Poetry is certainly a balm. Over the last couple months, we’ve shown on this site in the Poetry Project how many different ways poetry, especially dark poetry, is written and how many various reasons why. It’s shown grief, fear, healing, processing, loving, allegory, and standing up for oneself or issues that are important. It’s shown entertainment. Now, you’ll read how poetry can be a rhythm from our ancestors, and a warrior woman’s cry for value beyond primal means. There is so much more to poetry, of course— this is just a small corner.
When I did an open call for poetry, Red Lagoe wanted to participate but hadn’t written much poetry. I urged her to please still submit one! She’s a visceral, piercing, raw, grounded writer and creative person with so much realness and soul that I knew that would be poured into her poetry as well. And I was right— see if you can read her poem here without being moved. It just gutted me as a woman if you really dig deep into it. Are we all just vessels and nothing more? It’s a beautiful poem and I’m so very honored to have the opportunity here to publish it for the first time.
I met Red when she came on the scene some years back and I really encouraged her writing because she has a well of words inside her that create stories and novellas full of heart and angst and thought-provoking ideas. I am so glad we became friends and that she’s a part of the writing and horror community because she’s always a light and so supportive of others. She’s also a fabulous artist, having done many of her own covers for her books. I love her art— especially her skulls, flowers, birds, and skies. Red is a great mom, a wonderful friend, a talented writer and artist, an astute curator and editor, and I’m so proud of her for opening her own press (doing all the jobs within) with integrity and foresight. She should be winning all the awards, and one day, she will.
I won’t delay you further, please read her poem here and check out more of her work as well.
Hardened Cask
by Red Lagoe
On this mountain
some are born with scythes,
others with casks.
Youthful casks
curly haired cherubs dance among dandelions
high on the mountaintop,
we wish upon impossible dreams
other mountains.
Cloaked scythes circle
guarding, praising,
they love us for our beauty.
And then we bleed.
Inchoate cask swells,
wooden planks lined with blood
splinter
my body becomes a vessel.
Aching, bent in half
shredded viscera peels beneath
an external calm.
Isn’t she lovely
they say, casks and scythes alike.
Barefoot, barely grown,
with a dandelion carcass crown
forced
to descend the mountain.
Blood seeping between legs
warm, life-giving force
soaks polka-dotted innocence
sticky clots adhere to trembling legs.
Those who once protected, exalted
turn their backs,
while some shout to clean up my mess.
Other scythes still circle
not as guards
but as vultures
feasting on the trail of blood
pecking my thighs
flesh stripped from muscle,
an attempt to lay claim.
Shriveled and sour, the elderly ones
skin crisp and cracked
like a sun-dried flower
whisper and sneer
at my bleeding empty cask.
Stop crying,
they say.
Refusal to fill the empty vessel
brings shame,
backs turn to the selfish
useless cask
who dares to want
anything else.
Hot impaling brands of hatred
incessant pecking, prodding
grinding away at my will,
I succumb.
I submit.
And allow the scythe to inject
thick seminal fluid.
It swells within
fermenting
body augments
expands to fit the young.
Distortion of organ tissue and bone
fissuring flesh
agony,
it is expected
exhalted,
but they don’t celebrate me
they honor the vessel
birthing other casks
and other scythes
who are sent away
to fulfill elder expectations.
My days as a cask are complete.
Worn, broken planks as dried and cracked
as this outer shell.
Scythes come for one last circle.
With no blood to feast upon
they stab with their dull blades
tearing me open
from pubis to breast
shredding
slicing, scraping away all that lies within.
Wooden splinters burst
from sinewy caverns
and fall to the floor amidst a pool
of useless scarlet butchery.
In this hollowed shell
no longer of use
a barely beating heart
clings to its last artery.
They leave me
to die,
or to patch a scar
over an abysmal void
and carry on.
I manage both.
Now I sit with the elders,
the other survivors
who once had dreams
scraped away.
Young casks and scythes
descend the mountain
bleeding, crying
terrified of their future.
I want another life for them,
an option other than simply
cask or scythe
where freedom lies beyond youth.
Perhaps their impossible dreams
can find it
can build it.
For them I emptied myself
But to them, I echo my ancestors
and simply say,
Stop crying.
Red Lagoe, Biography-
Red Lagoe is the author of three horror collections, including Impulses of a Necrotic Heart. Her novella, In Excess of Dark, is forthcoming from DarkLit Press in March 2024. She is also the editor of Nightmare Sky: Stories of Astronomical Horror and owner of Death Knell Press.
When she’s not spewing her horror-ridden mind onto the page, she can be found dabbling in the hobby of amateur astronomy.
Find more by Red, including free short stories, on her website and find her on various social media platforms.
———————————
Her newest release, the novella In Excess of Dark, will be out from DarkLit Press in March 2024!
In Excess of Dark, About –
What if every terrible thing imagined came true? Every fleeting, nightmarish thought a reality? For grief-stricken Karina, her newfound ability to turn her worst daydreams into palpable truths has sent her into a downward spiral of depression and guilt. Coupled with the appearance of an enigmatic shadow figure and visions of her dead family, she grapples to maintain her sanity while desperately attempting to harness her abilities and reunite with her loved ones.
Add or Purchase –
——————————
Everyone, thank you SO much for all your support of the Poetry Project this time around over the last three months. These eleven features were a total labor of love by me and I enjoyed sharing about all these fabulous poets. Thank you for reading and sharing and loving poetry.
And thank you for enjoying past poetry projects. You can read all the posts from this year as well as the several past years, HERE.
My plan is to possibly make the Poetry Project a monthly endeavor, posting one or two features a month from people wanting to submit. More on that soon in a separate blog post, but if you want to submit anything regarding poetry, let me know.
Please keep sharing and spreading the word!
HOOK of a BOOK! 
A powerful poem that really strips down the life cycle to its cracked and bleeding bones. Somehow despite trauma, especially that supported by others, we will survive. Scarring is inevitable, along with the desire for things to be different, but breaking the cycle is not a simple task. Excellent job, Red Lagoe!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very powerful! Tells a story I can picture in my head.
LikeLiked by 1 person