Category Archives: Guest Poems

Sniper by Paul E. Cooley

Depression is a sniper hiding in the forest of life.
Without warning, without provocation, it fires its steely bullet through your heart
rendering you mute, in pain, and wondering what happened
as your self-control, your grip on what’s real, falls to the ground
like so much slaughterhouse offal.

It takes everything to pick yourself up,
when you can feel the psychic blood draining from
what once held joy, faith, and hope.

Crawling for cover,
tears of empty rage sliding down torn and ragged cheeks,
each movement an obstacle in and of itself,
you finally hear the shot that felled you.
And even as you manage to find shelter,
you are felled once more.

There is no rescue party on its way.
No medic to stem and staunch the wound.
“Hope” does not make house calls for the dying.

Even after the sniper has left the trees,
its silver rounds of hurt deeply embedded in your flesh,
the fear of never finding the light again
can be worse than the fiery, breath crushing pain.

Friends drag your conscious gibbering body.
They apply the only aid they know how,
clean the wound,
cover the hole.
But only you can mend it,
scar over the damage,
and move on.

It is only the memory of hope,
that can make that happen.
Pills, words, hugs, music…
all are temporary solutions to
a chronic illness that is only
solved in the final cessation of life.

But I’m not ready yet.
The pain will pass.
The futility of life will once again
be lost to the wind like a grain of sand.
And the inner light will glow once more.

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Posted by on July 16, 2015 in Guest Poems


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An Untitled Poem by Christopher Miller

in the grey places of twilight
where the sun overlaps the shadow
and there is neither color nor fade
we lay, the summer rolling over 
in humid waves

I watch the sweat trickle down your neck
I sip my drink and smile, lucky drop
You wipe it away without a thought
we lay, the summer rolling over
in humid waves

between the cider and the lawn
I’ll take you, my lips on that neck
hands seeking, slick on your skin
we lay, the summer rolling over
in humid waves

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Posted by on August 24, 2014 in Guest Poems


Campfire Songs of the Lost and the Angry by Jeremiah Walton

And so we love

We love the campfire,
the stars,
each other

O how freely that we love each other!

We love as a reaction
We are angry. We are furious.
This home-made compass
is always pointing in the direction we’re going
and we’re going.

We love
because we are scared.

We love
like hummingbirds
seeking flowers among dead.

We bouquet together
& plant in NH’s mountains
in tents and without-tents.

The absurdity of it All!

The absurdity of that man’s beehive beard!

But long beards of filth do not sway us!
No, they burn our finger tips
and light veins in our eyes.

We lovers are hummingbirds.

My lovers are hummingbirds.

They approach me
seeking flower juice
but realize I am not a flower
and flee.

What friend is not worth crossing a country?

What lover would you not drink deeply of?

Who signed the post cards slid between your journal’s pages?

My hummingbird will die
coiled in human fingers
still thinking we may be flowers.

I found a priest’s resignation letter to God in the smokey remnants of my hummingbird’s corpse.

So I decided maybe there is a God
and if he is true
let him damn me
because a life well led
cannot be defined by any external force.

I will bring heaven with me on my way to hell.

We love
because we are angry with the world.

We cannot bring ourselves to hate our brothers and sisters
no matter their lack-lust or lust-for
We sacrifice to love.
We love to community.

We cannot falter for flowers,
we must falter for hummingbirds.

Hummingbirds drinking the blood of hummingbirds
the most beautiful vampire.

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Posted by on December 31, 2013 in Guest Poems


No Love Poems by Jeremiah Walton

The bruises along her legs are not memories
but empty spaces.

There is no fossilized evidence

love ever existed.

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Posted by on December 30, 2013 in Guest Poems


Warm Storm by Jeremiah Walton

I pour a cold glass of lemonade
& raid my friends fridge for a nectarine
this is comfort
this is post high school summer.

Step outside to backyard.

Stoned kids discuss poverty and Man’s future
ignorantly, but putting forth the effort.

There’s something dying in the woods.
We can hear it. Coyotes ripping up some corpse
or birds slaughtering each other
The sound of school doors opening
mass production of shotgun shell wanna-bes
feeding into an economy
nestling broken images of Self
concepts of freedom are errands
labeled madness, the box’s we wear have different patterned eye holes.

The apricot is warm
like the storm
quietly approaching.

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Posted by on December 29, 2013 in Guest Poems



By DeliriumTree


Sometimes, it isn’t a question of want, but need, and what I need is you.

Hard, inside me, now.

I don’t want you to ask.

Seduction is a matter of grace and I’m beyond that now.

I’ve shattered into suspended animation, inconsolable, wretched, a frozen banshee’s howl.

I can’t make do with these others.

I’ve tried.

I find the dance of their shadows far too pale.

A mimicry of sunlight, when what I crave is a solar flare.

No, it has to be you.

To leave me soulless, boneless, floating and thoroughly fucked.

Mass to my inertia, I crave your weight most of all.

My bones simply a thing to be ground like particle etchings of starlight, recorded in the blackness, by a light years breath.

I ache for brutality despite the patience recalled in your kiss.

That gentle coaxing I denied, because it would make me less wrong.

I am a glitch in time, a razor slashed pre-raphaelite painting that screams on the inside.

The blank map of your predilections lure me continually to a reality that may not exist.

Winding paths as fleeting as the question of whether you want at all.

Let alone me.

Need unrelenting like stone, it can be covered, chiseled away.

My litany of minutia, I can look past any atrocity and smile.

Wind sways the branches, the twisted tree in the forest whispers it’s still irrelevance.

Frozen in the destruction of my own time, continually forgetting this dream of hope.

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Posted by on January 12, 2013 in Guest Poems



By Randy Hinckley

My body misses yours when you aren’t here
The caress of your hand
The soft flesh of your breast against my face
The tenderness of your lips to mine

My mind wanders yet always comes back to you
Always thinking of your spirit
How the smile on your face soothes me
And how your beauty is beyond measure

My soul longs for you
Missing the same hearted nature of our existence
I think often of your charm
And remain awed by the person that you are

While we are still learning
All that is to know about one another
My being longs for you

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Posted by on August 17, 2012 in Guest Poems