“=❤️4ALL”—a “photo-prose-poem” by Sanguine Woods

One voice, speaking out in the darkness can be a small, yet potent source of light and healing. No fear. One at a time. That is my wish for us. Beaucoup d’amour pour tout le monde…pour tout les temps.

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substantial magic

You are the moon in my palm,
the dusk and the dawn;
anytime I have felt a substantial magic
in this frail human life.

– L.E. Groves

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Photographer unknown (Tumblr).

Three Poems by Simon Perchik, a Sampler & Link—These Are Lovely Poems!

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Three Poems

Simon Perchik

***

You still eat roots the way each footstep
put together this hillside
as if it was once a pond and slowly

dried for the afternoon–a simple life
when each meal stays warm
though you were lowered with the same rope

mourners bring as in Here it is
and the grass flows clearer
than the way you go around

with both hands folded as if your grave
was born joined to these others
sweetened by them and time to time.

Click below to read the other two poems over at Conjunctions Online:

http://www.conjunctions.com/online/article/simon-perchik-05-08-2018?utm_source=WEBCONweekly050818&utm_campaign=WEBCON050818&utm_medium=email

Gathering the gold drops…

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The blogger, out wandering.

Nice nature walk today. And yesterday was snow all day long. Now this golden day. Colorado is like this in April. Listened to The Eagles. Witchy Woman. One of These Nights. Heartache Tonight. Already Gone. Thought about how earbuds have revolutionized heartbreak. Or something like that. Kicked a lot of roadside wishes goodbye. Loved sidewalks. Hated sidewalks. Made peace with some things. Like wildflowers. The memory of John Denver. And young me. Absorbed the ☀️ ‘s energy on my shoulders and was happy. Thought about living on a beach and getting old in Key West. Margaritas make great lovers … and sunsets. Thought about doing the same in the woods somewhere. But winter wind blows cold. And it’s hard to lose anything in the early part of Autumn. Loved my dad some. Lifted thanks to the sky. Thought about how much we want to be known by others. How very little any of us is known by others. Thought about whether that should feel lonely. Thought about that path, the road to that journey, fraught with unknowns. Nobody likes unknowns. Thought about distance from the drama in my life. Wondered how much of it I cause. Thought: life is a gift but not one we asked for and gifts we don’t ask for aren’t always gifts we want, expect, come equipped to manage well. And so it goes. Thought: If the sun could crystallize and fall from the blue stratosphere today like gold diamonds would I be able to gather up enough of them in my pockets to make the day worthwhile.

Scraped change for a refreshing citrusy drink.

Maybe, I’ll read that 1971 history of the Celts. Maybe start Malerman’s horror novel, Bird Box.

And there’s this collection of stories by Jeffrey Ford.

Books are gold drops.

I think I’ll make someone happy today.🦎

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Drawing Down—A Poem by Sanguine Woods, 2018

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Photo: aukjevanderwal.nl

Drawing Down

Bequeath me sight not as it seems—
A sphere of light to capture screams;
Come, toll the word of moons and beams—
Exhume the heft of youthful dreams.

Purvey the slice that leaves no scar—
A sliver of bewitchèd glass;
A drop to stir; enflame the pall—
Un bâton rouge pour faire l’étoile.

Encerclez! thou thornèd crown—
Each pented point a waning sun;
Le sang va embrasser le sol—
And bring the circle ‘round.

(C)2018 Sanguine Woods

Her Kind, a Poem by Anne Sexton

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Her Kind

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

– Anne Sexton

The Complete Horror Timeline–Part 2 of 3: Into the 20th Century (1900 – 1969)

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Image from the film, Häxan, a 1922 Swedish-Danish documentary-style silent horror film written and directed by Benjamin Christensen.

The Complete Horror Timeline

Part 2 of 3: Into the 20th Century (1900 – 1969)

Go to Part 1: Pre-20th Century * Go to Part 3: 1970 – 1999

Complete Bibliography


1902
Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness is published. As an exploration of the darker side of the soul it deserves mention, and is also considered the first twentieth century novel. Francis Ford Coppola moved the premise into Vietnam to see what would happen in 1979, whereas Nicholas Roeg’s telemovie (1994) was set in the original’s time period.

1902
‘The Monkey’s Paw’ is W. W. Jacobs’ contribution to the genre, and a significant one it is — probably the most famous short horror story, certainly of those written this century.

1904
The first collection from M. R. James, Ghost Stories of an Antiquary, is published, heralding one of the most respected of this century’s horror authors, particularly in his speciality of the quiet but creepy ghost story.

1907
The Listener is published, a book of short stories by Algernon Blackwood containing his best-regarded work, ‘The Willows’. Blackwood was only one of a number of successful authors belonging to the Order of the Golden Dawn, an occult society created in 1888 by Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, and whose most infamous member was Aleister Crowley. Other notable members were William Butler Yeats, Arthur Machen (debuting with ‘The Great God Pan’ in 1894), Lord Dunsany and the incredibly popular (in his time) Sax Rohmer who gave the world Dr Fu Manchu. This group represented not only most of the weird fiction originating in the UK at the time (one report lists Bram Stoker as a member), but is the last flourishing of English horror literature till James Herbert and Clive Barker [1984].

1908
Among the first experiments with film there were a number of gruesome and fantastic scenes, but the first real horror movie was probably William N. Selig’s 16 minute version of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde [1885].

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