Autumn is her name. (Poem)

Autumn, the wisest of the sisters. With red unbraided hair.
Dances across cool night winds to casts spices in the air.
She’s the comforter of the four, you see
with eyes of palest green
She sings the earth to sleep each year, and bids the world to dream

Winter is coming before too long
The fourth sister draweth nigh
But for now the harvest fields are hers to play in
encouraged by the moon in the sky

See yonder woman there, as she steps through orchards full
Watch her dance between bales of hay stacked high
as the farmer’s wagon pull
Their bounties overflowing, for hungry bellies to feed
The toil of man’s hard work has paid in bushels
From tiny well placed seeds

From springs violent showers,
To summers clay warmed from the sun
To bear fruit for her when cool winds blow
When the growing seasons done

Soon, the fairest sister will come calling
Bringing white and icy snow
And farmers fields will lay fallow as northern winds begin to blow

Yet, For just a while longer fall is here
Setting tops of trees aflame
The wisest of the sisters shall dance through the night
And Autumn is here name.

Art Work by Kari Higa

Autumn is her name

Happy Halloween Podcast (Presented by WROTE Podcast)

WROTE

Welcome to the FIRST annual Halloween Radio Broadcast from the staff and crew of the WROTE Podcast!

We have 10 spine-chilling tales for you to enjoy in this special homage to classic radio storytelling with a decidedly queer slant on Halloween classic genres:

1) Lost Soul – FE Feeley Jr
2) New One – Albert Nothlit
3) Waiting for Morning – Angel Martinez
4) Excerpt from Paper Doll – Joe Cosentino
5) Destined to Repeat – Keelan Ellis
6) Gargoyle – J Scott Coatsworth
7) Extreme – Jayne Lockwood
8) Excerpt from forthcoming “Quarrel of Sparrows” – SA “Baz” Collins
9) Excerpt from A Demon Inside – Rick R. Reed
10) Excerpt from Werewolves of Brooklyn – Brad Vance

NEARLY TWO HOURS of spooky tales and malevolent glee to be had by these brilliant and engaging authors. Enjoy – IF YOU DARE!

Listen here! 

I want to go to England

I want to go to England and walk beside the river Thames
I want to go and see the ruins of ancient churches, and step the stride of kings
I want to ride onto the Moors on horseback where knights did make their wars
And travel cobblestone passages between ancient wooden doors.

At night I bet they’re battles rage still
When the moon is full and high
And I bet that valiantly their banners unfurl
To catch the eyes of the passerby

I want to go to Ireland, to Scotland and to Wales
Where spirits as old as memory itself
Cast coins into wishing wells
I want to step barefoot upon the places where red haired queens once proudly stood
In places that were new when Rome was old
As old as ancient ever could

Is it possible to love a place
A place you’ve never been
Or is it memory built deep within me
From another life, another when
I believe there is a part of me that remebers
A place where the sun never set
A script written in my bones, my very  being,  that wants to go home again.

Well Past Midnight

It’s well past midnight
Laying on my side
I listen to the exhale of my man
In his sleep
And the wind cascading from the heavens
They both whistle breaths
Exchanging harmonies
As he exhales the trees rustle
And as the world inhales
His chest bows out

It’s well passed midnight
Laying on my side
I hear the conversation between man and earth
A song, a private primeval song
Far beyond my understanding
Yet not beyond my sight

To the man who called me a faggot

Leviticus faggot

I am a faggot
I’m gonna own that name
I’ve been one all my life
It’s my claim to fame
My name is written down in your holy book
Side eyed by every single prophet
So bad ass am I
Hitler tried to stop it
Yeah bitch,
I’m a faggot

I am proud of that name
Been real about myself for fifteen years now
Can u say the same?
So scared of me you try to reach through the screen
So hated for what you don’t know son
so scared of what u might be

I come from a long line
Of people who changed the world
From Alan Turing and Katharine Hepburn
We’re the ones who made this bitch turn

This planet you’re sitting in
Was made by us
So flawless when we entered the scene
Your Prohibitions turned to dust

I’m rising like a star
This faggots not alone
I’m surrounded by the spirits of millions like me
That I’ve claimed as my own

So yeah, faggot is me
That’s the song I’ll sing
Master and commander of my truth
Now come on over. Kiss this faggots ring.

His blue eyes (A Poem)

His eyes were like the sea after a storm
When the waves sweep swells southward as they stumble
Bluer than the gems of merchants guild’s baubles
Were those orbs
That fairies that haunt forgotten forest become bereft

Enchanted, bewitched, and bejangled
Are those who gaze upon them
Their cool color calms calloused characters
Into sweet lullabies

Yet under that cool stare
Burns a fire ferociously fixating on finding truth

Seeking simple secrets of the sojourner
With pen and paper and points to ponder
These cool coloured eyes careful and considerate
eyes that contrast this ebb and flow of fire and water

So don’t be bewitched by beautiful beguiling stare, the color which promises patience and ease
For underneath burns a fire most deadly my dear
In the depths of those dueling deep seas

River (A poem)

river Gubala

River
placid ebbing by
Mystic depths spiraling
strengths in undertow

River
Sister of the sky
one mission, forward, Semper Avanti
never the same as you were a moment ago

River
a leaf falls upon your face and swiftly goes
aloft man’s true time piece
from seasons pressing urgency
reminding me, things change
even when they stay the same.

Virginia lady, golden hair (A poem)

I woke this morning to the news that a journalist had been murdered along with her camera man. Sleepy, I scrolled through facebook media and ran across the video of the moment the camera man was shot, and the woman fled.

I found out later her name was Alison Parker, 24 years old. And her cameraman, Adam Ward, 27.  Both engaged. Both just starting life as they worked for WBDJ in Virginia.

And I railed against gun violence today on social media. Called out the hypocrisy of certain political figures and so on….I think the poignancy of today was America saw her final moments. She died, afraid.  And I wept.

So, i did what I know to do. The only thing I know to do these days. I wrote something for her called, Virginia Lady, Golden Hair. It’ll be a way for my poor helpless ADHD mind to remember her when I go to the ballot box.

I never knew your name before today
Sweet woman of the east
But I saw your candle flicker in an intimate moment
Before your soul departed beyond the strength of mere mortal reach

Virginia lady, golden corn silk tresses
A smile like the five o’clock sun
your soul shook the floor of my human condition
When what was said was said and what was done was done

Dear sweet beautiful lady
Oh how I want to have not learned your name
Yet You enchanted me in mere seconds
Brief breathless moments
And I wept for you just the same

Virginia ,they say, is for lovers
A state named once for a Queen
But the heavens tonight are weeping, unfettered
For the Golden haired beauty lost to the night
And the Royal you might have been.

(Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.)

Rest in Peace Adam and Alison. And to the family and friends of theirs, my deepest heartfelt condolences. America is here with you. God Bless.

F.E.

I bow my head to the sea (poem)

I come to the sea at night
The sun  purple remnants in the west
I  smell the sand, golden, warm from the day
I taste the salt, brine on my tongue

wisps on the air

A thinly restrained chaos
to which civilization bends its knee
as the waves rushing passed each other
In foamy crests which lay down and then pull back

as it has done

for an eternity

I stand there at that brink
at the cool knife’s edge where water and sand meet
Arms splayed outward, an arrogant kite
Ready to be taken

I can hear the roar,  the power of wind and surf

wondering at its leagues and depths as forward it rolls

waking to the sheer power of its majesty

a place where giant beasts call home

in it’s cold, dark fathoms,

where ships lay strewn on silty sandy floors, forgotten,

it lays down and then pulls backward

the cool sand at my feet collapses

as if she means

to take me away as if I never was

I falter, my arms lower
Clasping hands come together

sheepish

of my insolence, arrogance, and infinitesimal might

my face colours
I bow my head to mother, I bow my head to the sea

Beyond the Witching Hour

Beyond the witching hour,
thoughts lengthen tonight,
as they join the wind

The trees sway with springs first buds
darkness is heavy here
this side of the earth

I wonder about the spirits
pressing hard against the night
fingers grasping at the veil

their shouts but a whisper
just beyond the hearing

I listen
as my lover sleeps on

F.E. Feeley Jr
This is an older poem
3-22-2015
edited by C. Atmar