The Dead Cries by Prayerlife Nwosu

I walked past the cathedral cemetery

Creepy cries and murmurings heard

Accompanied with sorrowful psalms

Filling up jars with piles of goose bumps

 

I saw angry souls craving for vengeance

Over the untimely knock of the death prince

Crying with terrifying bloody melodies

Unwilling to accept death so soon

 

Younger souls roaming with bloodstains

Singing hymns with bloody mucus

Oh, poor victims of ritual killings

Staring weakly at their early graves

 

I heard babies cry and pant

Wailing and cursing wombs

Over their forceful removal

In need of a breast to suckle

 

I heard the lamentations of souls

Whose lives were taken by cars

Putting blame on the living

As they hum with the hooting owl

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Prayerlife Nwosu

Prayerlife Nwosu's poems have been featured in various poetry Anthologies and Magazines such as: From Africa with love (International Human Right Anthology), 6th & 7th Chinua Achebe poetry/essay Anthology with an award of outstanding entry, Ghostly Ghouls and Haunted Happenings Anthology, 13th International Festival of the cry of a Woman: Mother Earth Anthology, 11th edition of Otherwise Engaged Literature and Arts Journal etc. She is one of the editors of Voices of Revolution Anthology; a publication of the society of young Nigerian Writers (SWNW) Imo state chapter. Currently, she is the state’s Information Secretary of the Society of young Nigerian writers (SYNW) Imo state chapter.

My Journey Prepared by Nick Romeo

What happens

when my heart

sprouts legs

eight of them

crawls out my throat

onto the floor

onto the highway

highjacks a truck

with a kitchen knife

parks in your driveway

knocks on your door

quotes from Jude 2

‘May peace be upon you’

slides under your toes

chases you around the table

thru the garage

into the living room

into the library

until you tire &

retire to that old chair

 

 

Would you welcome the thing

into your arms

onto your lap

where it can read you a story

& some poetry

or would you chuck it

into the garbage disposal

or into the aquarium

where it must fight fishes

doggy paddle for life’s sake

but still find time to entertain

& remain nourished

while a prisoner

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Nick Romeo

When Nick Romeo is not at his nine-to-five occupation which is strongly situated in the STEM fields, he passes the time with his wife, cats, and his art creations. His main forms of expression are 3D digital renderings, electronic music, writing, sewing, and photography. Nick's latest chapbook, titled Empyrean Fog Machines, was released by Back Room Poetry.

About the Dark Weather by Max Bindi

If you seem

what you seem

don’t look so grim

when the lights of the world

start to grow dim

If the darkness

unzips its eyes

in a nightmare alley

if the tarot cards lie

and fate dillydallies

the devil creeps under your skin

when hell seethes under the floor

well, people cry like the wind

and they are no more

Now rise down, baby fall up

and show me

where you found your sleep

and your black clothes

about the dark weather

tell me more.

If you are what you are

don’t brag

about your phantom scars

and joyride through the night

in Death’s haunted car

every shadow is on the move

and blood crawls under the door

well, people are wind

and they are no more

Now rise down, baby fall up

if your black money lasts

more than your damned soul

about the dark weather

tell me more.

Picture of Max Bindi

Max Bindi

Max Bindi is an Italian Author/Translator/Poet. His work has been featured in Poetry Anthologies by publishers such as The SFPA, HellBound books, The Ravens Quoth Press etc. as well as in a variety of international Literary Magazines both online and in print, including: Aphelion, The Horror Zine, The Sirens Call eZine, Lovecraftiana (Rogue Planet Press), Raven Cage Zine, Better Than Starbucks and elsewhere. He was nominated for the Dwarf Stars Award in 2023.

Pits in The Forest by Juleigh Howard-Hobson

Starting in October, I Set Up the Pits in The Forest

 

 

Sooner or later, someone will wander

in,

so, I wait. Patiently. I prefer

trapping

to hunting. There’s a casual

easiness

to a trap that makes the kill

smooth, there’s no stress,

no loud noise, just a pit

that opens beneath

a person’s feet. It

is fast, the hole is deep

and they are mine

for winter feeding. The cold

helps out fine

with storage, though I don’t mind mold

or rot.

Food’s nicer when it’s fresh, but I’ve had

lots

of decent folk even when they’ve gone bad.

Picture of Juleigh Howard-Hobson

Juleigh Howard-Hobson

Juleigh Howard-Hobson’s poetry has appeared in Midnight Echo, Bowery Gothic, 34 Orchard, The Dead Lands, Under Her Skin (Black Spot Books), Vastarien: Women’s Horror (Grimscribe Press)' and many other places. Her most recent book is Curses, Black Spells and Hexes (Alien Buddha). She lives in a haunted Victorian house on the Pacific Northwest coast.

I Eat Well by Juleigh Howard-Hobson

When Teenagers, After Having Researched Online Regarding the Use of Protective Circles and Amulets, Sit in an Old Graveyard to do Witchcraft and Magick at Midnight on Halloween, I Eat Well.

 

Did you suppose a line of salt would keep

you safe? Who told you that? It only works

on the incorporeal, and I am

not. Your pentagram? Silver-plated, cheap

plate too, it might give me the creeps, but hurt

me? No. Not at all. Purer silver can,

 

of course, in a blade or melted into

bullets. But even then, someone like you

 

would have zero chance of hitting me. I

am faster than the folk tales tell, harder

to sense than the urban legends let on.

‘Witches’ should be scared of the dark, you die

in it a lot. Misinformation’s where

you mess up. You assume superstition

 

is obscured wisdom. Which it isn’t. Or

you assume it is stupid, which is more.

 

You learn ‘magick’ in pieces and cobble

it together…trust in stories, half-truths

and folklore…but you don’t understand that

some things lurk in the dark, against which you’ll

never be fully protected. I’m proof

of what always happens because of that.

Picture of Juleigh Howard-Hobson

Juleigh Howard-Hobson

Juleigh Howard-Hobson’s poetry has appeared in Midnight Echo, Bowery Gothic, 34 Orchard, The Dead Lands, Under Her Skin (Black Spot Books), Vastarien: Women’s Horror (Grimscribe Press)' and many other places. Her most recent book is Curses, Black Spells and Hexes (Alien Buddha). She lives in a haunted Victorian house on the Pacific Northwest coast.

Who’s Next? by LaVern Spencer McCarthy

“Who wants to go next?” Barney asked.

“Somebody must,” replied Sylvester.

“Be a volunteer,” Barney suggested.

“No,” answered Sylvester. Barney scowled.

“All of us must go sometime. It’s best

to get it over with.”

Of the ten men present, none

was willing to go next.

 

Conversation stopped when a country-yokel-

type man approached.

His dim-witted son, Homer, was with him.

The older man strolled up and down the line.

“Who wants to go next?” he inquired.

“Hurry, time is wasting.”

The men gazed at him fearfully.

No one volunteered.

 

“Look,” the man said.

“It will be over before you know it.”

He kicked at the heads of the men

in a long row, buried up their necks in dirt.

“You will be feeding the community.

The Grinder is not that bad.

You will taste delicious. Everyone knows

I make the best sausage in the state.”

Picture of LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy has written and published twelve books of poetry and fiction. Her work has appeared in Writers and Readers Magazine, Meadowlark Reader, Agape Review, Bards Against Hunger, Down in The Dirt, The Evening Universe, Fresh Words Magazine, Wicked Shadows Press, Midnight Magazine, Pulp Cult Press, Metasteller, and others. She is a life member of Poetry Society of Texas. A poem she wrote was nominated for the 2023 Push Cart Prize.

Vampire Moments by LaVern Spencer McCarthy

I share with him a lowly bed of straw,

but when the moon is full, we do not sleep.

We must obey a deeper, primal law.

We run with wolves where eerie shadows creep.

Tonight, we rest in fields of columbine

while lupine friends are lying close in dew.

Our feral eyes ignite vermilion wine

consumed from goblets made when earth was new.

 

Eternity for us is but a day.

A baring of the teeth, promoting fear,

assures no wooden stakes will come our way

when those who wish to take our lives appear.

 

Our souls are savage and shall never die.

Mortality despairs, and we know why.

Picture of LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy has written and published twelve books of poetry and fiction. Her work has appeared in Writers and Readers Magazine, Meadowlark Reader, Agape Review, Bards Against Hunger, Down in The Dirt, The Evening Universe, Fresh Words Magazine, Wicked Shadows Press, Midnight Magazine, Pulp Cult Press, Metasteller, and others. She is a life member of Poetry Society of Texas. A poem she wrote was nominated for the 2023 Push Cart Prize.

Slowly, Slowly by LaVern Spencer McCarthy

Slowly, slowly

Death comes walking

on its bony feet.

Hungry, hungry,

Death comes hungry,

looking for a treat.

 

Searching, searching,

Death comes searching.

Anyone will do.

Crawling, crawling,

Death comes crawling

onto me and you.

 

Silent, silent,

Death comes, silent,

never says a word.

Surely, surely,

Death comes surely.

Pleas are left unheard.

 

Boldly, boldly,

Death comes boldly.

Everyone must go

crying, crying,

always crying

to the Land of Woe

Picture of LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy has written and published twelve books of poetry and fiction. Her work has appeared in Writers and Readers Magazine, Meadowlark Reader, Agape Review, Bards Against Hunger, Down in The Dirt, The Evening Universe, Fresh Words Magazine, Wicked Shadows Press, Midnight Magazine, Pulp Cult Press, Metasteller, and others. She is a life member of Poetry Society of Texas. A poem she wrote was nominated for the 2023 Push Cart Prize.

Great Grandpa by LaVern Spencer McCarthy

Great Grandpa lay in his coffin,

a grotesque smile on his face

that the funeral workers

could not remove.

 

Little granddaughter Susie swore

she would not bolt and run screaming

when she viewed the corpse,

but when he winked at her,

she did.

Picture of LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy has written and published twelve books of poetry and fiction. Her work has appeared in Writers and Readers Magazine, Meadowlark Reader, Agape Review, Bards Against Hunger, Down in The Dirt, The Evening Universe, Fresh Words Magazine, Wicked Shadows Press, Midnight Magazine, Pulp Cult Press, Metasteller, and others. She is a life member of Poetry Society of Texas. A poem she wrote was nominated for the 2023 Push Cart Prize.

Death by LaVern Spencer McCarthy

Death and I danced long and long

one cold and rainy night.

He held me close. His arms were strong.

His eyes were hot and bright.

 

The suit he wore was dark and fine.

It seemed to make him proud,

but then I saw its bold design

was fashioned from a shroud.

 

We waltzed each other ’round the room.

on fast and fiery feet.

Although his breath was like a tomb,

I found his kisses sweet.

 

At last, too weary to go on,

I asked to rest awhile.

He hummed like wind around a stone

and answered with a smile.

 

He whispered of a bitter cup.

He said I must be brave.

And, just before the sun came up,

he laid me in my grave.

Picture of LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy

LaVern Spencer McCarthy has written and published twelve books of poetry and fiction. Her work has appeared in Writers and Readers Magazine, Meadowlark Reader, Agape Review, Bards Against Hunger, Down in The Dirt, The Evening Universe, Fresh Words Magazine, Wicked Shadows Press, Midnight Magazine, Pulp Cult Press, Metasteller, and others. She is a life member of Poetry Society of Texas. A poem she wrote was nominated for the 2023 Push Cart Prize.