GoñiThe Black DogThat Black Dog The one people refer to Seems to enjoy the food I leave out at night It munches mercilessly on the Flowers left unwatered On the clothes left unwashed It drinks from my weepy eyes And takes air from my wheezing chest It follows me home through familiar streets Tainted with hazy unfamiliarity It sits on my feet and nibbles at my toes Clawing for attention as I sit froze It sniffs out dishes that collect mould And hobbies that lie forgotten But at night I let it sit on my bed Curling into my weighted blanket I share with it my daily embarrassments My greatest fears and hearts longings A childhood slumber party I pet and I stoke and I hold tight To the thing that always wants to fight But as the sun pours in through the window And bird song urges me to wake up I notice that Black dog The one people refer to Is now fatter and hungrier Than the one before About The Author: Sophie FiskSophie Fisk is an emerging poet and recently graduated psychologist. Residing in London, England, they took the leap into writing to ground feelings and experiences that would otherwise remain elusive. |
