let the devil wear black: FREE!

samantha lucero

if you have a kindle, my first novel is FREE ON KINDLE RIGHT NOW, for a limited time! although, it’s always on kindle unlimited for free, right now anyone can get their paws on it.

it’s not the sort of story that i ordinarily tell (as is known, i’m usually all about the horror or fantasy, & this one is more psychological), but it’s a story that i told. & it’s free until (unintentionally) midnight, on valentines day. 🧛‍♀️

cover design by Mitch Green at radpress publishing.

CLICK ME. I’M WHERE FREE STUFF IS.

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2.

Samantha Lucero: The Fullmetal Alchemist

samantha lucero

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where memory rusts, limp on a clunk of

dry land & dragging me through the sequins of a

small earth

i croak to the fractured window of a bone-white ford truck groaning down, shambling up a shaft of dreary road.

i, a silver figment or mislaid filament, a filigree wafting bare thru realms hot & rose-gold, loom where the skeleton of the truck is parked eternal: i see the rotting choir of burst leather spaces, vacant, on which the sun has dug its holes. little else remains within apart from remains; i’ve loped from one graveyard to the next.

840 minutes in a warehouses’ baking mouth bending metal out of men, where oil-dyed hands stain wonder-bread or stay-at-home wives’ necks, they used to make trucks like those. and like the one that was his daddy’s buried in that old garage. all he had was that truck

and all I have…

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REDGREEN AND VIOLET-YELLOW RHYTHMS

a slice of heaven from Bojana.

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You dwell in my simplified compositions
in a world filled with squares and rectangles
pulsing with the rhythm of Mozart and Rilke
You’re my color master, my Blue Rider

I am a playful sense of absurdity
a prolonged line across your pages turning bolder
I’m your recovery from numb unresponsiveness
your deadness wiped away

You are my throbbing forms
my dancing hieroglyphs, and otherworldly creatures
children play in your head with paper patterns

I am your topsy-turvy checkerboards
in the metaphysical realm you inhabit
under screaming Tunisian suns

You are my Expressionism
I am your Creative Confession
on a star
amongst stars

We are Anne Frank’s marbles rediscovered
in the attic
toads populate our brains
returning to the pond of their birth to breed

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Greeneyedgirl79 is a writer whose heart & soul is felt in each and every syllable. This immaculate poem is one of the many treats you’ll find on her beautiful blog.

greeneyedgirl79

1you and I

who will care about either of us

when time has dusted over details

with every generation, new mouths to feed

the clamor drowns out

quiet purpose and histories of those

who stood before

as if every young soul must

vanquish those who came before

to make their mark

history is not told by those who won the battle

but by they born of bloodshed

for no history seems to matter in a world of noise

and false succor

where even children wear masks

as adults wait patiently for their disintegration

building artifices as high as they are wont

to stand without feet

you and i

our time will go unnoticed

and one may argue

what does it matter?

as long as we know

isn’t that enough?

but we seek in our nature

to share beauty and joy

for loveliness to be known

as I would write forever…

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Gypsy Princess – Chris Nelson

Tameless night – black
Wild as the dark
Alive on Buckingham carpet
Alert beneath an ivory moon
Sensing, sad sensuous
The spirit of silent age
Timeless spectre
Soft floating as night clouds
Touching gifting the aura
The sight beyond sky limits
Shrouding sweet senses
The spirit of a sensual age.

 

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2018

 

If you enjoyed this, thank you! To read more please visit chrisnelson61

 

I Did Not Rise

One hundred years, and nothing learned.

chrisnelson61

I did not rise in splendor

From the dead-ditch waters

Which whirl-pooled around my ankles

The mud-diluted sea of red

Rust-rivers stagnating like life

In corners where distant words

Dissolved in faces stilled

Becalmed by fearful waiting where

Desperate actions leant death a

Gift of welcome clemency

And possessions rescued hung

Silent monuments to death and waste

A quietus from the words once cried

In fantasised glories never birthed

Merely swept away, erased

Until the hollows ceased to be

Lost deep beyond consciousness

Of greenery and soundless peace

As weeping rains form pools

Which cling to abhorrent memory.

 

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Guest Feature – Étoile ~ Rob Taylor

I dance solo, caught
In decoyed whispers of
Relativity hid within

My own sacred mystery,
A tender étoile gracelessly
Contrasted by repressed

Empathy, I seek solace
With connatural souls and
We will journey along

East flowing rivers until
We meet at the horizon of suns
Where our rhythm shall be

Of the ancient way when
Gratitude expressed our unity
And love held no hostages


You can read more of Rob’s work here.