Friday, October 21, 2022

Vanessa Zisman: Author Spotlight


Vanessa Zisman 

Van, V, Storm, The Writing Wench, Erotic_goddess, The Wild Child, Mom, The Problem Child... no matter the name, I'm known as a poet and writer by night and a mother of six and slave by day. Though I've never been published, officially, I picked up my pen when I was seven and never put it back down. I am most known for my dark, morbid, and sometimes erotic, poetry and prose, but I have written several short stories and even a novel that I am still currently writing titled, The Curse of Eden. It's a story of a young woman tortured and killed by a sexual sadist only to haunt and seek revenge as a spirit. 

Instagram: @vanessalynnzisman

Website: Erotic Goddess

Facebook: StoRm Between The Bites


Awards

  Deep Underground Poetry:

  • Poet Of The Month, April 2016

  • Valentine Crushing Season Competition Winner, March 2020

  • When A Lie Is The Truth Competition Winner, January 2021

  • Breakout Competition Winner, November 2017

  • Sensuality Competition Winner, March 2016

   Scribblers Writing Organization:
  • Writers Choice Poetry Winner, January 2017


Interesting facts
I didn't have an easy life. I was fourteen when I survived a sexual sadist who initially cloaked himself as a trustworthy friend.

At fifteen, I was an addict. My dad took me away from Charlotte, NC, where I'd lived all of my life, and took me to Raleigh, NC, where I got clean and started working in one of his offices. 

At sixteen, I lived on my own with the man who became my kids' father (he was twenty-seven at the time) and who I later found out was a narcissist. I was with him for fourteen years; the last seven were a living hell. At thirty-one, I finally left him.


Inspirations 

My six kids: Tyler, Abby, Sara, Ethan, Autumn, and Chloe.

My four step-children: Alissa, Leah, Gavin, and Eden.

My son's fiancé, whom I consider my daughter, no matter where she is: N'dia.

My son-in-law, Austin.

My parents: Wade and Andrea. Especially my dad, who has been pushing me to do what I was meant to do and pursue my writing since I was a child.

I also have a small group of very close friends who keep me grounded and drive me crazy, but push me to succeed every day!


Hobbies and Such Things 
Obviously writing …cooking, dancing (even though I'm definitely terrible at it), ax throwing, laser tag, shopping, engaging in real intelligent and informative conversation, writing music, and literally anything that involves spending quality time with my kids and the people I care about!


Why should we read your work, watch you grow as a writer, follow you, love you? Why?
You never read the same thing twice with me. I aim to keep the reader guessing until the very end. Every piece of work is a new ride. Might want to buckle up!!!


A Letter to My Readers:

I want to give a huge thank you to the people who have inspired and pushed me to not only follow my dreams, but also tell my story! 

As a wise woman once said: "When I finally get the opportunity to sleep, I can't. The writer in me won't let me be until I weave, and the people I love won't give up until I sleep!" 

Thank you to all those who voted for me. It's an honor to be seen for my writing and not my appearance for once! 

~ Vanessa Zisman


Read Vanessa's Contest Winning Short Story: DECISIONS


October's Short Story Contest Winner



DECISIONS 

by Vanessa Zisman




  

   It's difficult to see the world through blind eyes once you've learned your cozy cushion of a life was a fasade.
   Every family has secrets. Every family has a mask they parade around for the public while the walls inside their homes wrap the horrors and the lies in pretty red ribbons of deceit.
   I was turning eighteen that summer. Alot of things would fall on my shoulders. My father in his passing had passed his legacy down to me, and I was about as thrilled as an orphan on Christmas morning knowing there would be no presents. My life was not my own.
   Whatever it was my father before me had done was now to be my responsibility, though I was ignorant to what that meant.
   I dressed in my best suit and allowed my father's handler's to lead the way to the west corridor of my families mansion. I'd lived here all my life, and yet, I had never ventured to this section of our home.
    One of the handlers, a dangly man with wire-rimmed glasses three sizes too big for his shrunken head, retrieved a key from his vest pocket, opening the red stone door to my left and ushered me along.
   Inside the room, the faint scent of whiskey and dust made my nose twitch and my eyes water.
   "Jacob!" my mother exclaimed, shaking me back to reality.
   "Sit, there is much to discuss!" she continued, gesturing to a recliner across from hers.
   Reluctantly, I did as she asked and waited for her to speak.
   "Jacob, there are things we've kept from you, my son." She paused, fiddling with her skirt. "Secrets that have been kept by our family for generations." She explained, gesturing to a female handler.
   Another door opened to the right of the room, and I watched as three young women no older then myself entered. They were beautiful by every extent of the word — red hair curling down their backs, eyes the color of emeralds.
   I probably would have taken more time to admire this beauty had it not been for the iron shackles they all bore on their wrists and ankles.
   Sensing my uneasiness, my mother continued her explanation:
   "Jacob, four centuries ago, a family of bandits and murderers began coming every year to take the first born son of our bloodline. The goal was to create a new bloodline between royalty and thieves and murderers, thus creating a new race that would be the undoing of pure blood."
   She stopped, letting me take this information in.
   "Two centuries ago, in an attempt to stop our bloodline from dying out, our ancestors began kidnapping the daughters of our adversaries. In doing so, leaving them without a mate, for they would be captives of our bloodlines."
   She paused again, reading my expression. I rocked in my chair uncomfortably, waiting to hear where this was headed.
   "Both bloodlines began to dwindle leaving us with only one choice: to make a deal with our enemies," she explained. "Making a deal with snakes is never easy. We wanted one mate every eighteen years. Instead, they give us three. Two of which can and will destroy us if given the opportunity and one who is to be mated. They saw it a fair deal for fate to be decided by our own hands." 
     She waited for me to react. I just stared ahead, trying to make sense of it all.
   "In making this deal, we've created a race that is both strong and smart and ruthless and sneaky, making us untouchable," she finished.
   "I don't understand…." I trailed off, overwhelmed by what I was being told.
   "Jacob, one of these three girls is to be your wife. The other two…they must be bled dry…"
   "That's ridiculous!!!" I yelled, bolting upright. "What the hell kind of freak show was I born into? I'm no murderer!"
   "Part of you is, son!" my mother replied softly, a darkness in her eyes I had never seen before.
   It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was one of those she had spoke of — a race between royalty and snakes.
   I stood there, mouth ajar, at a loss for words.
   "I know this is a lot to take in, Jacob," she said mockingly. "But it's time for you to follow through with the family's legacy. Choose wisely!" With that, she stood and exited through the red door followed by the handlers. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving me alone with the three shackled girls and a sickening feeling in my gut.
   "I'm Joanna," the girl in the middle exclaimed.
   "Kylie," grumbled the girl on the left.
   Joanna nudged the girl on the right.
    She sighed. "Sasha."
    I remained quiet, trying to make sense of what I was meant to do and how everything I had known had been lies.
   "Jacob, you have to choose, but choose wrong and…." Joanna trailed off.
   "Choose wrong and what?" I demanded. 
   Kylie snickered, and Joanna elbowed her in the side harshly.
   "Well, if you choose correctly, you won't need to worry yourself with that now will you?" Joanna cooed. 
   I looked at Sasha who was eyeing the floor quietly, humming to herself while her partners seemed to be amusing themselves toying with my mind. No way this soft-spoken, shy, childlike demeanor could exist in the same mind as a murderer.
   I jumped from my seat, bolting across the room,  taking Joanna by the neck.
   "No more games! What happens if I choose wrong?" I spat through clenched teeth.
   She laughed, taking me aback. Something evil lurking in the cackle of her throat echoing through the room.
   "Stupid boy, you don't scare me!" she spat back.
   Kylie laughed. Her eyes met mine, mocking my ignorance.
   "Better hurry, coward!" she warned.
   They both laughed, sending chills the length of my spine.
   "Shutup!!! Just stop, both of you! He didn't choose this anymore than we did!" Sasha broke her silence, tears trailing her cheeks.
   I released my grip on Joanna's neck. Backing away to gather my bearings.
   "Aww, look at lil Sasha trying to protect her lover boy!" Joanna hissed harshly, swinging swiftly and precisely into Sasha's nose, sending her on her bottom on the cold hardwoods.
   Kylie wrapped the chains conjoining her shackles around Sasha's frail neck and pulled tightly. Sasha struggled against the chain, trying to breathe and choking.
   In that moment, I was so sure I knew the right choice that I flung all of my weight into Joanna, sending her body crashing against the wall, lifeless and limp.
   Gaining my composure, I peered across the room to see Sasha's eyes bulging and begging me. I barged across the room, grabbing Kylie off of the ground by her hair, her shackles loosening enough for Sasha to break free and crawl away.
   With all of the strength I could muster, I flung Kylie's head against the hard stone of the fireplace and watched as her lifeless body collided with the floor.
   "Ooooo…." My breath caught in my throat as pain ricocheted through my body.
   I turned my head to see Sasha grinning, an evil seeming to have possessed her that wasn't there before. Blood dripped from her nose to her mouth, staining her teeth.
   "But…I saved you!" I cried out.
   She pulled the knife from my back.
   I screamed as, again, pain rippled through my body.
   I fell to the floor, the room seeming to spin.
   "Get off of him! Leave him the fuck alone!!!" Joanna yelled.
   Joanna?
   Everything went dark.
   My eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, it took me a minute to realize I was in my bed. I tried to roll over and almost yelled out from the pain.
   "Easy, cowboy. You'll tear your stitches," a familiar voice soothed me.
   I looked up to find Joanna's soft smile, her emerald eyes looking over me, concerned.
   "You really are a stupid and brave boy, aren't you?" she teased.
   "Wh..a…?" I stammered
   "Risking your life to save the wrong girl!" she replied.
   I raised my eyebrow quizzically.
  "It's always the quiet ones!" she laughed.








Saturday, April 24, 2021

Author Spotlight: Janine Pipe




Interview 


Please introduce yourself.

Hi. I’m a writer from Swindon in the UK. I’m an ex-police officer, happily married with an 11 year old daughter.

I love all things horror and Disney, and as well as writing, I am a publicist and editor at Kandisha Press with my amazing BFF Jill Girardi and a reviewer for Scream Magazine, Horror DNA, Horror Oasis and Night Worms. I have a booktube channel where I waffle about books and interview other authors, usually with my review bestie Ben Long, and I co-host a podcast with another BFF, Lou Yardley. 

I read as much indie horror as I can, and my favourite authors are Glenn Rolfe, Hunter Shea and Tim Meyer. I also love delving into Ketchum, Laymon, Keene etc. and learning from the masters. 


What inspired you to write the TTT (Twisted: Tainted Tales) collection of stories? 

I really enjoy flash fiction and short stories. I had a plethora ready to go just waiting for a home and I just suddenly thought, what am I saving these for, why don’t I just put out a collection and that was it! I have a couple of novellas which are still very much WIP and I wanted to get something of my own out into the world. 


Why is this collection a must read? 

I think TTT is a must read if you like the 80s, some humour and fun injected into your horror, pop culture and a lot of blood. A couple of the stories are always very sexual as that often goes hand-in-hand with splatterpunk and extreme but it is very much tongue in cheek. There will also be a ton of names that you may recognise. 


Which story was most fun to write? 

The most fun was for sure Paradise City which let’s just say involves a magical hole in a tree and some very horny teenagers …


Which character from the collection is your favorite? Which was hardest to write? 

I have a real soft spot for Sam from They. Teen boys are my favourite characters to write apart from cops. They are just so much fun and swear even more than I do.

I’m not sure any of them have been that hard, even my villains and monsters have been quite fun to create. 


Do your stories tell themselves or are you the plot and plan type? 

Total pantster. I have the gem of an idea and then just sit and write … it’s the only way I can work. This is likely another reason why I struggle with longer works. What I need is someone looking over my shoulder and telling me to get on with it. I’m the queen of procrastination. 


Do you feel your stories are more character driven or plot? 

100% character – I love banter and camaraderie with them – for some reason I also find boys/men easier to create. There is often an homage to someone I know or another fictional character I love in my work. I have some very vague plans for something in the future that’ll be heavily influenced by Fox Mulder and Will Graham. 


What is your writing process? What do you enjoy/hate most about it? 

I write when I can. Just sit and write. That’s it, that’s the extent of my ‘process’. It’s worked so far, lol. My husband is almost always my tester/alpha reader and then I send it off to trusted others for feedback and then it’s either sub and sweat or I keep it for later.

I enjoy the creativity and I hate the time constraints. But that’s life.


Are you working on another collection or book? What other goals lie ahead? 

Yes, I will be starting my second collection as soon as the launch of TTT is over. I still have two WIP novellas and there are a few collabs on the table for the next couple of years which will keep me busy. Also all the editing stuff with Kandisha including a BIG Top Secret project which is going to be epic. 


Why do you choose to self publish? 

Mainly because collections are hard to sell to publishers, not that many presses take them on and I wanted to get this out ASAP. It was hard, I’m not going to lie, but mainly because I am so un-tech savvy. I’m used to the promoting side of things, but actually putting it together and getting it onto KDP was not easy. I have to give a HUGE thank you to Jason Brant and Lou for helping me with that. 


What is your advice to other indie authors? 

Keep writing, keep reading, keep honing your craft. Keep an eye on open calls and work on something that you love. Write what you want to read and what feels right for you.


As a writer, what do you feel is your biggest accomplishment? Biggest letdown? Biggest dream? 

Biggest accomplishment – being invited by Glenn to submit to a sampler for his press (They and Alien Agenda Publishing) AND Glenn writing me the most amazing foreword for TTT and comparing our writing. Many, many tears …

Biggest let down – not really sure, I have subbed a few times to Flame Tree and not got anywhere. Don D’Auria would be the Dream Editor to work with alongside Ken McKinley. 

Biggest dream – to collab on something with Glenn and to have something published by Silver Shamrock and Flame Tree Press.  


What was the toughest criticism you received as an author? The biggest compliment? 

Criticism would be from people that don’t like the splattery side of my work, as it is something that I try hard to make work especially as a woman writer. 

Compliment is anytime someone compares my writing to Glenn’s.


Read an excerpt


Buy Twisted: Tainted Tales

More ... 

Janine's Published Works 

Twitter: @janinepipe28

YouTube 

Patreon 

KoFi 




Footsteps: An Excerpt from Janine Pipe's TTT Anthology

 

By Janine Pipe 



Prologue

Come on, just a few more minutes. 

Kelly was desperate. She tried to convince herself that her bladder was not about to explode all over her new Ford Escort. 

Please, please, please.

She hadn’t planned to leave quite so late and had in no way intended to take the winding, no-cats-eyes route through the forest. 

It was about fifteen minutes at least until she would arrive home. 

Duran Duran’s latest hit blasted out from the radio.

Lady Luck was not on her side. She felt a sharp pain and realised with annoyance that not only did she need to pee, but her sanitary pad was now sodden too.

She pulled the car over.

God damn it!

She sat for a moment considering her options. She in no way wanted to do what she was now considering. She was not uncouth. 

Yet, if she didn’t get out and change her now useless pad, she risked leaking menstrual blood all over the cream interior of the new car.

Needs must.

She grabbed her bag and a bottle of water and turned the headlights on to full beam. It was pitch black in the woods and she hadn’t seen another car for miles. With the added light of her open driver’s door, she would be able to pee, change her pad, bag it up, rinse the ground and her hands and be on her way. Desperate times, desperate measures. She would never speak of it.

She stepped out onto the grass verge, pulled up her dress and squatted. 

Relief was short-lived. 

Crack.

She froze, knickers around her ankles, pad in hand.

What the—

Kelly didn’t even get the chance to scream.

 

***

 ‘Have you got all the cameras, the batteries, the extra batteries? Everything is charged and ready to go?’

‘Yes,’ Felicity replied, feeling exasperated. They had already gone over this several times. 

‘Tent, maps, torches, food? I really don’t want to get stuck out in the woods tonight without adequate provisions.’

‘It is all sorted,’ she promised, rolling her eyes.  

‘And we know where Loz is waiting for us?’

‘Yes, Becky! Loz is exactly where she said she would be, like we have discussed. Chill!’

She was looking forward to their overnight adventure in the woods. It seemed a bit cliché, rite-of-passage, but the girls thought it would be good for their book research. 

Becky, however, was getting a little fanatical about what they were taking with them. She was not an outdoorsy type of person and was paranoid that they would forget some ‘can’t spend the night without’ essential. 

She was dressed as if she was off to a party rather than hiking through the forest. Low-rise jeans with a floral peasant top might be perfect for a night at the Student Union, but not so great for traipsing through the woods. At least Felicity had managed to convince her she needed hiking boots, to protect her from twisting an ankle.

Growing up with three older rough-and-tumble brothers, Felicity had spent many days climbing trees; and many evenings camping as a Brownie. She had chosen sensible cargo trousers and a ribbed turtleneck sweater. Her long blonde hair was tied into a ponytail under a Von Dutch baseball cap.

She did feel some trepidation. Only insofar that whilst researching several of the so-called local legends of the area, she had discovered that there were many tales regarding unexplained disappearances. But she was a sceptic. Despite thoroughly enjoying digging through the old lore, she didn’t think anyone could just vanish. Truth be told, she was just hoping to get some good photos. One might prove worthwhile for the cover of her book, if it were to ever be published of course.

Sighing deeply, she listened as Becky continued to fret about whether they had packed enough food for the one-night sleepover and making sure they didn’t have anything that would attract ‘wild animals’. 

Felicity snorted. ‘I’m pretty sure there aren’t any bears or wolves in Dorset. Maybe a nosey pony?’ She checked the bags and camping apparatus were secure under the trailer tarpaulin and got into the Range Rover she was borrowing from her dad for the trip.

‘Just get in!’ she ordered, and as always, Becky dutifully obeyed her. Sometimes it was more like having a puppy than a best friend. 

‘You certain you know where we’re going?’ Becky asked as Felicity put the 4x4 into gear and tore off the pebbled driveway. 

‘Yes, it’s not far. And it’s a huge forest. How damn hard can it be to find? Besides,’ she added, ‘Loz is already there, remember.’

Becky furrowed her brow. She often seemed stressed these days. She fidgeted for a bit and then played with the radio, settling on some classic 80s rock.

Felicity turned and looked at her friend. ‘Try not to think about him, Bex. This is for us. Fuck him.’

Becky blinked a few times, as if fighting back tears. Then she rummaged in her bag and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. Her ex had never liked her to smoke.

She put one in her mouth, lit it, and took a long drag.

‘Yeah!’ she shouted. ‘Fuck him! Oh, that reminds me.’ She turned, sighing. ‘Typically, I’ve got my period today. I can’t believe the timing of it! Because being all bloody in the woods is so convenient. Not.’

She concentrated on driving. It was typical that Becky would have to suffer some sort of minor setback on the trip. This was less than ideal, but not the end of the world. I understood what was implied. At least that bastard hadn’t left her pregnant.

They drove on in companionable silence. It took around half an hour to find the start of the woods. It seemed to go on for miles and miles. And as was to be expected, the GPS and mobile phone coverage was now intermittent.

‘So’, she said, glancing over at Becky, who was holding the map, frowning. ‘Where exactly is Loz?’

Becky turned the map upside down, and then gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I just don’t know!’ she whined. ‘You’re the expert – you find her.’

So, Felicity continued to drive down the windy dirt path, until they came to an area that seemed as though it had been used by campers before. And there, thank goodness, was Loz’s battered Mini. She parked the car and hopped out, enjoying a luxurious stretch as she did.

‘This should be it.’ She could see a well-trodden path in front of them, and the trees appeared to be a little sparser in the distance. They didn’t want to traipse too far in. Hopefully they’d soon spot Loz who had texted earlier that morning to say she was on the way, but her phone was about to die. Typical of her.  

They hauled off the tarp and pulled the heavy packs onto their backs. They grabbed the tent and the foodstuff, and Felicity made sure the Range Rover was secure. 

Then off they went into the woods.


~~~~~~


An Interview with Janine Pipe

Monday, March 8, 2021

The One that Got Away: Women of Horror Anthology V3



SYNOPSIS:

What doesn't kill me, might make me kill you!

30 women authors from around the world were challenged to write about The One That Got Away. Here you'll find tales of unrequited love, blind dates gone wrong, stalkers and their prey, cursed guitars, alien symbiotes, sinister letters, and bitter acts of revenge. Dive into these murky depths and discover what hides inside the minds of women scorned.

With Foreword by Gwendolyn Kiste (Bram Stoker award winning author of The Rust Maidens). Edited by Jill Girardi.


Reviews




Monday, February 1, 2021

February 2021 Poetry Contest Winner

 



CANDY COATED CRAPOLA

by Colin D. Palmer



Dark persistent pleas,

a proclivity to disdain  

from the cold-hearted bitch.


A smiling sneer

the sole, initial recompense

to forlorn supplications.


“Deign to prayer?”

The sweet sarcasm oozes

between blood-red lips.


Flashing eyes follow

the icy road, a route

of beauty and brutal finality.


Close your eyes,

remember the vista,

attach memories of pleasure.


They will be your last,

you know this, for she

foretold, and forewarned.


Yet you did not see

or hear beyond the

sexual innuendo she imbibed.


Close your eyes

and remember that once,

once you were a man.


Envisage her long, 

smooth thighs, the delicate lace

lingerie, gossamer silk panties.


Recollect the soft fingers

caressing your face and neck,

as she weighed your subjugation.


The road to destiny

is protracted and icy,

as will be your dissolution. 


No more prayers or pleas,

face it like a man,

the man you once were.


She bettered you effortlessly.

Perchance the cold-hearted bitch

is a better man than you.





© Colin D. Palmer, 2021




Friday, January 1, 2021

January 2021 Pictorial Prompt Poetry Contest Winner

  



 Brave

by Chris Young





 

She stands on the track with that defiant face.
That perfect stubborn child’s face.

Defiant against the train oncoming?
Defiant towards the one who wants to save her?

She fears not the one,
and needs not the other.

Stares down one
Shuns the other.

The bravest girl I know.




~~~~~~~~~~


Read more about Chris Young



Chris Young: Poet Spotlight





Chris grew up in Springfield, Illinois. A little neighborhood called the cabbage patch because, well it was a cabbage patch that got uprooted to put in housing for people working at Allis Chalmers. It was World War Two and my dad went to the South Pacific and my mom went to factory.

They never left that little house once dad came home.

Chris is the 5th child of 5. His first experience with reading was walking to the library with his mom. He as five years old and it was about a 3 mile walk. He would walk that every week just to keep checking out Where the Wild Things Are. He loved that book. As He got older say 10 or 11 he would sneak the books from mom’s bookshelf he wasn’t supposed to read. He would do that on Sunday morning while his mom and dad were at the bowling alley for an hour and a half. It took him six months to read The Exorcist.

When he became a teen he read voluminously and began to think he could write better than some of the books he was reading. He couldn’t, but he can now. He first realized he could write while in the Navy. He responded to a Dear John letter a friend got. She wrote back and wanted to meet Chris instead of the friend he wrote the letter for.

He has been writing every since for shear pleasure. 7 years in the Navy and 20 years on the road has been a boon to his writing. He continues today.

As for the poem, he loves picture prompts, and this one reminded him of someone special. A couple of someones as these are the kind he is drawn to.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See Chris's Contest Winning Poem Brave



Saturday, December 19, 2020

David Painter: Poet Spotlight

 


David Painter is a Northeast Ohio poet and photographer. His aim is to capture his point of view on the world through nature, culture, architecture and history. 


Dave’s love for photography began in the 1970s with the purchase of his first Minolta SLR camera. Through his keen eye, Dave became a member of the Cleveland Photographic Society and the Chagrin Valley Photography Guild. 


For the last decade, Dave has added poetry to his creative repertoire. Ex-panding his interests to the human condition, fiction and history; his favorite era being the Civil War. Much of Dave’s poetry is inspired by his photography; the perfect marriage of his two passions. 


Dave is a member of many poetry groups including Allegory Alley, Scribbles Writing Organization, Poems and Unpoems, Writers Writing Poems and Out of Your Write Mind. Additionally, he is active in The Pixel Photography Club and his local historical society.


Dave was born and raised in Charleston, W.V. but has made the Greater eveland area his home for the past fifty years. He is married with two kids. 



Twitter

@davepainterphotography



See David's Contest Winning Poem

The Crow and the Man



December 2020 Pictorial Prompt Poetry Contest Winner




 The Crow and the Man

by David Painter





 



I sit for long days on end

Sitting where the nurse places me


It wasn’t always so

once the sun was bright on my shoulder


Briefcase in hand, train to the city


Funny, not ha-ha but funny never the less

how I started to slip

 

like too much rain on a California hill side

or a room full of marbles


Until the asylum of my mind became a silent refuge

and I forgot about you.


I watch as a crow lands with his road kill

and picks at the dead carcass


pulling off bits of flesh and

swallowing them whole


I feel as if it is my mind you know.




~~~~~~~~~~



Read more about David Painter





Friday, February 8, 2019

Pictorial Poetry Prompt Contest Winner: Colin Palmer



All By Myself

Colin Palmer 



Asear didn’t know what it was 
 The climb was clear, air like silk
The roaring waves
Steps of foam
Pounding only in her head. 
 Ticking, a constant annoyance
But no hesitation, 
A desperate desire to roam.

The first tentative step
Unleashed a flow of  
Forward momentum, up, 
The only way to go.
The obscure wreckage 
 An inanimate distraction,
Simple to ignore
Obviously not foe.

She paused only that once 
 At the first step,
Life will be better, anywhere,
Her own voices said. 
 Mired now with confidence
Internal heart of steel 
 Onward she went, and upward,
Following her head.

Almost half-way, memories, 
 Dread, thoughts and fears
Horrors from before
Crossed her mind. 
She did not falter, lost in 
 Visions of ogres, monsters,
Terrors she’d escaped, 
 That of the human kind.

A loathing so deep
No hate has surpassed,
Of parents manipulating
Their one and only child.
Asear was so fair,
Her mother grotesque,
Father the leader 
A pack worse than wild. 

 Regular, daily, unholy demands,
No child should be wounded
By those that should Love and respect.
Suffer she did, every day
At times so bad,
Leaving the home,
An impossible prospect.

Lest those outside
Should see her scars,
Ask questions
For which she could not respond. 
 Always the threat hung near,
Inside her pretty head,
Impossible to forget --
Never tell, never abscond. 

 Her last birthday,
A fleeting memory
Of happiness for a brief time,
Until the monsters acted.
She’d run to her room,
Short elation dissolved
Celebrations over,
Worst fears protracted.

The abuse, the beatings
Went on for years.
Not a single kind soul 
 Sort to interfere.
The escape unplanned,
For self-preservation,
From pure clarity of thought
She forever strove to hear.

And now, as those
Final steps loomed, 
The bouncing hands of time
Annointed her presence.
Faster and faster they spun,
Asking questions, giving choice, 
Wanting answers, 
Providing acceptance.

Asear announced her desire
Poised on the top step,
The spinning hands propped,
 A doorway appeared. 
 “Come home,” the vile voices
From behind, inside her laughter,
Followed by screams and threats --
Her inner strength persevered.

She stepped through the door
Nary a look at what might follow,
In front was life’s colours
Behind was only black.
“Welcome, welcome,”
A new sing-song voice intervened,
The doorway closed,
Sealing off her flashbacks.

Wide eyes full of wonder
A delight never before shared
Of comfort and warmth,
No more despair.
She grew accustomed to 
 Her new surrounds 
 But stood still, trembling, a little, 
All was new here.

A giant green panda waddled past
Glanced at her face
Laughed with glee!
Then to her surprise,
Approached and spoke
But not aloud 
 Inside her head,
The umbilical eyes.

Not a trace of fear
Did she feel 
As she slid into the 
 Friendly embrace,
Of her new, furry green friend
One of many to come 
Here, in her new home,  
Her new safe place.

The panda, his name was Joel,
Flopped down in a funny motion 
 Gestured for her to follow
So he could give her the juice.
He swept his paws often
To make a point But never once asked
About her abuse.

It seemed like days passed
As Joel talked and talked
His questions about desires and dreams,
Not where she came from.
 When finally she voice
Why he didn’t ask of the past,
He winked and sang, 
“of glum we are numb.”

Accept and move on
Forever forward, his lesson --
Do what you can
Always remain positive.
With new found delight
She hugged him with glee
Thankful for his
Formative, forgiving, narrative.

A generation, more,
Millennia went by,
Asear lived her life happy
Completely obliterating the past.
She swam in warm waters
Coddled by fairy-tale creatures
Always smiling in return
Confident at last.

Behind her neon world,
Behind the loving beasts of 
 Heavenly nature,
Behind the clock of spinning despair. 
Behind the wreckage,
The surging, tugging surf,
Behind the steps she’d taken,
The climb up the stairs.

Behind, the light above 
 The prostrate form of a little girl,
Lay in coma 
 In a hospital room.
Six months they had waited
For her to pull through,
Then extracted the baby
From her near lifeless womb.

The excuse from the fleeing pair,
Monsters of her past,
Never to be known.
A lesson for their new prey --
Act sooner than her mother did
Or perhaps her birth mother
Shall awaken, or return,
Neither best not delay.

In the hospital bed
Pupils crawl behind tight eyes,
In the other neon world
She goes on, reality in abeyance.
Inside, a slight stirring
Of recognition
Of loss and regret
But no time for patience.

The years go on
The baby of course grows,
And one night, fueled on alcohol,
The ogres overwhelmingly react.
The girl in the hospital room
Pulls herself erect,
The other girl in her neon world
Suddenly, aspires to go back.

Joel is full of sympathy
And heady, straight advice
Plus warnings of more literal kind,
That she cannot return.
Once gone is gone,
But he understands, and 
 Lies prone her to mount --
Speed he must burn. 

 “What of you?” Asear asks.
Her immediate concern 
 That Joel should get back safely --
In her world he’d be at risk.
His permanent smile appraised her
Friendly grin suggesting jest
“Do not be afraid, 
 Put your mind at rest.”

Asear hugged him
Warm tears of gratitude,
Then leapt upon his furry green back
Clutching desperately to his pelt.
A tear splashed down,
His green did dissolve
To her horror, his jerky reaction
Showed he had felt.

She dismounted quickly
Before Joel came to stride,
Cupped his huge woolly face
With the permanent grin.
“I’m killing you with my tears,
This cannot be, I love you,
I will not see you hurt,”
Asear sobbed to him. 

 “Nonsense, my dear”
Joel did smile,
“climb aboard, 
 We have no time for this --
In dire need is your child.”
Asear’s tears flowed at Joel’s kind words.
He went on, 
 “Hurry sweet girl, hurry,
We’ve no time to bide.”

He lurched and sprang
With Asear safely hitched,
They streaked like a green cloud
Trailed by green mist,
Across the neon lands they soared
Through the clock of despair,
The stairs in one leap, 
The crashing waves a mere tryst.

Only seconds passed
But Asear felt the change
As her adroit mind began
To open, her body grew.
She glanced down in awe
Saw two legs that were not hers,
The legs of an adult
As her reality broke through.

Their arrival at her
Home from the dark past,
Coincided with a young woman
Who smiled, “together at last.” 
 The two halves co-joined,
Combined to make one whole,
An impervious, maternal blend 
 That knew to act fast.

With Joel at their shoulder
His coat half green and half white
They thundered inside
Not a moment too soon.
Their young daughter did they snatch
From the arms of their dark papa
The glare of their monstrous mama
They faced off the mismatched.

The father roared, made a 
 Desperate dive, not wanting to
Lose his prize.
No recognition
Of the daughter he’d abused
And forever lost.
“Who are you? Give her back,”
He yelled from screwed face,
Not opposed to using fear as a ruse.

Asear quickly swivelled,
Shielded her girl,
Lifting one arm to fend
Off the advance.
But Joel leapt forward
Propped between she and he,
Opened his gigantic maw
Negating any chance. 

Father halted, shock at
This green and white monstrosity
That could not be real,
Absolutely no possibility.
He darted and lunged, and yelled,
His triumph premature
As Joel swallowed him whole
Like some delicacy.

To the mother Joel faced,
Her terror and fear etched
Into her hideous features but
Asear stepped forward.
She intervened, cradling her dear
Child in protective arms
Studying her once mother --
A monster now cornered.

She turned her back
On the slinking woman
And spoke instead to
Her child and Joel, 
“We have a place, a home,
With safety and warmth,
Leave this wretched thing,
I’ll not be so cruel.”

Joel’s grin never faded
As he nodded assent,
Asear, without a glance,
Walked out, expecting he’d follow.
She cupped her girl’s arms,
Let her slide to the ground,
Saw her own face,
Cheeks sunken and hollow.

“I’m you’re mama, sweet girl,
Did those, those monsters
Give you a name?”
The little girl nodded.
Her soft voice cooed,
“I am Claudia, 
We are one and the same,” --
Asear was besotted.

 “It’s true my sweet Claudia,
We are more than just one.”
Then frowned as she realised
Joel had not come.
She spun around,
The door stood ajar.
No sound came to her,
From inside the slum.

At the same time her mind 
 Was asking her this:
A green panda?
Surely, Surely you jest?
No warm waters,
Friendly, furry beasts
No spinning clock
No steps on the beach.

She looked back at her child
Her frown disappeared
The innocence of youth
So appealing and fresh.
Asear held out her hand,
An invitation Claudia did not miss.
Home sweet home
A family refreshed.

They walked together inside
Comfortable with their kin,
Closed the door on their
New, special beginning.
Mother and child
Separate once but whole again, 
No trace of the horror
That once was within.

In a far away place,
A strange big green bear
With huge white splotches
In his mangy fur,
Stood over the cringing
Form of a desperate
Crying woman, pleading
For the bear’s succour.

“Not a single chance,”
The bear grinned at her,
“You will be my meal
Forever more.”
She dropped her arms
As the bear leaped,
Mouth agape, teeth bared,
This daily encore.

The next day was the same,
And again after that,
Forever waiting, knowing 
 Yesterday, today, tomorrow her fate.
Because she failed in her duties 
To her daughter in need,
The trial, her punishment, her 
Daily death she must meet.

Asear and Claudia, mother and
Child lived full happy lives,
With no recollection of
What passed before.
Except now and then both
Share a shining dream, 
A smiling green panda, a clock, 
And strange stairs on a seashore.


~~~~~~~~~


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