Fiction, illustration, discussion – interesting weirdness for all the senses. Well, almost.

5 Poems

by James G. Piatt


Death In A Meadow


He floated in a softly flowing brook; it celebrated his betrothal to moisture as it meandered through colored meadows of white flowers.


He felt the water entering inside his being. Knowing that this was death, he breathed in the dampness of the stream, and was separated from the anguish of his painful life.



Une Nuit Effroyable


Scarlet nightmares scream against blood stained walls

They cry out deafeningly to his desperate sorrows,


Cheeks turned brackish, as eyes spewed forth salty-tears

The withered fruit, of the dark anguish, that haunted him.


The sun shrouded in misty blankets of darkened despair

Dimmed the sky as the devil’s foot crushed his soul,


His existence, a dull sign of what could have been;

His soul blunted like the ebony matte of aged paintings,


Reddened eyes, sad remain of a drunken morn,

Displayed most vividly his lost state of being.


He cried out to those he loved and loved him

Hoping within wretchedness, they would understand,


They arrived with kisses for his sunken ash cheeks

Wet with misgivings, fear, and tearful recriminations.


Tears streamed down the dampened lines carved into his face,

He whispered in a sad mournful tone, “Am I dying?”


With comforting words, they all said, “no you will live,”

He lay back hopefully upon his bed filled with tubes and wires.


He bewailed his bad choices and swore to reform

Only his dad understood the significance of his words,


Only his dad knew the extreme difficulty that loomed ahead

In the dark pain filled days and nights of his dry future.



Another Lousy Workday


Somnambulant thoughts like a

cacophony of broken bags of

dung peal discordant throbs in

the miasma of a leaden sunrise

as yesterday’s uninspiring

memories wrapped in the rusted

smog drift into the disturbed

upcoming moments of an another

insignificant day.  Homeless

musicians with broken clarinet

and violin missing a string play

discordant tunes matching the

mind-numbing hours of another

distressed day, as dull people

with empty minds board

mechanical coffins screaming on

rusted rails to a grey cubicle in a

high rise office somewhere in a

grimy city. Like Lemmings with

fractured minds rushing

unthinkingly to their demise, the

vacant wage earners rush to their

meaningless cells with no

thoughts of significant labor.

Again and again the stubble of

sameness stares at their vacant

minds each day like inoperative

sirens that shatter the surgical

blessings of an unnamed bobble

headed god that sits on the

dashboard of a green taxicab, all

amounting to nothing.   



Deadly Times & Deadly Places  


Gigantic roaring waves of crimson,

Twisting, and turning, crash onto

Barren foreign shores, leaving

Behind the bodies of the dead,

Coloring the sand with blood…

Thunderous waves filled with

Flesh and bones bequeathed

To the deep, drown the vibrations

Of life:


The dark ideological despots

Control the lives of the innocent,

By sending deadly searing bombs

Into their homes, obliterating everything,

By spewing hatred in the rusted

Moments of the unforgiving hours

They, without remorse, leave

Mothers to grieve alone on the

Tamarack as coffins filled with only

Memories are lifted off dark planes.



The Origin


Duplicity dripping from narrowed eyes

Staring from concealed faces into a vat

Of absurdity: Truth, always in the eye

Of the beholder, based on personal Biases…

Misconceptions and scarlet fears, spews

From the minds of those with 7th century Mentalities, 21st century hate, deadly bombs, And automatic rifles.


Gory images, sounds of screaming Children…

Acrid odors of blood, barricades built

Of trash and burning tires, protecting

Nothing but an archaic ideology of

Abhorrence: Sad, worn faces staring,

Staring, staring… into empty dreams:

Wars, chaos, hate, instability, tearing

At the fabric of the world’s sanity: Corroded Credos riding on rails of Rusted iron,

Leading to blood stained oblivion. Ruthless,

Frenzied scenes of death causing Nightmares in gentle people,

The tools of insane warriors of gore and Lust. They exemplify that, which is holy Truth in their twisted revengeful souls.

From where do these misguided Terrorists of hate and blood lust come? From the place where all destroyers are

Born, the slums where poverty, fear

And, hopelessness dwell each day.



James’ poems have been nominated for pushcart and best of web awards, and many were published in The Top 100 Poems of 2016, 2015 & 2014 Anthologies. He has published 3 collections of poetry, “The Silent Pond” (2012), “Ancient Rhythms,” (2014) and “LIFE,” (2016), and over 970 poems. His fourth collection of poetry will be released shortly. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU.


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