Issue 67 – Fantastic Weather

Bronze
By Harris Coverley

skies bronze—thick and dense
an arenose alloy world
foundries in the clouds
drizzling down sharp flakes of death
upon luckless astronauts

There are ghosts within that wind:
shouts through distant trees;
the siren screams of phone wires;
object disrespect –
children’s toys and neighbour’s tools;
upon our own porch
unoccupied chair rocking…
window pane whispers…
the unhinged door opening,
then closing behind,
some guests you’ve not invited.

By David Edwards

Snow Queen
By Aeronwy Dafies

Frozen beauty, heart
Mistress of the icy north
Hidden by snowfall
Wishes only to be loved
Ever thwarted by herself

Fairy Tale
By Ken Poyner

The clouds are painted, but the moon polished. As the clouds keep drifting away, the painters tape off another section of sky. They consult on the particular hue for this tranche – are they depicting a seamless day of invincible uniformity, or portraying change, the beginning of darker or lighter or more entertaining days? There is no question with the moon. The moon circles unchanging. The phases come of big brother Earth stealing the moon’s sun. Polish it once, occasionally inspect for touch-up. The girl bonds to this work with energy to waste. It profits me: I have slept with her.

Ends

The Truck in Oz
By K. A. Williams

The whirlwind lifted up me and my truck and sailed us through the air. I ain’t never been so sick to my stomach.

When the wind finally set us down, the truck bumped over something and took off. I heard yelling and looked in the rear view mirror at a bunch of midgets shaking their little fists. Something white and sparkly glittered on the road behind me. That must have been what I’d landed on. Wonder what it was?

Nothing seemed familiar. I didn’t think I was in my hometown anymore. Was that a scarecrow hanging up in a cornfield? Yep it was. And it turned its head to look at me as I passed. Creepy.

If I hadn’t been staring at the tin man standing in front of a tree with his axe frozen in mid-air, I might not have hit the lion that ran out into the road in front of me. But honestly I couldn’t stop the truck in time.

SMACK! I got out and checked the beast. Dead. I examined the road I’d been on. First time I ever seen one made out of yellow bricks. I drug the lion into the woods and covered it with leaves and some twigs.

I was fixing to get back in my truck when I noticed something in the sky. Was that a witch coming toward me on a broom? Yep. Ugliest woman I done ever seen. Just my type. I took off my cowboy hat when she landed in front of me. “Howdy ma’am.”

“Are you the one that killed my sister?”

Uh-oh. “Did she have on a sparkly white dress?”

“Yes.”

“Why ma’am it were an accident. My truck and me got picked up by a whirlwind that just sat us down where it pleased. I’m awful sorry.”

She smiled. It were a gruesome sight, my heart pounded in excitement.

“Don’t be sorry, I never liked her.”

“Is that right? How about giving me a reward then?”

“What kind of reward?”

“A kiss. That’s all I want. For now, anyway.” I winked.

She smiled again. “Well, what are you waiting on?”

I moved closer and kissed her. What we done after that ain’t nobody else’s business.

The End

Weather Report
By Ken Poyner

The clouds kept coming down, kissing our ground. At first, the clouds simply touched down. Then they began to compact. They grew dense and it became hard to move about in them. It was as though trudging through water thigh deep, with the mist of clouds above. Finally, the tops of the clouds passed below eye level, and there was the sun. The clouds, still compacting, settled so low and hard that we could lift our feet out and walk on a macadam made of cloud alone. Nothing blocked the sun and we thought fearfully of the coming rainy season.

Ends

Tornado From Oz
By DJ Tyrer

In reverse scenario
Twister spirals over the rainbow
Depositing a bemused witch
And a dozen irritating Munchkins
Atop a bland Kansas-dwelling farmer
Resulting in lawsuits, insurance claims
But – no quests, nor murder
Just a great deal of confusion
And, unending asylum claims

Tornado
By Mark Hudson

The tornado was haemorrhaging
Over dim skies and towns
Thinning out the herd

Cutting through, reaping
Damaged nation, nothing new
Soon it will be old news

Houses demolished
An entire town laid flat
People sucked out of mobile homes

A jail in Kentucky affected
But nobody was able to escape
Not fair to the prisoners

Blonde haired blue eyed girl
Found abandoned in a field
Returned to her parents

Why do we question mortality?
We laugh at death
Till it’s our turn to go…

Issue 59 – Beyond the Veil

drinking leaves
that bless immortal life
(or curse?)

By Harris Coverley

Assistance
By Ken Poyner

The man had looked uncalmly dead in his coffin. Now, to see him up and about is not unexpected. Only so many rise to be the undead. Quibble can usually pick them out long before they pass. He cannot recruit them before they die, but he can map their habits, predict where, undead, they might first appear. Then he can make his pitch: freelancing as the undead can be dangerous – but hire an agent, and that agent can huckster the easiest bleeders into the safest of venues. Manipulating the living, an agent like Quibble is worth his weight in blood.

The Land Where No One Ever Dies
By Goran Lowie

a young man did not want to give himself up to death
and went in search of the land where no one ever dies
slipped away from mother and father, severing ancient roots

His light footsteps fell softly upon starving flowers
found an old man pushing a wheelbarrow full of rocks
a whisper: where do I find that place where no one dies?

each red ruby within the old man’s chromatic eyes crystalized
in the charming beam of white-fire moonlight: stick with me
until I’ve carved away that entire mountain rock by rock
you shall not die. a hundred years until it’s leveled.

the knavish boy was not content; a hundred years insufficient
he tread upon the ancient woodland, undisturbed old-growth
found an axman pruning branches with a pruning hook
a sigh: where do I find that place where no one dies?

the tree-killer, drunk on woodchips and tree-worms: stick with me
until I’ve trimmed all the trees with my pruning hook, you shall
not die. two hundred years until it’s done.

silently sorrowful he moved beyond; seeking a place to never die
walked in starlight until the seashore, an old man watching a
duck drink seawater, livid moisture lit by moon-silver
a cry: where do I find that place where no one dies?

Near the cresting sea-waves he received his answer in cold air:
if you are scared of death, stick with me. until this duck has
drunk this periwinkle sea, you have no chance of dying.
you will live another three hundred years.

like a ravished shadow he ventured onwards, stopping at
a magnificent palace. a serpent-haired man opened the door
a rustle: where do I find that place where no one dies?

arrival; in fire-sword eyes was held immortality,
as long as you stay with me you shall never die.
his springtime of youth frozen as he moved in
losing track of time, deathless, alive in liminal skies

until one day, a moan: in my eternity, I should like
to go back to that place where I once lived, and
visit my home, my descendants, in ashen light.

if you really wish to—go on my restless white horse,
but remain in its saddle, or your life’s thread will sever.

wandering back, he saw:
a vast prairie where he had met the old man with the duck
a desert where he had met the old man with the pruning hook
a leveled ground where he had met the man carting rocks
his home, unrecognizable: gazing with wondrous melting
eyes at the metamorphosis of his home, heading back

not halfway home he met a frail carter, cart full of old shoes
a mutter: sir, please help me dislodge my twisted wheel

the pitiful youth half-dismounted; one foot one the ground,
one foot in the stirrup, when a Dionysian smile ravaged him:
at last I have you—I am Death, with all the pair of shoes I
have used to chase you. Your deathlessness is at an end,
you will melt into the darkness and become one with the earth.

Orpheus and Eurydice
By Mark Hudson

There was a legend of Orpheus of Thrace,
who fell in love with Eurydice.
He fell in love with her beautiful face,
and it was true love, more than just like.

Apollo gave Orpheus a lyre,
and he made music no woman could resist.
The music left Eurydice inspired,
an affection to both when they kissed.

Eurydice went with the nymphs to the woods,
and an interested shepherd began to chase.
The shepherd was up to no good,
and Eurydice vanished without a trace.

Eurydice died and went to Hades,
and Orpheus journeyed to the lake of fire.
He was looking for his long lost lady,
and he summoned her up with his lyre.

The god of the underworld proclaimed,
“Take her to Earth by your grace.
If you want to see her the same,
do not look at her face.”

But at the last moment he gazed,
and his woman turned to shade.
This left Orpheus sad and crazed,
and thus, a legend was made.

Originally published in Rockford Review

Eurydice
By Harris Coverley

pursued by that shepherd
Apollo’s bastard son
the rapist in the woods

the viper tore my heal
and Aulonoid blood soaked into loam
and my soul into the underworld

he found me
descending by his music
to lull the hound to sleep
and win the hearts of king and queen
above Tartarus

and for my beauty to see again the light
he had one simple task:
to not look back

to march and sing
and not look back

to have faith in the Gods
and not look back

to wait until the sun could greet
and not look back

but his faith was as shallow
as the realms of Hades were deep

and now I wait
within grey flames
to hear again
my husband’s mournful croon

Necromancy
By Cardinal Cox

Yes the correct circle has to be drawn
With the words both holy and infernal
All inscribed many hours before dawn
And request – not order like some colonel

Don’t bother with arcane Latin or Greek
To contact the dearly departed one
If that’s not what (when alive) they would speak
You have to use a familiar tongue

See – the dead are busy – there’s much to do
The shades from all of history to meet
No time for ghosts to jump out and shout “boo!”
Networking to try even in Hell’s heat

Make an appointment or send an invite
If you want to call the dead at midnight

Issue 56 – Once Upon A Time…

The Kiss
By Ken Poyner

I do not remember ever being a prince, nor ever wanting to be one. Solitude, hidden in the damp grass that grows in two inches of swamp water awaiting the hapless insect to crawl or fly within tongue’s reach. I never wanted anything more. It was you, princess, who had grandiose expectations. My thoughts were moments of reaction. Yours cross time and causality, tethering beginnings and endings. Your fantasies ensnare other’s worlds. Then the capture, the kiss, and I am a character in your time-line, a minion dropped into your version of history yet-to-be. A role. Not one I wanted.

www.kpoyner.com

www.barkingmoosepress.com

Cheat
By Aeronwy Dafies

In prospect of her marriage day
Maiden signed her unconceived child away
Then, complained, “It’s unfair, this unholy mess!”
Said the dwarf, “A loophole: If my name you can guess…”
He vanished away and hid in his hovel
Imagining how the new princess would grovel
But the dwarf was just a little daft
And sang his name as he danced and laughed…
Was overheard by a passing squire
Who hurried to the princess high in her spire
So she said to the dwarf, “I don’t know how to begin…
“A random guess… oh… Rumpelstiltskin!”

Bad Day For Rapunzel
By K. A. Williams

Roger lived in a poor kingdom whose only income was taxes squeezed out of the even poorer peasants.

But he knew how to help the kingdom. Word was that a witch had imprisoned King Leopold’s daughter in a tower and her father was offering 500 gold coins to her rescuer.

He searched weeks for a tower and finally found one, but there was no door. A young maiden was brushing her hair which hung out of the only window. If he stood on his horse he could reach the long golden strands.

“Ouch!” Rapunzel said as he climbed up her hair. “That hurts.”

Roger slid into the window and pulled out his sword.

She cringed.

“Relax. I’m just going to cut your hair off and make a rope. I’ll tie it to that bedpost. Then I’ll carry you down on my back.”

“Thank you. My father, King Ferdinand, will reward you by marrying us. You shall be a prince.”

“Isn’t your father King Leopold?”

“No, that’s Rachel. She’s in a different tower. The same witch has imprisoned us both.”

Roger sheathed his sword, grabbed Rapunzel’s hair and jumped out of the window.

“Ouch! Why are you leaving?”

“I’m going to rescue Rachel instead. Her father is offering 500 gold coins for her return.”

He reached the ground and let go of her hair.

She leaned out the window. “Don’t leave me here! Don’t you want to be a prince?”

Roger mounted his horse and looked up. “I’m already a prince, but I’ll tell the next knight I see where you are.”

The End

The Apple Girl
By Goran Lowie

when a childless king berated his queen
for not giving him any children
she asked in despair
why she couldn’t bear
children as trees
could bear apples.

after nearly a decade
she finally gave birth
horrified to find
not a son
but an apple.

For Three Beans
By Ken Poyner

Quibble unloaded the magic beans on a yokel named Jack, who left him a cow in the bargain. Quibble knows almost nothing about cows. This one seems happy to stand in the yard, shearing grass. Quibble understands the worth of the cow resides in milking. Though a mammal of different feather, Quibble can be sustained by this animal’s milk. He will have to find someone to extract it. Might the milk be magic? Likely no more than the beans, but best to be sure. Perhaps the milking agent can be paid in product, and Quibble can safely gauge the outcome.

Once…
By Harris Coverley

Once upon a merry time
There was a maiden fair and graced
Hair up which horny suitors climbed
Until it blew up in her face:
One way too fat the journey made —
Out the window the price she paid!

Once upon a merry time
Three pigs lived three houses true
When faced with that bad wolf prime
To his amazement they all flew!
For pigs have wings in fancy tales
(And can be seen thanks to the ale)

Once upon a merry time
Two siblings strolling through the woods
And found occasion for a crime:
Robbing an old woman of her goods!
Her candied walls, table and chairs
Her life too in the oven unspared!

Once upon a merry time
Strolling through some different woods
Some young red hood late for teatime
An inexpert wolf out for blood
Poor lupine done in by a kid
Throat slashed with wicker basket lid

Once upon a merry time
A sleeping beauty amongst the bush
A prince fighting through the grime
Kiss lain upon lips in a rush
“Bastard, I was sleeping!” she did say
“I’ll never doze now—so go away!”