From the Vaults: Puppet Minds

By Alexandra Seidel

The master puppeteer

who makes the clockworks of his puppets’ minds

toggles gently just

that cogwheel filigree

as it clinks and cracks

with puppet thought

he’s used to that and also

to the tremble movements

of their wooden limbs

the spinning of their eyes of glass

the puppets’ clockwork minds

shift on their own once they’ve been wound

and the master puppeteer

ties long strings to their little

puppet bodies

strings that are soft

as whispers in your ears

the master puppeteer keeps the key

that clockwork winds the puppets’ minds

and only he knows how to untie his knots

and key and knot are surely his

until the cogwheels

set themselves to

making scissors

for their strings

and lock picks

to unwind their hearts

Poem first published in Star*Line.

Niteblade #30

It is not quite December yet, so it will be just a little longer before this issue of Niteblade is live, but all the same, I thought I'd give the poetry a little head start.

This issue comes with five poems and four poets. Some of the authors are not new to the zine.

[ETA 12/01: I have linked to all poems, but please note that the issue will only be partially available to visitors until we have reached this month's goal of $50 in sales and donations. Of course, for only $2.99 you can own a PDF copy of Niteblade and show your support for everyone involved in the making of the zine.]

Let me start with Abominable Snowman by Ada Hoffmann (we've published her work before, please check out the gorgeous The Mermaid at at Sea World). This one is a haiku (ETA 12/02: no, it is not intended as one, see the author's post here), and one that gets it just right, you will enjoy this wintry morsel.

(Perhaps of particular interest to potential submitters: Personally, I think haiku are hard to get exactly right, it's not enough to put words into the correct form after all. A haiku, especially because it is short, needs to be eloquent content-wise, that is there has to be an entire story behind just three lines. Actually, let me give you an example of how this can be done with even less, just six words to be precise.)

Vampyrics by John Philip Johnson is next. Yes, it's a vampire poem, but no, not your average vampire poem:

"You look so pretty

in that red woolen cap.

Our bundled arms

are touching."

What I like about Vampyrics is that it is very immersive and manages to touch you deeply in just three stanzas.

Poet Anne Carly Abad has two poems in this issue (she's also not new to Niteblade, check out The Bitter Gourd's Fate <-- a="" been="" has="" href="http://www.rhondaparrish.com/this-years-pushcart-nominations?fb_action_ids=10153042953525579&fb_action_types=news.publishes&fb_ref=pub-standard" incidentally="" poem="" this=""> nominated for the Pushcart Prize

, ETA 11/30), Nameday and Ghost Engine Updates an Ad for Angry Spirits.
Nameday begins by telling us that

"Woman wears many selves,"

and from there takes us along on its thoughtful path at the end of which the reader might want to question given circumstances and histories, possibly even the names we choose or don't choose but are carrying anyway.

Ghost Engine Updates an Ad for Angry Spirits should best be savored as a whole, just like Abominable Snowman. It is just one of the many examples of how versatile poetry can be, how versatile indeed language can be.

The last poem in the issue is The Art by notorious Niteblade poet Sandi Leibowitz (go read Awakened, Braiding, and Labyrinth of Sand). This poem starts out just a little bit like a dance:

"He leads, you follow,

[...]

your footsteps predicting

his stride’s rhyme."

And maybe it even ends like some balls do or some proms (but do remember, we publish horror too, not just fantasy).

I hope you'll check out Niteblade #30 once it's here. Enjoy!

Devil Rhymes #4

A Riddle

By Alexandra Seidel

When I was going to chop chives

I met a man who had no wives;

(He had no wives but in his bag

he kept a rope and chlor'form rag.)

He said: "The first was much too boring,

and number two was always snoring."

His third was rather like a dragon

so he fed her something sweet to gag on;

and when she'd gagged and died--how poor!--

he threw her corpse right in the moor!

Now he is looking to remarry,

I guess he just ain't one to tarry.

Do you think he made it home alive,

that man who riled me

chopping chives?

~ 

 Devil Rhymes, Devil Rhymes #2, Devil Rhymes #3

Mythic Delirium Anthology Cover Reveal

 
And what a cover it is indeed, thanks to Galen Dara!

This anthology contains poems and stories from Mythic Delirium's first year as an online publication, including my story Hexagon.

The anthology has already been reviewed at Publishers Weekly. It will be released in November, just in time for your Christmas shopping.

Mike Allen shares a little more about this beauty on the Mythic Delirium site, go check that out, and while you're there, don't forget to have a look at the current issue of the zine (my September favorite is here.)

Happy reading!

--

ETA 10/14: It's out now! Go here for details.

Niteblade #29: Porcelain Doll

It is September which means there is a new issue of Niteblade out there.

This one comes to you freshly glazed with darkening September light and an assortment of poems that look especially nice in that light.

The first one is Valediction for the Dungeon Master by Mark Jones. It caught my eye because it falls in the category of formal poetry. Also, if you are into pen and paper role playing games, this is so definitely for you; the combination made me feel compelled to accept it. Here's and excerpt:

"But you’re a perfect Romeo,
still sorting dice, although the others
left an hour ago,"

Next we have Porcelain Doll by J.A. Grier. This one was also the inspiration for the cover. It's a prose poem, something creepy coming toward you on tiny feet:

"She cannot find her doll. It upsets her. She does not remember moving here."

Then there is St. Winifred Medical Center, Abandoned by Joshua Gage. This is a good example of a short poem that packs a whole lot of punch. As it is so short, I'll not be spoiling the read for you here with an excerpt, but I will give you the reaction of a fellow Niteblader as posted by The Beloved Editor (aka Rhonda Parrish) on Fb:

"Jo, laying out issue #29 of Niteblade: Oh. That hospital poem? Oh my gawd! SO GOOD."

 And did I say darkening September light? Awakened by Sandi Leibowitz looks wonderful in that sort of light, casting a shadow well into October:

"I inhale the smoke of Samhain fires,
swallow their heat to make
a red heart beat"

The Gate of Horn by Megan Arkenberg is the last poem in this issue of dark things. I like it because of the subject matter and because it uses language in a way that I would love to see more of:

"I saw orchards where the golden apple trees
had grafted boughs of silver, and the juice was thick
and bitter as he licked it from my fingers."

 I hope you have the taste in your mouth now, but you do, don't you? You wanna go read the entire issue, you know you do. Remember to click that Donate button there on the right, because while you like to read good writing, what we like to do is pay our writers. Make sure we can.

A is for Apocalypse Blog Train

Hello lover of things ending, glad you could make it here today. If you are hopping on just now, perhaps you'd be interested in the previous stop, from where you could find your way back to the very beginning of this little train.

So, let's talk apocalypse. When Rhonda asked me if I wanted to contribute to this collection, I was quite happy to agree, but I was also a little unsure of what to write. Apocalyptic obviously, but I have never really been into writing about the apocalypse. Not that the premise is not a fascinating one and one that can be explored, just not my cup of coffee.

The idea of assigning every author a letter of the alphabet was interesting though. It meant one had to narrow things down somewhat, you couldn't just randomly start writing and see whether the world had ended at the end of your story or not. In other words, a challenge, and who can resist a good challenge?

My letter is G, and I ultimately had the title (which in this collection is always "LETTER stands for ____") before I had the story, but once I decided what I was going to explore, the rest just fell in place as well.

What does apocalypse mean? Do we all get to die or can the end of the world also be more personal, something like a secret that you cannot share with anybody else? Think about it, Reader. I don't know that there is one answer, and I don't think it matters, it's the question that won't stop raising its head.

Perhaps--if you feel like being incentivized--this little excerpt here might make you curious enough to read along the alphabet with all 26 of us:

"The Labyrinth swallowed me rattlesnake quick. I took a corner, and there it was, the city gone, replaced by a riddle of walls. The strangest thing was this: I realized I wasn't too keen on getting out."

If you are looking for more apocalyptic reading this post (where you can also find all venues from which the book is available) might be of interest to you. Also, our blog train is not quite there yet, and tomorrow it is headed to BD Wilson's blog.

Hope you can make it, see you there!

A is for Apocalypse: it's happening now

 

So this is finally it. We are having the apocalypse now. The funny thing is, I was expecting zombies at least, people who died and just came back to life, maybe pursuing a somewhat irregular diet, but this? I think the black hats are worse.

So here's what's happening: there are people with black hats swarming this place, everywhere. They walk the streets, they will come into your home if you open the door to them. First there is one, but as soon as they have you in their brim-shaded sight, more will come, will flock, will surround you. And then, they disperse, and all that's left is one more dude wearing black felt.

Seriously, I have seen this happen. It happened to a guy out on the street who was trying to outrun them, unsuccessfully. It happened at the market earlier when I was getting bottled water and canned food. It happened to my neighbor just five minutes ago.

Hear? I think that's them knocking now, I can hear their fingers scraping at my door. They won't break it down, do you think? I mean, I am holding my breath, I'm quiet, they can't suspect there's anyone home, right?

Surely they alojdshlfijn'=-['jb mnb jhgcilhlkhgd

ETA: I managed to get out of my apartment after all, I managed to climb down from the balcony. Got a gash on my arm for that, but I didn't even notice because I was trying to get outta here without them seeing me... I think I'm safe for now, but I'll not say where I am, just in case.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Goodreads

Create Space: 10% off (launch promo, valid for August) - TY6D2CWD

Amazon

Smashwords: 10% off (launch promo, valid for August) - PJ67Q

A little self promotion: watch out for "A Quest of Fire"

 

"A Quest of Fire" is a short story, it will be published in Lackington's #3 which is due out August 18, so that's less than ten days! Yay!!

I have a little bit of the story here, while it might not make you salivate immediately, I do hope it makes you a little bit curious:

   "I am neither he nor she, you know," says the trickster to me. "Just like it says in the book."

    We are in London this time, the National Gallery, where ages come together and beat tambourines in all colors of joy.

    "True, but the part about the fires, that's neither what I am, nor what a trickster is. Did I ever tell you a tree told me how to slip away from time?"

    "Well, what else would tell you? There must be generations of your kind trapped in wood, I'm just surprised you didn't run into a wardrobe or a violin."

    I screw up my face at the trickster who looks charming in his British gentleman.

    "Please don't make jokes about that, it's not funny."

    "Oh, eat a crone, you know it is! Sometimes I think that you just hate to laugh."

    "Afrits," I say, ignoring him. "Let's go talk to some afrits about fire."

Oh, if that is not enough to convince you to take a peek, have a look at the entire ToC here. Enjoy! xo

~~~

Update 8/18: The issue is out now. I would very much like to draw special attention to the wonderful illustration that accompanies my little tale, Paula Friedlander gave life to my roan Pegasus.

From the Vaults: Beast Touched

I haven't posted anything in a while, let's just say life has been difficult.

Anyway, I was digging through some previously published poems and thought I'd just put one up here. Beast Touched was first published in Silver Blade Magazine and inspired by the fairy tale Beauty and the Beast.

~~~~~~

Beast Touched

By Alexandra Seidel

The beast

killed all the beauty in her.

It was a touch at first--

mottled feelings, shady

mangrove places

of the soul as deep

as they are wet…and thirsty.

First, she whimpered,

then she groaned

and from the beast's touch

sprang desire

shedding innocent skin

with the leisure

of a serpent. Bursting

as pomegranates, her lips

were torn asunder,

and his tongue dug wells

into her eyes,

at first gently,

then less, and less.

All who knew her

before her belly swelled,

before her mind

became focused

on his voice,

on his whims,

said that the beast

had killed all

the beauty in her;

they said

she had shed

her skin

like any common serpent.

At first, though,

it was just

a touch.