oddly deformed into heart-shaped suitor’s rose bud As I wandered the windswept hills I chanced upon a timeworn redoubt Cloaked in a brooding bramble veil Clutching its secrets tightly within From behind whose dour shoulders Emanated a soft, mellifluous voice Like the expectancy of springtime But the walls were tall and barbed Engrailed with the cruelest thorns But the Orphean tones of the voice Compelled my captivated thoughts To see who was ensconced therein So, I fought past the wicked thorns And scaled the treacherous height And when I reached the top at last I gazed down into a secret garden Where you waited amid the flowers Smiling as if you had expected me atop the rock wall dripping with bog water the Frog Prince NOTE: Unitalicised text is the work of Edward Cates. Italicised text is the work of Anna Cates. About the authors:
The late Edward Dana Cates (2/23/69-11/12/23) was a disabled househusband and writer/poet from Seymour, Indiana. He attended George Fox University and served on Deviant Art’s literature committee, where he acquired many mutual fans and friends. The original versions of his poems are fully illustrated a viewable at his online gallery: https://www.deviantart.com/barosus/gallery. Dr. Anna Cates teaches writing, literature, and education online and has published a variety of books (poetry, fiction, and drama) through www.cyberwit.net, prolificpress.com, redmoonpress.com, and wipfandstock.com. Her full-length poetry collection, Love in the Time of Covid, won an Illumination Book Award. She resides in Wilmington, Ohio with her two cats.
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(For when the leaves our summer friends have fallen)
newborn faces up outdoors beneath the trees skysent resonance swishes limbs respond by raising knees Skysent old images haunt me summer is no more angels, fairies sent to soothe me lie dead upon earths floor more falling ever daily the ground is gold and red brown dead veins are crisping revealing that they’re dead Lucifers angels fallen tuatha de danann’s on the mound A jealous god deceived them my god he can’t be sound then some who turned mid fall looked skyward bleak and bare there was no pull cept downward no hope and just despair but then the Cailleach fetched them she winters underground They nurture TREE forever now truth it knows no bounds the leaves they tell their stories, to worms, roots, and a breeze their mission is to nourish new growth for humans ease, and yet how could they do it if they did not know of grief when every angel blossoms when under some-borns sleep Their purpose is for spelling those born with life for hope angels always round us so that we always cope im grateful for the memory from the ground those faithful days I no longer believe in fairys or hawthorns special ways but I’m grateful for the magic of natures tale spun faes Faes=phase
He broke dawn with every utter of the pain He sought to bring me and gave to me When He said no one wanted a broken wheel which I was And he could not help me any more or had, or did he ever Years passed more likely a decade when he said he Had sympathy for me it was like he was making a deal with the devil To stretch out a comment that concluded this was an illness Not some made up myth, and it did not define me but it was a part of me He furthered the conversation with his conforming model of a response that Should have been a sign, a warning That he now was the poster child for the stigma I would face again once I braved my face with this condition out in the open once released or maybe now I was just now noticing him So I ran back into lockable closets in tainted rooms because if my brother Would not have me, how would society but I am my brother’s keeper still Then I heard a dial tone yet I do not remember him answering I do not recall him being present in my life Like he confessed But a message was left, and it stated I have no answer this life I have left meant for living was not for getting caught in telephone Chords in mental wards calling brothers who were emotionally gone And who were far from the wheels of my bike broken or not About the author:
Uzomah Ugwu is a poet/writer, curator, editor, and multi-disciplined artist. Her poetry, writing, and art have been featured internationally in various publications, galleries, art spaces, and museums. She is a political, social, and cultural activist. Her core focus is on human rights, mental health, animal rights, and the rights of LGBTQIA persons. She is also the managing editor and founder of Arte Realizzata.
Oldest memories and their origins, the highs that once roamed my dreams. Forever stuck in the photo frames, it is harder to smile now. Having held onto a long-lost self, he does not seem to let go. Lullabies play in the background, while I lay dozing in his blood drenched arms. Dreams fill the red canvas, the noose inches closer to the grey clouds. Long distances and the ticking of the clock, the clockwork has wound once more. My sleepless nights and my snoring cat, holds me in their blanket of comfort. Nelly stares at the crippling world around him, or so it seems to me. His thoughts and his desperation, just follies in my imagination. Always delving into the painted dreams, the sky have lost its warmth. Stuck in the cold, I wait for the warmth to return. About the author:
Gautham Pradeep, currently 22 yrs of age, was born in Kerala, India, in a town called Thalassery. He did his schooling in Bangalore and is now pursuing his MBBS course from Srinivas Institute of Medical Sciences and Research Center. He tries to explore the existential dilemmas of the present generation. Apart from writing poems, he indulges in butterfly breeding and painting occasionally. |
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