Lady of the Lake

In the mountain where I grew up,
There is a lake that no man has ever seen freeze.
It is not the biggest, but it is the deepest.

Rebirth

I always looked round in your universe
I noticed that others had lives that were worse
So why years of drinking to blot out the pain
I have lame excuses but I just can’t explain

Emotional Fireflies

Thousand of whirling stars speckle the inscrutable blue curtain
graciously displaying a jubilant dance before the eyes of curious night owls,
accompanied by soul filled, hidden noises,
enveloped by the warm numbing scents of the vegetal creation.

The Force That Guides the Worlds Galore

I suggest you now grasp that heart’s core
Is illumed by none but God; thought ain’t vain.
Same is force that guides the worlds galore,
One birthed by a chaste woman. Prized lore!

You Slew Your Soul

But I suppose there is no fun
In leading what you’re leading – gruesome life;
You think not of superb acts dropped
Before you say the thoughts that stay well popped
Until slain is the mental strife!
And goodness goes on to stand sadly done.

When I First Looked Into Your Eyes

Lambasted love couldn’t even minds
That shall float now, forever,
Be born again to be dead, gone.
That is life’s nature; it quite binds,
Creating love in ways clever
In order that worlds may move on.

The Excellent Writer Within

The secret to excellent writing is to enjoy with ecstatic abandonment each letter and syllable we put down on paper. The pure joy of writing makes us successes; nothing else will. Those who tell us we have to struggle and sweat have not grasped true meaning in their lives. We need no approval of any human to be a success.

She Comes in the Night

She comes in the night, sleek and evil.

Beware of the Night: this beautiful killer,
exquisite predator, demon.

Wolves roaming, blood thirsty.

She is waiting to devour your soul and your children.

On My Knees

When I am on my knees
& my head is bowed,
don’t count me out.
I am trying to decide
if I am coming back
as fire or ice, but
trust me,
I am coming back.

The Real Question

Could you will to enquire where we are caught,
And why the ball of fire has not touched us?
Give it some time, give what’s been said a thought
Before you put your questions, making fuss.

Goldfish Doesn’t Envy Cat

Yet here we are, we fuss and fight;
We shout at dark and envy light;
We push we pull we play the game
Of right and wrong; the blame and shame.

The Perfume River

Gleaming entropy through decaying eyes,
Whimpers not howls, gasping shade, not fury,
Slowly, swollen, sour sweetly, grimly we go, grimly,
Down the perfume river.

‘Writing Is Art, a Calling’

Author T C Weber is a morning person, and he begins his day with what he loves doing most: writing. In an exclusive email interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Mr Weber, who is a member of Poets & Writers and the Maryland Writers Association, says when working on a novel, his goal is to write one scene each day, schedule permitting. β€˜I ensure that I write something every morning, even if it’s just random thoughts or a few paragraphs. Long scenes may take several days,’ explains the author, who also knows to speak Spanish besides a bit of Russian and Japanese.

World of Play

The stars greatly glowed when the night was young,
And the moonlight gleamed, glistened upon seas;
It looked as if the stars were lights well strung
By men who would prize nothing but calm, peace.

My Wolf

Why does such a powerful wolf as he,
seem almost shy in this game he plays?
So close yet just out of reach.
Listen, to the beauty and sadness as it resonates
throughout this night and my soul;
as he throws back his head
and opens his soul and song to this winter moon.

Tricolor Profaned

Pretentious men sat, watched the harm,
Recalling to word their dead thought;
Observed was chaos; there was no calm!
Farm laws were blamed and farmers bought.

Pandemic Plagiarised

Pandemic plagiarised plagiarised plagues
Plagued pure places, preyed ‘pon poor people
Plotted, planned, plunged persistently
Placed plain pain, pessimism, pricks
Plundered positivism
Pained planet proudly
Pauperised peeps
Pressed paupers
Provoked
Pawns

Testimonials

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Erich von Hungen

Having been interviewed by Vatsarah Stavyah (you can read the interview here), I can say that The Literary Juggernaut is AHEAD OF THE PACK. It is perceptive, astute, caring. It is curious, interested, unafraid, committed. It is there. It is all that you would most want from a literary journal, especially now with so much overload. It is a path, that is, to something new and true and real. Of all the journals out there, The Literary Juggernaut is just that, a juggernaut, and it is worth your time. Trust it. Read it.

Jackie Ross Flaum

I’m writing to congratulate you on a marvelous job writing up the interview with me and my work. I’ve put the Dec. 27 article all over my pages.

As a former journalist, I know how difficult it is to write an interview story that is factual and captures the person’s personality. I felt you did both. Well done!
And thank you.

Jesse S Frankel

To the owners and operators of The Literary Juggernaut, I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to express my thoughts in an interview I recently did for you. Many authors try to get some form of public recognition and publicity for their efforts; you have given me both. I only wish that more blog sites would do the same!

As a writer, it is never easy. We spend long hours writing and rewriting, advertising on Twitter and other forums, chatting with fellow writers on techniques, and just plain doodling around until inspiration hits. It is good to know sites like yours exist that help us spread the word about our work.

Once again, my greatest thanks!

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