|Poetry by Marc Carver, John Grey, Joel Schueler
and Judson Michael Agla
By Marc Carver
People never disappoint you
I don't know why now after all this time it upsets me the way it does
you know what they will do before even they do it.
Perhaps my thoughts make them do it but I don't think so
it is their nature that is what makes them do it.
Some people think they are better than others and some think they are worse.
I sometimes think I bring out the worst in people
and I am sure that I do.
I have always liked the ones who see themselves as worse
they always have something more interesting to say.
|To read other short stories,
click one of the titles below.
|About Marc Carver
Marc Carver has published
some ten collections of poetry
but he knows the most
important thing about poetry is
finding some truth in anything
then saying what he sees. Life
decides what he finds.
|About Jason R. Barden
Jason R. Barden began writing
poetry around the age of
thirteen. At age thirty-three, he
transitioned into dark fantasy
and horror fiction. His first novel
The Spitting Post is available at
Amazon and other online
retailers. In addition to writing,
he enjoys hiking and
|Scorched By The Serpents Tongue
By Judson Michael Agla
I woke up cooking in the hot noon sun; left for dead, on a make shift raft with no land in site.
An ethereal brutish condemnation; a proper whipping, a devils curse, to be estranged and forgotten
The eventually of all my crimes; crimes I’ll keep to myself, however the blood I spilt could equal this ocean,
I lied; killed without discretion, and conjured every demonic spell that brought havoc over the earth.
You wouldn’t believe it but I did it all for love; not of someone but of everyone, I thought I could save the
world from the rapture, from itself.
Sometimes you have to dance with the devil to achieve what you conceive as being the greater good, I
don’t know how things got all fucked up but I believe the world didn’t want saving, I believe it wished for its
own death, as the serpent whispered in its ear.
|Brim No More
By Joel Schueler
Eyes brimming with fragility
cowering as they look, up
the hollow lakes of time's xenophobes.
A pungent wakefulness settles its woes
in the dusk of solace
draining all within;
wailing oak tree of old
seethes and coughs up its fresh leaves of coal
on mid-aged blades of grass below.
The sun witnesses the act with a misty positivism,
rosy life shrouding the dead of nerviness
Time cold and slothful blackened
sobriety of life
is convicted of
the newly opened den
than its hatch
eyes wide shout with fragility.
By Jason R. Barden
Dark crimson sphere bubbling with regret
Pinching the nerve of a tragic debt
Burning to the touch but frigid on the inside
The beasts of last night shriveled and died
Our reality is questionable and overwhelming at best
The blood pools at the city of unrest
Torture has left its mark on the mind
Spools of shredded misery become intertwined
Like red velvet placed under the skin
Assures the pain will surely win
Soft fuzzy monsters eat the eyes
Suffering in solitude, the lonely demise
Going back and forth has caused our distress
Bludgeoned to death by such finesse
An itch in the mind is an awful thing
Feeling the insatiable agony that it will bring
The bruises wish to speak to you and now
Do you know what they will say and how?
They want to eat away our being
Take over all we are hearing and seeing
Friction has caused us all to turn red
Dripping bloody torment from the head
By Marc Carver
As I walk under the underpass
I see that someone has wiped their arse with toilet paper
and stuck it to the wall
what a place this is.
I sometimes think I am writing for people that are not even born yet.
These people with their pointless lives are already dead they just don't know it
The man in the underpass has more of a real life of that I am sure.
By John Grey
a thread of
this gentle vibration
of sinking flesh
not like the city
where her screams
swallowed a city whole,
stole the thrill
of your disposal
of the body
the pines, the oaks,
embrace the life
as you do
the gentle waltz
of blood on water
|A Fashion Statement
By John Grey
Her dangling bracelet
It's made from human bones.
They're from the corpse
of her ex, Ronaldo.
They help keep his memory dead.
By John Grey
have risen from their graves.
You're no longer
the ugliest guy in town.
|About John Grey
John Grey is an Australian poet,
US resident. Recently published
That, Dunes Review, Poetry East
and North Dakota Quarterly with
work upcoming in
Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal,
Thin Air, Dalhousie Review and
|About Joel Schueler
Joel’s works are in nine countries
in over thirty publications
including Pennsylvania Literary
Journal and The Brasilia Review.
He is from London and has a BA
(Hons) in English Literature &
Creative Writing from the
University of Wales, Aberystwyth.
A zealous writer of music, lyrics,
comedy and more. joelschueler.
|About Judson Michael Agla
(A brief history) I’m about 45
years old and spent most of it in
Toronto, save for some time in
Mexico and Vancouver. Ever
since I can remember I’ve been
making things. I paint; draw,
sculpt, carve, I toyed around
with animation a bit and I write
horror poetry and short stories
for magazines. I’ve also been a
chef for about 20 years, so I’ve
been a little bit everywhere
doing anything I can. my web-
site = judsonmichaelagla.com