By Harris Coverley
very core of the mountain
the walls all whisper:
“our genius has survived!”
“all hail the King of Nothing!”
By Aeronwy Dafies
In hidden bunker
Men made of metal slumber
Awaiting the call
Like Arthur in his cavern
Turning old myths into new
By DJ Tyrer
Down damp corridors long devoid of light, deeper into the antiseptic fortress. Grey walls revealed by flickering torchlight, no guards from an elder age, no insects skittering, no strange monsters, just emptiness sealed for centuries.
Reach the vault, further heavy doors to prise open. Success. Strange white lights return to life, resume an unnatural, steady glow. Pause to marvel at the tomb.
Sword ready, yet still no threat, guards or demons, enter the vault, untouched by the ages, seeking treasure of such great value.
Locate it. Seeds. Tiny repositories of life, with which to rebuild the ravaged world. Perfect. Priceless.
Originally published in Drabble Harvest issue 15 (February 2020)
The Hall of Mt. Rushmore King
By Mark Hudson
With America’ famous faces,
sculpted to the wall,
ghosts haunt these places,
the mountain king’s hall.
A gravelly road outside of Keystone,
leads to Mountain View Cemetery.
In a rotting grave of dead bones,
drift ghosts that are rather scary.
People see apparitions gliding at night,
ghostly workers rising from their graves.
The ghosts have given people a fright,
most people cannot be brave.
The mount was completed Halloween 1941,
and people stood there under a full moon.
Washington, Roosevelt, Lincoln, Jefferson,
their spirits guard over this ghostly ruin.
And although the spirits are tossing and turning,
The presidents spirits guard as if kings.
Will these spirits ever be returning?
It’s just among the world’s strangest things!
By DS Davidson
In the hall of human-originated
Mutant bloodline ruler, far below
The recovering world, aeons on
Short and stunted beings plot
In concert with their computer god
“Resume the war! Resume the war!”
Through ancient, lost chambers crawl
Expeditions seeking the magic words
To resurrect weapons of the gods
Send forth a second rain of fire
Scour the surface clean of life
Begin the cycle over anew…
By Harris Coverley
beneath the mountain
the final soldier —
broken he at last arrives…
but he’s forgot the passcode
the best laid plans of
men and machines — in the hall
of the mountain king