THE MENDER By Chris Smith

Angel with the broken wings,
You’d fallen into earthly things;
You faced the demons dancing ’round,
Mocking you with laughter’s sound.

You then felt hollow in your soul,
And let a darkness make you whole;
You had lost the Glory’s light,
And all was then eternal night.

God’s praises then you did not sing,
Your voice to heaven did not ring.
But now a hope within does rise,
And, again, you lift your eyes.

Free your heart once more, my friend,
And with care your wings I’ll mend;
Let His Peace pervade your soul,
and let His Light now make you whole.

Angel with the mended wings,
you’ve turned your back on earthly things;
now left alone I sit and cry,
and with my wounds I wait to die.

Valley of the Wolf by anon

A Dark Form Looms By
A Glinting Streak of Black
The Silence of the Night
Broken
By a Howl
Then
The Light Crunching
Of Paw Steps in the Snow
He Climbs the Ridge
and Stands Proudly Over his Valley
Watching
The Gleam of the Moon
Exposing Clearly
The Ripples of Muscles Highly Used
Underneath his Fur
A Tree Stirs Below Him
He Flicks His Ears
The Wind Beginning to Blow
His Tail Wafting in the Breeze
He looks About
The Moon Lit Forest
Trees Become Still
He Lowers Himself
Against the Rock
His Muzzle On His Paws
Eyes Closing
All Is Quiet
In The Valley of the Wolf

I think my cats a brat by Travis Brown

I think my cats a brat
I hate that stupid cat.
Its name is cricket
And I think of which at least
It isn’t scat.

I think my cats a brat
And I have a problem with that.
Cause it meows and meows
And I wish that how I could shut up that darn cat.

I think my cats a brat,
And I think I’m cool with that.
And I wish that I could at least tell a lie
But I like my bratty cat.

Dedicated to cricket, who Is a really old cat of mine who has been around almost as long as I have.

A Wretch like Me by Kane-Blackthorn

The literal monsters chance our blood-lines,
We are doomed to be hunted and haunted by Hell-Hounds,
A young girl has a tragic heart failure,
A young man has a painful, cancer induced suicide,
I listen to the winds and I fear that these hounds,
These hounds are on my forest trail.

‘Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.’

I’m a lyrical master – my words have lifted crowds,
My words are buried in that cross road ground,
Hellish fingers gripping that dark contract,
The leverage to steal my very soul,
I listen to the water and have a great fear –
That my blood and my blood’s blood are paying for it.

‘Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.’

I hold no knowledge of why or who,
Why should my family take the pain I have induced,
The water is salted in secret lies and misunderstandings,
Cascading and suffocating those in a vicious vice,
A dark bestial spirit caught in a frenzy wants to –
it wants to tear my soul apart.

‘Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
that saved a wretch like me.’

I have dreamt of running, a cold misty morning – alone,
The shredded autumn leaves litter the slick pavement,
The downpour from the rain floods the gutters,
The water is stained red with blood and organs,
I can see a beating heart clogging a drain,
I can taste the iron in my mouth when I awaken,
The cold sweat pours down my neck, I wept.

‘That saved a wretch like me…’

I have dreamt of an old movie in the autumn woods,
It was shown on a white cotton sheet that hung there,
Strapped down by two massive thick cords of rope,
Black and white memories flicker rapidly through the show,
The coloured heart-felt moments make me feel sick,
A heaviness of a revolver is felt in my hand,
The cold steel snarling at me as I snap the trigger back;
I blew my brains out.

‘That saved a wretch like me…’

I am responsible for this movement against my kingdom,
Doomed and chained my execution date is set,
The blood is upon my hands and the crown I wear has fallen,
It’s unshakeable and trapping to know that I am fated to die,
I scream – “What is my crime? What is my crime?”

‘A wretch like me…’

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Dear Soul, Yours Truthfully by Kane-Blackthorn

My Dear Soul I write to you with a heavy heart,
I have words that needs to be shared with you,
Written in these verses and stanzas written for you,
I asked for guidance by some high above power;
I find myself neglected and needing your advice.

How can I be a man without support or strength,
My enemies are willing to strike for my knees brutally,
They want to take me out and crush my very soul,
Willing me to become the gravel of the old dirt road,
I wonder what I have done? God, oh why? Why?

Your voice has never neglected me or guided me wrong!
Give me your wisdom and pull the strings for a while,
Get me out of this war-zone that threatens to consume me,
I have done whatever I needed to say but that doesn’t seem enough;
How long am I expected to smile with such a frown?

I know in you that it’s almost over now,
Friendship is so brittle that the storm carries away,
I can’t take the pain that they have caused me,
I suppose that your voice is quiet and broken,
Goodbye being the only thing left to bring.

I need your wisdom,
I need your advice,
Can you carry me on?

Love Truthfully,
Yourself.

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My Nocturnal Visitor by Kane Blackthorn

A Dark scorn ripples down the translucent meadow,
Rolling up and over itself again and again,
Senseless blathering buffoons watch on,
Mocking me, always do they mock my judgement,
Whilst eating crumpets or drinking cups of tea,
They exist to be more like parasites then useful opinion.

I often ponder the relationship between greatness and average,
My thoughts can shift and morph like an insane man’s dream,
My dreams come in the form of Dumas an excitable chap,
He brought me Justice and Revenge, True love and destiny;
I become an automaton that scans bar-codes of chocolate,
To the rhythm of boredom that makes me so ashamed.

A shadow spreads down me with a thieving cry,
It’s blacken hands uncaring and cold freezing me up,
it leaves a taste of tar and nicotine though I never smoked,
The raw after taste feels like it’s discouraging me,
Lining me up that blood splatter wall to finish me in a blow,
Pooling and pooling of blood on the floor – cats used to clean me up.

Oh! How my dark passenger rides me so,
it’s harsh black cane whipping at my flanks,
The desire to curl up on myself is there always,
Lingering in the backgrounds laughing diabolically,
Till that swishing slash from my rider beckons me;
I feel like cattle just splurging my dignity for others benefits.

Blacken my heart and close my eyes,
Just draw that blade and end me now,
I can hear no song about dreaming,
Take me now for I have no pressing engagement,
Come nocturnal visitor take me now.
I’m ready to die.

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Poem by Kane Blackthron: Then and Again it Comes

Like old hooves of shire horses,
That echo through the night-time,
Rapid and powerfully you break the quiet,
On your tale of important,
Fast like the Wind you come;
And in your shadow your love is less,
A more and distant coldness for me.

Through the old woods that hold mystery,
Chased done by pale riders,
Creatures that are not like men,
Their shadow bodies that once were whole – are not,
Casted away through the centuries;
Empty shells but with malicious contempt,
We are not so uncommon those pale riders,
Neglect has become us and vengeance is ours to take.

Hollow trees that whisper tales to me,
As the November breeze takes over me,
Like Fairies and Spirits of the Woods,
You guild me onwards to capture you,
There is no evidence of my existence;
In the waking of the dawn – I am gone,
Undone from the stories, forgotten.

My god from the bitter frost lands,
He who guides my blade in the darkness,
But that lights my lantern when I am lost,
Brings me back to what I use to call home;
his reminder is wise and knowing,
For secretly my desire to to return here.

For when I am done I wish to rest,
To be placed to sleep in the tomb of my fathers,
My ancestors that might seem lost in time rest here,
They welcome my pale body with glee and excitement,
Words are whispered to me to tell my tale;
They wish to know my store as it was.

Once upon a time…

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