War Stories

When he talked about it
Out of the blue
I listened carefully to his words

The war was decades old
In his mind
And he had stories to tell

Missiles slipped off incoming planes
Scraping across the deck
He leapt out of the way

He cleaned up the messes
Left behind
When the hull was struck

A man walked into a propeller blade
On purpose
He cleaned the deck of blood

He only spoke of it one time
To me
Only one time

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAElizabeth N. Love is a resident of Kansas, where the blue sky meets a flat horizon. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing from the University of Kansas and writes science fiction as well as poetry. When not writing, she is found chauffeuring two children to activities, cooking homemade meals, and practicing creativity in music, drawing, and needlework. You can find out more about her on her blog, here.

Photo credit: SkyDreammer on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord


Words, thoughts, ideas
Sparrows between nests
Dust bathers
Noisely demanding notice

Touching the fringes
Of my consciousness

Sounds, sentiments, chords
Robin round rubicund
Challenging the garden

Echoes, ringing
Auditory shadows remembered

Scents, perfumes, motes
King Blackbird
Encircling the meadows with melody


I live, work, play and create from my home in South-West England.
My (very) recent return to writing poetry has been a shock. I knew that I had a lot to say, but not quite as much. I love the spontaneous pieces (most of my poems) and the sense of achievement when I receive a response, and that I have an audience from across the World (thank-you, everyone). My inspirations? The beautiful countryside and coast of North Devon and North Cornwall, my family, the weather: hence my blog title: The Lull After…You can find Shilyot’s blog and more of her awesome poetry, here.


Victim of a Fading Sun

Two meet as one under the mountain’s roaring cascade.
The lights of civilization are passing peripheral glances.
It’s not quiet but it’s a peaceful not quiet.

He’s holding her like Pan if he ever could put his hands on a nymph.
She to him like a speechless echo.
Each given Chronos’ gift of temporal paralysis.

She’s giving her history with her fingers running across his shoulders.
He’s telling his tale the same way caressing her hips and back.
Not a word spoken, misspoken, or misunderstood.

Time’s gift is a loan and the two depart for separate moments.
Their fate a possible victim of a fading sun.
But their heartbeats leave the moment as it is: untouched and unforgettable.

Photo credit: Lucky978 on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord

Last Call for Magazine Submissions

We’ve been amazed at the turn out for our first edition of The Reverie Journal and are so excited to put together an amazing magazine for all of you.

A few things:

Tomorrow is the LAST POSSIBLE DAY you can submit to the magazine. Submissions will not open again until April for the Fall issue of our magazine. Please also keep in mind that this means any prompt winners will not be considered for the magazine until the new reading session has opened.

If you haven’t already, please sign up for our mailing list. We only send out mailings once a month, but this is how you will receive your free copy of the magazine!

Submissions are open for the Anthology with the theme: Back to Our Roots.

We are always looking for poets to feature for our Write for Us segment!

And finally, if you have submitted for the magazine and had your work accepted, please make sure your bio and author’s photograph are in to us by tomorrow. If you choose not to have one or either of these published with your work, that of course is fine.

A big thank you to all of you for all your hard work and support!

Two of Us

Two bodies
One giving, reaching
Grabbing and breaching
Caring, staring
Pausing for air

Two bodies
One receiving, feeling
Kneaded and kneeling
Burning, yearning
Gasping for air

Two bodies, one knot
Both bonding, uniting
Kissing and biting
Listing, twisting
One swallows another

Two bodies, one thought
Both weaving, bobbing
Writhing and throbbing
Moving, grooving
Until splitting asunder

Two bodies at rest
Two minds, both recall
Summer and fall
Quiver, shiver
Winter’s gloom prevails

Two bodies holding tight
One wishes, prays
Cuddles and stays
Coping, hoping
Pushing aside the doubts

Two bodies in the light
One erases, forgets
Qualms and regrets
Breaths, leaves
Pushing aside the sheets

Two bodies
Separate, apart
Body and heart
Hating, waiting
For next Tuesday night

Billygoat Gruff is an exploration geologist who travelled the world seeking oil and gas, diamonds and gold. Previously did some research on the dinosaur extinction at the K/T boundary and used conodonts, the dental remnants of extinct worm-like critters to date rock strata. In turns out that while working in the bush in Romania in 1999 I was bitten by some ticks carrying Borrelia spirochetes which caused me to develop a most monumental case of Lyme disease; unfortunately not diagnosed until 2008. The goat lost everything and is attempting a rebound and kickstart a 3rd go at ‘the game of life’. My 1st go? Another story for another time. I found that in writing short stories and other works of fiction I have been able to improve my communication skills which were greatly reduced; also I find it quite therapeutic. Poetry is something I have been attempting lately; I am not sure how successful I am but find it somewhat enjoyable. While all of my initial attempts centered on loss of love, I am having fun writing to the prompts found on this blog.

Photo credit: sanna on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord

Holiday Madness by Vlad Teodor Petcu

On this very land, in future’s time of afar,
When three moons rise and entomb every star,
There is a legend that will be told
With gory voice, as the land embraces the eternal cold:

On the paths of corpses, at one and any crossroad is lit
A candle with darkness around which all undead could orbit,
And they will all be led by the alluring shade of Akasha, the goddess,
In lights torn by twisted laces of pleasures…
They walk to the residence of The Snow Queen, unjust ruler and duchess,
March to the New Toy Shop, the North’s ruins and only standing fortress.
Here, on the first day of Hanukkah in 2016*, the last battle takes place.
The Vampire king, awakened and victorious, will bring to his daughter a face:
The head of Santa Claus; then leave this forsaken space.
Dragons stand on guard here from the last Kwanzaa,
When they collect the humans as matunda ya kwanza**.

The whole family gathers around the crystallized white tree,
Exchanging gruesome presents with binds of flesh;
The noise of madness echoes throughout the festive holiday
As white and blue flames of ice scintillates a glimpse of doomsday.

“Say your unholy prayers in Christmas’s skin!
Let the weeping music play and the feast begin!”,
Thundered the Snow Queen, then she gives the cue:
“Wrap Red Nose Rudolph from the dungeons! Put him on the barbecue!”

*The first day of Hanukkah in 2016 is on the 24th of December
**Matunda ya kwanza (Swahili) = first fruits of the harvest

Congratulations to this week’s community favorite, Vlad Teodor Petcu . You can find the original piece on his blog, here.

Be sure to check in Monday for the newest prompt.

Photo Credit: fotoman228 on deviant art/ Design Credit: Laura A. Lord

Holiday Voting

It’s almost Christmas! I know my household is in an excited tizzy over here, as I’m sure plenty of others are. The children are out of school and the tree is up and I’ve spent entirely too much money.

So reading your holiday poetry has been fun and fantastic and put me right into the spirit. Go read some awesome poetry and vote for your favorite! Only one vote this week, so use it wisely.

Also, with the upcoming holidays, we’re taking some time off to enjoy our families and vacations. You should do the same! We’ll see you again in the New Year! Happy Holidays!

Holiday Madness by Vlad Teodor Petcu

A Mini Ode to Christmas by Franz

I Have No Tree by Billygoat Gruff (in the comments)