Forest, dark and scary. Will I lose the magic beans? Animals speak, ogres growl, and wolves disguised. Fairy tales read to me as a child, are remembered as an adult. My story begins with a black, pointed hat and scraggly broom. A witch suddenly appears, casts a spell, and causes a stroke that almost kills me. Grey matter twisted, and the enchantress short circuits my brain. Aphasia is a serpent that stings, an ordeal of shadows and contrasts. My mind is filled with jumbled shapes, nonsense words, and mixed-up colors. Demons shout sinister curses. Still cloudy, but I see the sun start to peek through. About the author:
Rochelle M. Anderson lives in Minnesota, USA. She is an attorney who had a severe stroke in 2007 and almost died. She is still disabled with difficulty walking; and because of aphasia struggles with reading and writing. Ms. Anderson has been published in four chapbooks and in an online poetry journal. Writing poetry has helped her recover; and dictation fuels her words.
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The woods are mysterious with trees that mark the trail. Branches tightly packed, light wanes, and the moon provides no illumination. I am lost without a map or compass. Now nighttime, hear a chorus of frightening sounds. Alone in a hedge labyrinth, unable to find the exit. Disability steals the rainbow, colors grayed and dark. I dream of life before the stroke, when all I knew about the brain was a green gelatin mold for Halloween. I wake up and the nightmare returns. Like Rumpelstiltskin, I stomped my feet and disappeared down a chasm. Will I ever leave my fairy-tale world? About the author:
Rochelle M. Anderson lives in Minnesota, USA. She is an attorney who had a severe stroke in 2007 and almost died. She is still disabled with difficulty walking; and because of aphasia struggles with reading and writing. Ms. Anderson has been published in four chapbooks and in an online poetry journal. Writing poetry has helped her recover; and dictation fuels her words.
Wind batters a tattered climber, fingers stained bean green. His mother always told him, “Your head’s in the clouds!” A kingdom in the sky! His heart thunders with the lightning, booming over the castle, gleaming solid gold! About the author:
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.
He sailed across the sea, where there be dragons, beneath a sea green moon, soldiering, though muscle and might could not defeat the magi’s hex he fought. From fields swampy with blood, warlocks netted him, bound him in a neon green wizard’s warp, caged him in a nebulous fate. The king’s daughters paced in their pink slippers along the marble floor before him, tossing up their noses and shielding cleavage in arrest. They labeled him “The Beast!” Bat-like wings sprang from his nut-brown back, and rocky brows overhung his gleaming eyes. But Beatriz, a chambermaid, didn’t see animal in those onyx orbs but intelligence instead. She brought him water, cheese, and bread. His biceps boomed with the lift of each bite, his regard never abandoning her. One day, as she handed him a flask of new wine, turquoise eyes in a pearly face met his gaze, and love carried her away like a hawk with a field rabbit. The day before his scheduled execution, she fell to her knees before the throne, dark braids to the floor, hands knotted in plea, and begged the king: Spare the Beast! After a day or two of pondering, like a falconer setting free his falcon, the king bid his top mage: Release the prisoner! Like a meteor exploding, with sparkly magic, the lock burst. The two wed—a beauty and a beast: Oh, Beatriz! Oh, Beast! Breast to breast, their two hearts meshed. About the author:
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.
Sundry dark souls sleep ‘neath elden loam Tenebrous tendrils wind ‘round their bones Spirits arise from under the benighted hills At the pipers’ skillful and enchanting trills Playing the haunted dances of eldritch fae As they gather together from glen and brae Ambling down through moon-silvered dells To dance the reels where the fae kings dwell Whose brows are crested in woven starlight Though their hearts are robed in midnight But should you harken to that piping sweet And in dreaming, venture where they meet To find yourself amidst their merry halls Pray the light dark charms forestall 100-year sleep that purple planet called dreams . . . awaken me before the thorns envelop me 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.
It started with pain between the shoulder blades, like Nyx had placed the eclipsed moon inside, forever hidden. A calcified cave – a coiled cloak of darkness enfolded the softness that remained of that body. I wore it well, this forever home. The pain dissolved into rain as the storm coaxed clouds to empty. I felt better then, filled with water, forever heavy. A delicious soft foot, I learned to contract like lightning bolts, relax like mulch. And moved faster than I had forever. My power oozed from my mouth, sleek slimy stringy mucus, no longer a cough burden. Fast comet tail highways forever. My shell expanded with calcified excitement, the night and I foolish friends, free in this shadow air, forever healthy. About the author
Samantha is based in Plymouth, UK where she is a PhD Creative Writing candidate at the University of Plymouth exploring chronic illness through poetry. Her poetry has been published in Arc, Acumen, Room, Cephalopress, The Storms Journal and Causley International. Samantha is an ex nurse who lives with complex chronic illness and neurodiversity.
About the author
Samantha is based in Plymouth, UK where she is a PhD Creative Writing candidate at the University of Plymouth exploring chronic illness through poetry. Her poetry has been published in Arc, Acumen, Room, Cephalopress, The Storms Journal and Causley International. Samantha is an ex nurse who lives with complex chronic illness and neurodiversity.
Once, in a moonlit forest, a female felt a foreboding fog of her future and rested her head against a felled oak tree. The lobed leaves caressed her brow, creating a crown of weaved green. As she slept, her delicate cheek absorbed the wheels of time – the wide of the good years and the narrow of the dry barren. And acorns fell one at a time through the quiet air, landing in the soft soil with expectation. When she woke, her arms caught in branches and her hair was a hat of luscious leaves. She tried to pull herself away, but the acorns edged ever closer – their shiny heads like accusatory fingers. Go, she whispered, I cannot take care of you. But the acorns didn’t answer, just waited patiently for her roots to grow. About the author
Samantha is based in Plymouth, UK where she is a PhD Creative Writing candidate at the University of Plymouth exploring chronic illness through poetry. Her poetry has been published in Arc, Acumen, Room, Cephalopress, The Storms Journal and Causley International. Samantha is an ex nurse who lives with complex chronic illness and neurodiversity.
Bird
atop a flagpole soared-- Mind skewered on spinal cord.
And if you’d have waited, just another six months, I know where we’d be. On that boat in Ullswater, eating gingerbread in Grasmere, if you’d have waited. Wandering through doors of Wordsworth, building daisy chains in the graveyard, that’s where we’d be. Treading the paths of Ambleside, camping in an undersized tent, if you’d have waited. Then, your house, to your bed, each other’s arms, is where we’d be. And we’d be having the sex, all you couldn’t wait for. If you’d have waited, that’s where we’d be. About the author: Holly Bars is a Leeds poet, currently studying MA Creative Writing at the University of Leeds. She has been published in The Moth, Stand, The London Magazine, Ink, Sweat & Tears, and more. Her debut collection, "Dirty", centred on surviving child sexual abuse, is published with Yaffle Press. |
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