Friday, 14 February 2014

Silent Girl

Original poem, by James WF Roberts. Performed live on, CVCB Phoenix Fm Bendigo. All right reserved Red Wolf Press Australia.

Thursday, 13 February 2014

Valentine’s Day 2014 © James WF Roberts

Valentine’s  Day 2014
© James WF Roberts
The blushing moon
smiled down upon us,
soft lips, and takeaway.
Cigarettes and whiskey.
Don’t turn away from me now.
Please don’t ask me,
what you already know….
Don’t make me,
leave this place…

Can’t you feel it again?
The nectar of love
dances upon the tips
of our tongues.

I will not say those words
they’ve all said before.
I won’t dare to be, what
I could never be.
I’m not a devil
not a saint,
I’m not a dream.

Feel that night, closing in,
how many times, did
we create the language of love,
those shadows upon the wall?
Close your eyes now,
I will never let you fall.

Memories linger upon the body,
long after the touch has withdrawn.
Lie again in my arms,
Stay here…can you see the rolling dawn?

I will not say those words,
make those empty promises,
every man,  always swears.

No words have I found,
that can describe what you
make me feel…love is pure,
love is selfish. Love is fire
love is hatred and desire.

Until our first kiss,
I never knew what life
was. Look at me now,
do you think I could ever hide?

Don’t ask me what you already know.
Don’t turn away from me,
please, step back into the light.

Don’t turn me out into the night.
In your eyes I see the sorrow
I see the confusion, torment
of forever wondering about tomorrow.

You told me that this night,
would never end.
A thousand lifetimes lived
before the dawn.
Fire and passion, re-born.
But, this is now, and that was then.

But these weeping arms of mine,
longing to feel your touch once again.

Some Other Avenue Valentine's Day Comp.

Some Other Avenue

Let love be for the young
or young at heart
and leave us weathered
worn out
to part
with love
and find some other
to find life meaningful
on a different street
where love is not the lamp that lights our way
but we move about like blind men
because we could not make love stay.
Let love be for those whose words are right
the words that do not cause discomfort
or fright
let love be for the young
whose sweet caress
does not create some complicated mess
 and let us damaged ones be free
so we can spend some time as friends
and never want for what will never be
 and never want for love

by Narcissa Mia, visual artist & poet

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

Vital organ (Valentine's Day Comp) Joel Mackinnon

Vital organ
There is a machine in your body that never sleeps.
One that helps you to keep a beat
From before your born to the second that it sleeps.
You. Are. Alive.
You live, breath, think and do
Everything is possible when you have this groove
So many people we say live without it
But how do we know?
Only until we doubt it.
The heart my be an organ but its so much more
It breaks and bends and when the time comes
Makes you follow something more
We don't know why,
We know we shouldn't
Yet this one time our head falls in line…
Setting aside your thoughts of what right
For one small moment you don't take it slow.
You cant.
You leap head over heels for this special person
Sadly its they who have the curtain
Whether of not its been ripped out from underneath
Or that high lives on.
Our heart makes us follow
Or head gives us reason
Falling in love no matter the season

Joel Mackinnon
Growing up in developing town not far from Melbourne in Gisborne Victoria.
I was introduced to true meaning poetry by friend and from there I went my own way taking inspiration from the Australian rap/ musicians Bliss N Eso.
Trying to develop my own style that incorporates my love of 'Cheesy' rhymes and 
I have only been writing for under 6 months or so, it started off as a 'release' then as I continued to write and enter a poetry slams and attuned a monthly organised reading in the next town over fell in love with it.

I hope to be well known one day.

I Want (Valentine's Day Comp) Joel Mackinnon

I want.

I want a friend
I want a friend that I can call mine
A friend that I can call any time of the night.
A friend that drops everything
The kind of guy that's got your back in a fight
A friend that will push me.
To limits, then to infinity and beyond.
That knows when I'm upset.
When some things wrong mentally.
That wont back down when I'm saying 'I'm off to bed'.
That knows when I'm lying.
When I need someone.
I know I'm selfish.
I want parents I can tell I'm having a bad day.
I want parents that can tell when I'm having a bad day.
Parents that listen when I have something to say no matter the time of day.
I don't want the perfect parent, there's no such thing
I just want to say something and be heard. Someone to listen.
A parent that is my best friend.
The doctor.
The chef.
Walking ATM.
Debating partner and all in all.
Someone who's smarter.
I want a home that I can bust into song or play the guitar all night long.
I want to have friends that feel like its their home to.
A house where everyone gets along.
A house I can come home to after curfew.
I don't want to be held back by accusing glances you think I missed.
I would love something of my own.
Something important that I can go to, use, show off.
My own snake.
A pup.
My P's.
Or the front door keys.
I would love that camera I long for.
Possibly a metal detector to look under earths floor..?
I don't want to be laughed at for what I say.
Believe or want.
I want to be equal.
I want respect.
I want to be believed over my generations beliefs and stereotyped feats.
I am more then how much i appear be.

I will be the one to make you see my love has no fee.
Joel Mackinnon

last request (Valentine's Day Comp) Melanie A. B. Mineo

last request
take the ashes of our bones
and mold beauty with your hands
from burned flesh sculpt the clay
                to tears of earth
                to blood of rock
                to flowers
                as water    drip
                wears away the sighs of  guernica
                and cubist lovers
take the love you never knew
and with your hands
                smell its form
                feel its sight
                taste its curves
and when you're done
                                      paint it blue then
                                      to give us a name

Melanie A. B. Mineo

Everyday (Valentine's Day Comp) Joel Mackinnon


Every day is a lie, from dawn to dusk.
Putting up the defenses like we do our hair, involuntary, yet necessary. Waiting for the days onslaught to begin, hoping that the cracks in the foundation won’t give way today.
Praying that the mask you have put on won’t shatter and revile the monster that’s caged beneath.
Having the fake smile and humourless laughs ready. Pretending all the while like you actually care then going home and becoming a wall of indifference. There is no end.

The path is indefinite.

We tell people what’s going on, expecting them to have an answer that we never had a question to. We all have so many questions and so many answers, trying to match them up like a child puts the shapes in the right hole. But our game is so much more complex. Our game simply won’t end with the last of the shapes.


   Our game continues from the moment we have air in our lungs and blood in our heart. To the day where we take our final breath and our machine of heart finally becomes still. No matter how long we search, or how large an area we cover, life will dance around us. Laughing, teasing and snatching away hope then breathing life into it like embers in a fire...
We can search… But we will not find.

 Joel Mackinnon

long blonde lights (Valentine's Day Comp) By Melanie A. B. Mineo

long blonde lights

those long blonde lights
you've got runnin round yer license plate
remind me of that blow-up chick   crazy ellie
feck held her so close to his heart one night
he shot her in the head
he loved her so much
the piece he was packin
fit so tight in her red rubber mouth
he got down on his knees
and let her have it   with both barrels
pink blue yellow white
brains scattered   round and round
long blonde lights
he's runnin from the law now
she'd never done it so good

By Melanie A. B. Mineo
Westhampton, New York 

2014 (Valentine's Day Comp.) Anomalous

my new years resolution?
it's much the same
it concerns this thing called the heart
if I must give it a name
it kicks mercilessly
proves difficult to restrain
for a deep and abiding love
ultimately sought in vain

Anomalous is a writer from Melbourne. Although things have been a bit quiet of late (with 'one trick pony' fears setting in), last year she self-published Pisces Rising (a collection of photos, poems, rants, musings and the like). Visit and for more poems, contact information, to like/comment/follow etc.

How my garden grows Anomalous (Valentine's Day Poems)

How my garden grows
I'm turning the soil
in the place where I buried
your body
and my belongings
your body not yet decomposed
as I turn the soil
your feet are exposed
I throw self and shovel down
crying and clawing at the ground
trying to put asunder
with mud
and then under sound of thunder
hack your feet off
hoping that way you will break down faster


Quicksilver (Valentine's Day Comp) By Anomalous

Oh Hermes
And dear Mercury
You’re killing me!
My tongue is failing me
Incongruity my new reality
Time to sleep on this blade
In a bed I have made
By morning
Nothing but ribbons
I tie myself into knots
There’s one right at my centre
Now tie me into a bow
Bind me tight
And restrain this heart


No Boundaries Elizabeth J Kolodziej (Reprinted) Valentine's Day Comp

My door slammed shut. He jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The sound
of the engine bellowed, echoing through the street. He pressed the gas pedal, the tires spun, a
light smoke wafting from behind.
The touch of a thick strap along my chest was nonexistent. With the car rushed into
second gear, the smell of rubber against concrete was high. The car lunged forward, and after a
few moments, he switched to third. While the speed gauge went up, he drove with what appeared
to be little regard for any pedestrians that might be on the streets at this hour. The tires hugged
the curb, straining for space to move their massive bodies. White knuckles clenched the wheel.
When the freeway ramp was in view, he took it.
Driving a few miles down the highway, with no warning of trouble, he slowed the
speed from 110 to 70. His hands were like claws, probably from cramping, and he shook them to
get the blood flowing again. My eyes darted around like a rabbit. We were the only car driving
on the highway. It was after midnight. My heart still thumped in my chest like a symphony, but
my breathing slowed. Endorphins were a real killer in this kind of situation.
“Should we go to your place?” he asked, eyebrows frilled downward.
Several hours before…
It was a couple hours after sundown when I flowed into my living room like the
soundless breeze on a summer day.
In one quick movement I sat down. My tight cotton pants slid against my leather couch
as I maneuvered myself into a comfortable position. I brushed my hands across my silk blouse,
making sure ash from my cigarette hadn’t fallen onto it.
A mew sounded from my open window. The gray tabby swayed from left to right,
rubbing against the panels to his entrance.
“Hey, Kid.” The stray had been coming around for a month now.
As I flipped through my organizer, twenty different names were listed with a price next
to each one. I glanced in the mirror hanging on my wall to find my eyes glittering with delight as
I roamed through the names, remembering which person owed what amount of money and why.
I thought of who would be the best target to go after tonight, but while I was trying to decide,
Kid decided to lie down on that exact spot.
I put my cigarette out and blew the smoke upward. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m quitting.
Now get lost.”
A beeping sound came from my cell phone. Picking it up, I stared at the number and
recognized it.
I flipped the phone open. “Yeah?” I answered, my Jersey accent more potent than most
“I got a proposal for you Gem.”
I recognized the man’s voice on the other end—my longtime boss and somewhat
“I’m listening.” I grabbed a magazine to flip through, waiting for him to talk.
Dom cleared his throat. “I want you to go after a man named Jonathan tonight.” There
was a pause. “He owes Jake a lot of money.”
I closed the magazine and gave my full attention to the conversation. “Give me the
details.” I was practically drooling to hear what he had to say.
I could hear the big grin on his face. He always knew what would catch my interest.
“Jake gave him enough powder to supply his users for a month. Jonathan only had money for
half and was supposed to pay the other half at the end of the—”
“He didn’t pay.”
“You got it.” He hesitated. “Jonathan is Kelly’s boyfriend. That’s why he trusted him.”
My tone changed. “Just because someone is dating your sister doesn’t mean they’re
legit. Suppliers can be so naive sometimes.” I decided to get straight to the point. “How much?”
“Thirty grand. This guy is worth it to Jake.”
I thought for a moment. “I would have done it for twenty,” I teased, a smile forming on
my face.
A deep laugh came from Dominick. He gave me the information I would need, and I
jotted notes down in my organizer.
The sun was down, and the air became cooler with the breeze that blew around
Chicago. I walked around my bedroom, pulling out everything I would need for the night ahead.
The hit was a typical shoot-and-go, so I packed lightly. I holstered a small automatic colt pistol
around my ankle. My pants covered it nicely; only a small outline showed under the leather. A .
44 magnum was slipped into my pants at the small of my back. I picked up a couple of short
knives and placed them in holders on my bicep. Then I put on a black trench coat to cover up the
weapons completely. With the cold breeze in the air, the coat wouldn’t look out of place.
It was now eleven o’clock, and from what Dominick had said, Jonathan would be at
his home, cutting powder for a twelve o’clock run. I walked through the lower garage of my
apartment complex to find my ’69 Dodge Charger parked neatly between the lines.
After a half hour’s drive, I found myself in the city’s ghetto. Turning left onto Belford
Drive, I counted down the house numbers. I pressed the brakes and parked on the opposite street
from where thirty-three was painted on the curb. After checking my weapons to make sure
everything was in place and loaded, I tied my short brown hair into a low ponytail. The street
looked clear, but one could only be so careful.
I stepped out onto the street. My combat boots made little noise. Two lights shone in
the front of the house. I noticed the yellow and brown grass. Some shrubbery surrounded the
house to make it seem like a normal family lived here. An angel doorknocker hung high with a
message: “bless this house.” The knocker made a loud banging noise. The outside gave no
indication of the kind of people who really lived in the house.
“What kind of fools do these people think…” In the bushes, with his back to the house,
I took in the tan man with spiked black hair and a Herculean nose. “Jax?” I called out the name
in a loud whisper. “What the heck are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Heck? Really, Gemini?” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked.
In a huff, I crossed my arms. “My parents taught me not to cuss.”
“But not to avoid killing people?”
“That rule made less sense to me.” I shrugged. “Look, what are you doing here?”
I had met Jax during W.A.M.—Whacking a Mobster. He dropped in from nowhere,
just like he was doing now. Jax worked for Dominick’s nemesis, The Jackal, an evil SOB who
didn’t care who the hit was for or how it was done. That was the reason I put boundaries on my
interactions with Jax, yet he seemed to break that rule a little too much. Though having sex with
him a few times after that didn’t help anything. Especially when he looked like a young Lou
Diamond Phillips.
The door knob twisted, and I planted my feet. The deception of a happy family in
residence faded as a tall, thin man opened the door. His eyes were bloodshot and bugged out; his
long hair was stringy and greasy.
He swayed back and forth. “Whaat’d ush want?”
Evidently, “what do you want?” was too hard for the man to say.
“I’m here to see Jonathan.” My tone was strong, with a slight demanding attitude
behind it. “We have business.”
The man stepped aside to let me walk through the threshold. Out the corner of my eye,
I spied Jax walking toward the front windows. If he stole this kill from me I would kick his ass.
The sound of my shoes was muffled on the carpet. Once he shut the door, the grimy
man led me into the living room.
A lanky guy sat on a faded brown couch. He slowly rose to his feet letting his silk shirt
fall past his hips. A strong mouth framed his triangular face. “Who is this?” He had a smooth, sly
“I dun know. Shesh said you boff had bushness.” The slurring had become more airy
and slowed.
I stared at my guide, amazed he was still standing.
Jonathan looked from his friend to my piercing blue eyes, appearing to stare into my
soul. A smirk formed on his face. “Who are you?” A glimmer of curiosity shimmered bright.
I licked my lips while looking him over. “I’m here to collect on behalf of Jake.” I
centered my feet more and slid my hands closer to my weapons, my eyes never leaving his.
He let out a snort. “Jake sent a woman to do a man’s job?” It was more of an assertion
than a question. “Jake can go screw himself.” Jonathan walked around the table toward me and
stopped a few steps away.
The man had left. Good.
“Wrong answer.” I smirked at Jonathan and, with one swift movement I let my coat
drop from my body. It fell to the floor in a heap. I reached for one of the knives and took a step
forward. I held the sharp object to Jonathan’s throat. His eyes widened.
“One. Last. Chance.” I pressed the knife onto his neck, a drop of blood falling and
disappearing under his shirt.
His mouth curled into a smile. “The asshole isn’t worth spitting on.” He grabbed my
wrist and pulled it behind me, the knife falling to the floor. “You should work on your reflexes,”
he taunted. A laugh emerged, annoying me.
Anger rose inside of me; I didn’t like to be held in a restraining way. My stomach
started to twist in knots. I could barely hold back my furry.
Jonathan smelled my hair in a slow seductive fashion. He wrapped his arm around my
waist to hold my arms captive against my sides. How stupid. He didn’t notice my gun pressed
against his body.
Gunshots sounded, and I heard glass shatter. A bullet whizzed by my neck and slashed
through Jonathan’s skin.
I wrapped one long leg around his, causing us to fall onto the floor. We both fumbled
around, each attempting to dominate the other. I conquered by straddling Jonathan, forcing him
onto his back. My fist struck his jaw with a forceful crack. Blood splattered on the beige carpet,
and he struggled to break free. I pulled out my gun and shoved it against his forehead. Jonathan
froze. Leering at the injured man lying below me, I gradually got to my feet to stand above him.
“Don’t underestimate a woman. I’m Gemini, and you’re a very unlucky man.” I pulled
the trigger and watched as the bullet went flying through the air and into his head. Blood
splattered and I blinked; the face below me deformed. I turned with my gun still in the air,
pointed at Jax. “Why did you do that?”
He shrugged and gave me half a smile. “I like being Prince Charming and saving the
“I’m no princess.”
“Yet you’re from Jersey. Interesting.”
I rolled my eyes before I shoved the gun into my holster and picked up my knife.
Throwing on my coat, I flipped open my cell phone and called Dominick to let him know what
went down, leaving out the part about Jax, of course. Dominick told me he would send the
cleaners to get rid of the mess. I went for the exit but the door opened wide.
Dark eyes glared at me. “Who the hell are you?” The woman took a step closer to me
and gawked. A frantic look formed on the woman’s face.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, we ran out of the house. The Jackal would have
had his man kill anyone and everyone, but not Jax. I dug in my pocket, found my keys, and
pressed a button to unlock the doors. While only a few steps from the sidewalk, I heard a loud
bang. My shoulder swung forward and I fought to keep my balance; the skin tore and blood
began to flood out. More shots sounded and bullets flew in the air. The pain seared through me
like hot lava and I glanced around to find the woman behind me with a gun.
Hands took my waist and shoved me to the side. “Get in the passenger side and don’t
My bullet flung through the eye of the mobster at the same time a bullet pierced his
chest. I didn’t hear a gunshot. Sniper. I pulled my gun down from the ledge. When I didn’t hear
the whiz of bullets flying over the target's screams, I pulled out my binoculars and searched the
rooftop next to mine. Luckily, I didn’t have to come up from lying on my back to see the huge
grin on a male with bright teeth and black hair.
“Mother ducker”
Getting inside, I left the weapon in a black case hidden inside a broken-down wall.
Getting to the back street, I pulled my hoodie up and hid my face as best I could. Worn torn
jeans and sneakers helped me blend in with the crowd, however that didn’t stop douchebag from
finding me.
Instead of running, I groaned. He had that same grin on his stupid face. When he was
just close enough, I swung my right fist, but he bent back to miss the hit.
“A-hole.” I attacked with my left fist to his gut and tagged him when he was coming
back up.
A puff of air escaped him, yet he pivoted to my left and grabbed my wrists. I was
turned, my back to the wall, and noticed the Mob boss’ boys looking for the shooter. The
stranger’s lips collapsed on mine and he let my wrists go to encircle my back and press us close.
It was like kissing a strawberry with how he tasted of the sweet fruit. His lips were soft, his
tongue forceful. The stranger's hand was covered partially by his sleeve when he moved his hand
to my cheek.
“Hey yous! Get outta here!”
When he ended the kiss, he let out a couple deep breaths while locking his eyes with
mine. “Let’s get outta here, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low as he mocked the New York
accent of the mob guy.
A wall had fallen and I smiled before I was able to catch the mistake. Stupid me. The
reason I was good at this was because I could keep myself emotionless on the job and not get
entangled with the people. I couldn’t believe he was able to penetrate that part of me I never
showed to the world.
I held my middle as we walked away. Once we were out of hearing range, I asked,
“Who are you?”
This was only my second year in the field, and they still sent me for the easier jobs. My
boss didn’t want me up close and personal yet. He said I needed my black belt in three different
fighting styles before that happened.
“Dominick is hiring youngsters now?”
“How did you—“
“Know your boss’ name? ‘Cause I actually have some time under my belt and know
the players.”
I stopped to gawk at him, the warm breeze comfortable since I hadn’t wanted to take
my hoodie off yet. “I’m not a youngster. I’m twenty-five.”
“You really shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
Damn it. He was right. He had me flustered. I was never flustered! “I should go.”
“I’ll see you again, sweetheart.”
I didn’t look back.
Shoot! I was still in the passenger seat. I recognized my neighborhood.
“Sounded like you were having a good dream, sweetheart.”
I made a visor with my hand over my eyes. I wouldn’t admit to him if it was a good or
bad dream. It was a repeating one though and since then I had run into Jax about once every
couple months. I didn’t realize that until that very moment. Time to me seemed to run by fast
these days, and it was hard to keep track of who showed up wanting what when.
“Jax, why do you show up at my jobs?”
His smile was wide to show off those dimples of his. “You finally caught on to that,
huh?” Jax took his eyes off the road for a moment. “I guess it’s what you’d call long distance
“We aren’t dating,” I said with almost too much force. Since when was I his girlfriend?
We only had sex a handful of times. The times we didn’t have sex, we ended up hanging out at a
bar…talking. I normally had my walls up. I thought he was stupid for telling me anything about
himself; it was like he was trying to get to know me, not find out information on me. Even if that
was the case, I couldn’t let it happen. Two assassins in love? How cliché would that be! We were
not going to become Mr. and Mrs. Smith. “And since when do you know where I live?” I had
just moved from Jersey to Chicago.
“We're assassins. Don't you know how to find me?” He winked at me before pulling
into my driveway.
Apparently I had a stalker on my hands. “The correct question is did I ever bother to
look for you.”
“Would you stop moving? I need to finish stitching this up.” Jax was irritated with me
but no more than I was with myself.
Kid was gone for the night and the milk saucer was dry. My kitchen was the size of a
closet but we made do by putting me up on the counter and Jax at eye level with my shoulder.
I put my cigarette out and took a gulp of whiskey. “It’s not like I have any antiseptic.”
He grinned. “Well, if you let me take you to my place, you would.”
“Boundaries. Remember? And why were you at this hit? I saw you just last week.” I
had told him many times that there were boundaries when it came to us. Ones I tried desperately
to keep.
His eyes held mine, his lips only inches from touching my own. “Maybe I wanted to
see you again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Or maybe your boss didn’t tell you that you were going up against
another hitter.”
“Oh, he told me who would be there. The Jackal doesn’t send me in blind.” He cut the
thread and leaned back. “All done.”
“Finally.” I took a wet towel and dabbed the area where there was still blood before
sticking a big bulky bandage on either side.
“When will you learn I am on your side even if my boss isn’t?”
“When will you learn I’m just not into you?” I got up and threw the blood-stained
towel in the trash before searching the kitchen floor to make sure there weren’t any blood drops.
His lips twisted into a menacing grin, and he squinted his eyes at me. “You are such a
liar.” Jax took my back and pulled me close. I winced, but he made sure he didn’t hit my
“Don’t you dare—”
He kissed me. Soft lips with a slick tongue cornered my own, made me sink. Sink into
myself and take a deep breath through my nose. His breath was hot, and he tasted like peanut
butter from the sandwiches he made us before. Fingertips met the small of my back under the
white tank I had help changing into. Roaming to his neck, I took in the scent of sandalwood and
myrrh. It was intense, and my breasts pressed tighter against his chest.
I flicked my tongue to get a moan out of him before pulling away. “We should stop.”
He chuckled. “You know there is no way either of us is going to do that.” Jax took my
hand, and we went to the couch.
“Got it.”
After a minute, my pants were off and I was on top of him.
His tip glided around my wet center. I came down over Jax’s slickness and arched my
back as an electrical current ravaged my core. His fingertips indented my ass while he moved me
faster on top of him. The straining cords in his neck pulsed. I grabbed his wrists and positioned
one on the couch, the other behind his head. I took back control and slowed down the motions.
His breath sped up. He bit his lower lip. The slowness tormented him. Jax loved it.
I delved for his neck. Then tugged at his shirt, wanting to tear it but not able to. He
took the hint and his shirt fell to the floor the next moment. My hard nubs rubbed against the
rough hair of his chest and I spread my legs wider. My knee hit the wood in the couch. I
whimpered in pain before biting down hard. His lap became soaked with my scent. He grunted
from the blending of pleasure and pain at the same time.
My breath heaved, and I was enjoying every last minute up to the point that my body
convulsed and twitched with the deep pleasure only sex could bring me.
“Keep going, sweetheart. I’m with you.” His hips started pumping faster.
My shoulder began to throb but I didn’t care. “More!”
Several hard thrusts later, I collapsed on top of him, a big grin on my face.
I took several ragged breaths and said, “I thought we decided on boundaries
considering our past?”
“Sweetheart, when it comes to you and me, there are no boundaries.”

No Boundaries
Elizabeth J Kolodziej
ISBN: 9781301005796

Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth J. Kolodziej
All right reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in
whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, recording, taping, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without permission of the publisher.
The book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons, living or dead, is coincidental

Published by Third Broom on the Left Press
Printed in the U.S.A.
Books by Elizabeth J Kolodziej:
The Last Witch Series:
Vampyre Kisses (book 1)
Werewolf Descent (book 2)
Witch Devotions (book 3)
Witches Guardian (short story)
Salvaged Pieces of a Werewolf Lost (novella)
Demonic Cravings:
Demon Protection Plan (part of the Sexiest Time of the Year Anthology)
From Demons, With Lust

Long Blonde Lights Melanie A. B. Mineo (Valentine's Day Comp)

long blonde lights
those long blonde lights you've got runnin round yer license plate remind me of that blow-up chick crazy ellie feck held her so close to his heart one night he shot her in the head he loved her so much the piece he was packin fit so tight in her red rubber mouth he got down on his knees and let her have it with both barrels pink blue yellow white brains scattered round and round long blonde lights he's runnin from the law now she'd never done it so good

AN EXCAVATION OF OUR LOVE Hamish Brown (Valentine's Day Comp)


(dedicated to all Archaeolovers on Valentine's Day)

Let's rediscover our legendary long lost laundry
because there's a very distinctive collection
of artefacts-of-our-life that's just like how
they used to do it and do it again in Peru.

We don’t want to rely on old assumptions
dutifully and accurately recorded in work books,
field journals, lab analyses and consultant's reports,
which would most likely have confused and conflated
the results of our mutual investigation and
our latest findings about each-ther
as we are both uncovered and retrieved
and stored in a collector's database
after a field crew's measurements assess the size,
the incredible size,  of the site of our fabled,
fabulous, fickle and fulsome encounter.
It is erroneous for the time-teeming players
either to categorise me
as a relic of the Misogyny-scene,
or have you labelled

as a prime example of primitive fertility rites,
or generalise about our particular
nocturnal practices to suit a theory,
because the traces that we never knew
we left behind for whichever future will expose us
are not the tender traces that we drew
around each-other on a daily basis.

We devised our own scientific methodology
and so experimented and researched each-other
from the day we were built to when we fell into ruins.

So will it be tonight, in our case,
that we're willing to reacquaint,
running along well enough
to give ourselves over
to the ashes of the great southern land
to create an evident manifestation of modestly dying
in each-other's lithic limbs and caressing corridors.

However long ago we were, we were,
and all that much closer for there being
far fewer of us to choose from in those times.
About us, who you stereotype
as ancient, pagan, illiterate,
ignorant, superstitious and short-lived,

will you ever get to know
any more about us tomorrow
that you don't know by today?

At least our lovelife is still on mitochondrial display
all the way through history to you today.
Now everyone's in academic transit, even if only
to speculate for an instance, of how we were then.

You have committed tandem tsundoku time after time
ever since you collected us and stored us on a shelf.
It is the seemingly random remnants
layered, weathered, disturbed
and scattered by our bared memory
that provokes all this between us:
yet another excavation of our love.

Let's both keep on digging deeper down into you and I.

13 February 2014
Hamish Danks Brown a.k.a. Danksta Downunder

HDB/DD (born 1957) is a poet living on the Sunshine Coast of Queensland who writes and performs in a variety of venues and at functions as well as on the social media. This poem came about from being involved in a series of archaeological field trips with a team from the University of Queensland investigating the ruins of a C19th timber town in Cooloola National Park.

Three Line Poem Valentine's Day Cynthia Sharp

I’ve been so many roles
and now I get to be just me
still writing poems about you

Red Wolf Valentine's contest -
Cynthia Sharp

Sunday, 9 February 2014

In support of the Fermoy Internationl Poetry Festival (Ireland)

In support of the Fermoy International Poetry Festival,
Please find a copy and pasted attachment of all the latest news, regarding the Fermoy International Poetry Prize. Please also find  a copy of a letter  I sent to the Fermoy town council and the Fermoy local press.
Below is a link to read in your own time what is going on in Fermoy and an online petition to sign. Please support the Fermoy International poetry festival.

Fermoy poetry news.

At last year's festival there were poets from all over Ireland, the USA, Belgium, Holland, India, Scotland and England. There were poetry readings at a barber's shop, a hairdressing salon, a boutique, 2 banks, a supermarket, a pharmacy, a youth centre, in 8 pubs, a hotel and in 4 restaurants. In 2012, 2013 and again in 2014 the festival will bring in more visitors to the town than any other festival by a long shot.
The 53 poets who joined the Festival Poetry Bus read at the 3,000 year old wedge tomb and the castle in Glanworth and at the Blackwater castle tower in Castletownroche. There were four poetry books launched; Doghouse launched Ten Years in the Doghouse, Unfinished Business by Gene Barry. Rebel Poetry launched the festival anthology, The Blue Max Review which contained poems submited for the festival competition and the student anthology Inclusion which contained poems from 22 US students.
This year the Fermoy International Poetry Festival will be bigger and better. We will increase the venues from 18 to 30, include 11 more high schools, include for the first time 14 primary schools and for the first time have poets from South Africa, Belgium and Australia read at the festival.
The story of the missing letters.
A letter addressed to the chairman of, and clearly marked the Fermoy International Poetry Festival, containing the cheques for last year's winning students at the festival was inadvertently posted to Billy Murphy's pub in Fermoy, the Elbow Lane Inn. In contravention of the Postal and Telecommunications Services Act, 1983 sections Section 84 (a), (b) and (c) this letter was opened by Murphy and the information shared with the mayor of the town Olive Corcoran. Murphy has informed the sender of the letter that he posted it back to him; four months later and this letter has still not arrived.

A letter dated January 10th and containing the application for funding for this year's Fermoy International Poetry Festival was posted to mayor Olive Corcoran. To date this letter has failed to arrive at the mayor's office. Both incidents have been reported to the police and the post office.

New festival and poetry group.

An opposition festival has been set up in Fermoy and the local press made the following comments;
'‘Fermoy is to have a brand new arts festival. The idea is the brainchild of Mayor Olive Corcoran who has gathered a committee round her and is busy laying plans to bring it to fruition. Night time activities will include poetry readings from local poets and sessions from local musicians in the Elbow Lane Bar, home of the ''Market Place Poets''.
"The arts festival planned for Fermoy for the start of February looks set to be even bigger than originally envisaged. That's the view of Mayor Olive Corcoran whose idea the festival is.'’
Were any of the poets involved in the international festival or the other local poets belonging to the oldest poetry group in the town invited to read; no.

Allocation of funding for festivals.

At a Fermoy council meeting on Monday January 24th Mayor Corcoran and another councilor who is on her festival's committee voted to give her festival 50% more than the international festival received last year and the same as the international festival had received to the poetry group she help found. The votes were carried 5 to 4 in favour. Corcoran additionally gave funds to four other organisations WHO HAD NOT APPLIED FOR FUNDING.The Fermoy International Poetry Festival did not receive a cent.

By the way having received permission to erect the festival banner on buildings in the town square from both the council and the building owners, the festival committee were issued with a litter fine when they could not take down the festival banner within the 48 hour period they were instructed to by the council. A committee member explained to the town clerk that a generous contractor working in the town had offered to take it down free of charge but could not do so for two weeks.

Question: Can one sit on a committee and vote to allocate funds to oneself?
Answer: No.

Would this be considered a conflict of interest?
Answer: Yes.

If you wish to email a letter of support you can do so by emailing and directly to the Avondhu newspaper via, the Irish Independent at and please make sure to copy

February 7, 2014

RE: Fermoy International Poetry Festival...

Dear Fermoy Town Council,

The news of the recent events, and activities of the Mayor of Fermoy and the subsequent organization of a rival arts festival in Fermoy, against the Fermoy International poetry festival, is both saddening and distressing. Not only will this cause ramifications to the Fermoy international poetry festival and its organizers, but the reputation of the elected officials and their trust worthiness in the future, will always be tarnished. The basic precept that mail is intended for the person it is addressed to; and the contents of that mail, whether it be a letter, a card, a birthday present or in this case money is for the person that it is addressed to. Both of these precepts are standard legal rights in all civilized and law-abiding communities the world over.

But, I think, what is worse is that the fact that, the aforementioned act created the most erroneous and irresponsible act an elected official could actually do. To propose a new arts festival in Fermoy and then vote on it, is a blatant act of impropriety. I am not a citizen of Fermoy, I am not even an Irish citizen, I am an Australian poet and internet radio broadcaster. I have had an association with the Elbow Lane Poetry group and the Fermoy International Poetry festival, since its inception. I have been short-listed several times in the poetry prize and have been invited twice by the organizers, and Chairperson Gene Barry to attend and promote Australian poetry and literature interests in Fermoy.

From my experience all of the organizers and in particular Gene, cares a lot about poetry; both in Ireland and Internationally. But, what else I have noticed about Gene is that he loves Fermoy, and the entire area so much that he wants to share it with the world. I was quite shocked to discover, that even in 2014, an elected representative of a local community would act in a manner so duplicitous that it would ruin any standing Fermoy has in the local area, and in international literary circles.

What is equally appalling to me is that money that was sent out to competition winners, high school students, at that, should go ‘missing’. I have been involved in many volunteer art organizations in my time, Allans Walk Artist Run Space, and of course Central Victorian Community Broadcasters, Phoenix; what sort of message is this sending to the people of Fermoy? And especially to the young people of the Fermoy area? What example is this showing them? I have been delighted to see the competitions, the open call for submissions and the up and coming attractions, that Gene and Co, have in mind for 2014, Fermoy International Poetry Festival, as someone who will hopefully be attending this year, I am just so appalled that this kind of thing has happened.

And, I do sincerely hope that this entire situation is resolved rather quickly.

Yours Sincerely,
James WF Roberts
Red Wolf Press Australia.
Australian Poet
and broadcaster on

 Please Help support the Fermoy International Poetry Prize.
Please send this around all of your networks.
What has happened in Fermoy over the last few weeks is nothing short of a damnable disgrace. Political corruption, missing money. Mail fraud. A whole gamut of unfortunate and unscrupulous events have unfolded...please sign the petition...
Funding for Fermoy International Poetry Festival

Very sad to hear about the recent events taking over the Fermoy international poetry festival.