I’m the city
an enigmatic countenance
and a heart redolent of a mirage;
My charismatic appearance
Is a dreamy apparition
breeding frail hope and forbearance!
Author Annie Mick started writing in January of 2019 when the ideas and characters crafted in her imagination needed to find their way onto the page. In an exclusive interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Ms Mick, who currently resides in the state of Colorado in the US, a place where the sunsets are colourful and the mountains make for a beautiful landscape, says when she starts working on a book, she always knows who her main characters will be and the initial plot, but as the plot unfolds, she happens to tweak it. ‘Or it ends up tweaking me!’ she exclaims.
A stellar journey, a cosmic view
an unusual sensation in the space
where a new vision of truth encounters
the spirit in elliptically motion
as the celestial body gets
drawn to earth like me
In the realm of nature love rules all
Unstained affection stands upright and tall!
The love you feel when the wind caresses soft
In autumn evenings, the spirit soars aloft;
When the starlit night hugs you tight
You melt in the grip of the silvery sight.
Author Matthew P S Salinas first began writing in the fifth grade, which happened to be a time in his life when he adored reading stories of all kinds. This was also the time when he began dreaming of becoming an author one day. Speaking to The Literary Juggernaut in an exclusive interaction, the author and poet, who is currently working on releasing a sequel to his current work besides actively looking for a literary agent and traditional publisher to help him expand his audience and improve the quality of his work even more, says he primarily wrote poetry and was published in Visions Literary Magazine. ‘After that, I went on a hiatus for a while and eventually returned to my roots in poetry and my interest in horror fiction,’ the twenty-seven-year-old American author shares with us.
The miners’ spines have slipped their discs, made crooked by the sack
Containing all those minerals and dignity in chunks,
In lightless labyrinth lunacy their fingernails turn black,
Their faces smeared in shadow like the cassocks worn by monks…
There is some harmony in chaos,
Mayhem in the way the enemies march to their doom,
The sense of morbid familiarity when the drums are struck,
The beats uniting all the warriors, be it friends or foe.
Having nobody’s shoulder to cry on
The branches shed tons of tears
Gazing at the prostrate body
Of the loved, lifeless bough.
Their throat aches
Along with their heart,
Heart that had snapped into two.
Weeping makes their eyes swell
And they beg for the presence
Of the bough in their lives again
Knowing that it was gone forever.
Yes, it was gone forever.
Lets-call-her-Lee had long dreamed
of changing her name
and taking a Greyhound
to someplace deemed safe
Embolism, spiral and residue,
Crepuscules, pinnacle pentacle tentacle.
When the surge breaks and births
Glinting in Poseidon’s trident,
The slow knotted crippled mandible
The long night of knives wet.
I promised that I would throw a bag at each resting stop
So he allowed me inside and I boarded the bus with a hop
At the first stop, I threw my bag carrying ‘Comparisons ‘
And the bus started again, leaving that station
On the next stop, I chose to throw the bag containing ‘Expectations’
When I was young, I’d longed to float and fly
Because the welkin charmed, allured me much;
I’d hankered after gladness and pure bliss,
The airy, blue expanse I’d hoped to touch.
In that instance, she ascends as a vulnerable Lotus…
Every molecule of love that she had for her man
Hurtles towards her quavering veins.
She is being prodded by the amorous pitcher plant, she too wants to devour…
Those smouldering sweat gleams dribbling from his lascivious skin.
Many nights those were the only raiments that she would be lapped in!
Such a cruel joke it would seem; as he is already
gone, but actually perfection with all things
considered. Only he can still hold her.
The cricket’s nocturnal song was the only familiar sound giving them a hint of comfort as they waded through the swamp, cutting down the overgrown leaves and protruding roots upon their path. The moon’s bluish-grey glow made the foreign land seem more exotic than they had imagined, yet the sight of skeletons reaching out from the ground for help dispelled any notion that they were holidaying.
When you were thrown right into darkened, foul pits,
Each of which snatched your chilled-out cheer, chastised charm,
I wept, wondered if ever you’d sense the harm
Caused by ones that laughed, staring at you like kits;
Sunsets on your pale ripped jean
drops of twilights in my skin
such unquenchable longing
for the insatiable thirsts
intruding arteries inside out,
spurious blood of silence has
measured off our infamous hearts
Silence is a power
Endowed by gods
The human lineage
And ritualized by the