Extracts from Issue II



Core of the Flame     The Heretic
Falling from the Sun

 

Core of the Flame

Hades is watching Persephone dance
The core of the flame blazing in his eyes.
The sight of her in that flowing blue dress
Makes him want to put down his pitchfork
And move to the Elysian Fields.
Why is it hell when you burn with passion?

He longs to declare his desire
But words keep getting in the way.
How can he keep her safe from the outside world
And hold her in his hands like a precious gem.
The lonely goddess of the harvest doesn’t
Let him see her tears, as they turn into snow.

Vicky Stevens


The Heretic

Fear not little one, for I am near.
Pray not for your god that is in Heaven
For you have a god in the here and now;
I walk amongst you, dine at your table –
Perhaps as the uninvited guest.
You know me;
My availability is your salvation.
My people also walk amongst you
And let it be known that not all of them
Bear the divine number of Revelation …
No; there are others – each bearing their
Own unique number of a lesser value,
But equal importance:
My soldiers in the here and now.
They dine in your restaurants
And consume in your taverns.
We need not the cold barren vacuums
That assuage your guilt for the love of Christ.
No; our pulpit is the street,
The beating metropolis that is life.
Your god renders your women infertile –
Barren and wizened on the very cusp of womanhood.
Fear not my name or my love,
For like the flame I will not starve you of oxygen.
No; a supply I shall render;
Granted, not the everlasting glow,
But enough to make you sparkle and dance:
Far more emotive than the apathetic glow
Of the pure thought.
I will let you in on a secret –
When the Jewboy lay prostrate on his cross,
His masochistic tendencies laid bare for all to see,
It was not his father that spoke to him, nay
And thrice I say
I spoke to the lord of the sinners, lest he forgets –
I nursed him through his pain of pain,
Licking the moisture from his brow
And yes you will also call my name like your lord
Or perhaps even whisper it
For your intestine shall be my shroud.

David Milligan


Falling from the Sun

Falling from the sun
With melted wings
Time for reflection
The tears of an angel.
Place a candle in the dark
While I sit alone
I know this is not the end
Just the birth of a moon.

Troubled outside the game
The iconoclast
I will tear your world apart
Make you small and foolish
Laugh at your pride
Dance like the harlequin
Reach out a hand
It’s all I ask
I’ll be your friend
And this is not the end
Just the birth of a sun.

To fall from the sun
With dreams too high
Or die in a gutter
Out of my mind
It’s just the same
Fame is fame
Obscure is obscure
Seen near or far
This is not the end
Just the birth of a star.

And when it comes
At the end of the wick
It will be a cold night
But I will not rage.
And if I cut at barren seams
And wave goodbye to this life
A poor and lonely man
I will have had bounty
In my dreams.

Brendan Moohan