This is perhaps Rob’s most brilliant piece of poetry. Beautiful & powerful.
All my work is free. For now.
That’s not to say it hasn’t been edited within an inch of its life. It’s not crap. It’s not word vomit.
It’s “I have 2 jobs and 2 kids and I just want someone to read my stuff with an option to donate” free.
It’s “I just want eyeballs for Christmas” free.
It’s “Are you accepting new patients?” free.
Check it out. *CHEESE*
Pssst… featuring yours truly (eep)
Darlings! 31 Short Horrors is COMPLETE and READY FOR YOUR EYEHOLES!
Get it for FREE for a limited time at Smashwords with coupon code KU45W
This collection is the result of three years of agony and ecstasy and all the laughs and tears in between. I really hope you check it out because I worked my bazoombas off to put it together for you. Honest to gawd, 31 complete works in one spot? For free?
I’m a giver, that’s what I do.
Darkness surrounds her
Fog swims in her ears
See flailing, flayed open thoughts
Tentacles sliced top to tip
Writhing and thrashing
Gelatinous overflow blurs thin jagged borders
Slimy trails of entrails
A broom a mop a sharp edge
Flip and flop and gather and miss
And the edges slide under
Rolling slithering slime escapes and
Covers, darkens the cold cement
Frantically, panicking limbs try to scoop
And a mouth sucks and slurps but the
Entrails spilt from filleted tentacles
Squirt and slide and roll away
A dark trail of sick leading away in a web
Catching touching grinning licking
The fishnet of horror bleeds away from the center
Contaminates, cuts the darkness
Shrieks of crimson strike bolts of ice and
The gentle fog drops sharp as hail
Tentacles dry up, wind up, curl tight, thin, empty
Skins await the growth and bubbling expansion
Of another metastatic matched set of agonies and fears
And the wheel spins and the moon rises
And again she hopes to cleanse another year.
Copyright 2017 Shannon Cooper
#NationalPoetryDay Aroma and depth draw my breath the morning windows sprinkled in lustre and copper aspen leaves silken clouds wandering the heavens like a lost child impatient and wild, riled yet beguiled and do not ask me to halt this moment when moments are treasures and pleasures in overwhelming haze a mist, a mist of time, a dream of graces where roe deer amble in forest spaces My pockets full, my shoes inspired to carry these limbs to rocky spires the love of worlds born in these places no quandaries no lust of sapphire and diamonds just the spring waters untroubled by hands and hostility through vivacious ferns the powdered breeze whistles serenading the dance of the bonniest thistle the trail of heather whispering and awesome ne'r bereft of vibrant blossom And i straddle these peaks and variant landscapes eyes set down upon a world gone mad its captivation cemented in its own dereliction a world without honour, a world steeped in hate a cauldron boiling over a soup of disdain roll it into a ball, roll it away man’s destiny dressed and disguised by its own demise nor the prescience of mind but the ignorance of shackles and the echoes of death fading to crackles for all that they know is not what they know so how can they grow, how can they grow The blackbird sings to me awakening me from my tempest of human shame for i have lingered in a world of senseless crowds and one night stands and crumbled shrouds i have seen the dark i’ve heard the bell toll for me the wheel of lucifer roll to me i am for all i am and all i can ever be the pillars of life now my branches my trees if i should meet the sound of the morning once more then i am a flower in sunlight i am home
Copyright 2017, Robert Taylor, @ClanRobTaylor