Poetry Project: A Poem from Author and Artist Red Lagoe

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.

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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 –

GoodReads
Amazon

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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!

Poetry Project: Three Poems, and Thoughts of Mental Health and Writing, with Brian James Lewis

Hello readers! Happy New Year! After a short hiatus for the holiday season and personal and family illness, we’re back today to continue the recent celebration of poetry and poets with my Poetry Project series which began its current segment in November 2023. I have two more features left to post, including this one below, then I’ll share an announcement about poetry and its inclusion into the rest of the year.

I also want to take a moment while it’s fresh to say that WordPress has reminded me it’s the thirteenth anniversary of my site this month! I think that’s a huge deal in this age of constant changes and I’m pretty proud of it.

More on that later, but for now, let me introduce my next poetry feature on my friend and colleague, who is an author, poet, and book critic and champion, Brian James Lewis.

Brian has been showcased on my site before and I’ve tried to support his work where and when I can as he’s a needed and often overlooked voice. Brian’s poetry is raw, gritty, intense, but REAL and it bravely showcases mental health and disability struggles. Brian’s work pierces through society and writer normals; is unpretentious and accessible. Brian is also a fabulous person to work with and someone who wants to learn and grow. He’s also been very supportive of my own work and writing, as a person and as a woman, offering so much respect and encouragement. He’s an inspiring person, overcome so much, and I’m happy to call him a friend. Without further clamoring on by me, I’ll let Brian take the page.

Introduction by Brian James Lewis –

Hello everyone, I am once again fortunate to be sharing my work with you thanks to the positive efforts of Erin Al-Mehairi. She’s an overall awesome person who cares about us unique people in the writing community and understands our struggles. If you need editing or promotion for your work, I highly recommend her services.

Being included in her poetry projects over the years has resulted in many more people reading and sharing my work and I’m grateful for that. She’s the reason that I will soon be featured in the Horror Writer Association’s wellness blog, discussing the healing benefits of horror reading and writing for those of us with mental health issues. Stay tuned for that! 

Today, I’m sharing three poems with you. The first, “Again,” is about the too real horrors of chronic mental illness which we’re finding out is much more common than the media or health community is officially recognizing. Too frequently jails and prisons are used as care facilities for people who aren’t going to get any better without regular check-ins with care providers and daily medication. But many of the medications are controlled which makes them difficult to obtain and there is a serious lack of specialized care facilities. General practitioners do what they can, but their knowledge is limited, as is their understanding of what’s really going on inside. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is not a cold or a broken bone that usually has a finite healing time. No matter how much effort you put into your recovery, it’s always lurking in the background waiting for the right moment to rush forth and spew toxic waste everywhere.  

AGAIN 
By Brian James Lewis 

It’s happening again 
The thing I said I was done with 
But anger fuels and rage overpowers 
Every single good wish in the universe 

Like a California wildfire 
Taking down acres of trees 
Flames radiating heat and smoke 
Firetrucks driving through hell 

Look out! You better save yourself 
Because I’m on fire with anger 
Rage boiling over the pot sides 
Like tomato soup left alone 

Stinking, smoking, ruining 
Everything in my path 
You try to hold up your hand 
But I can’t stop this volcano 

People like to throw words 
Like PTSD around to be cool

PMS, OMG, LOL, WTF? 
Pop culture is so damn lame 

Like a slap in the dick 
Poke in the eye with a stick 
Truth is they don’t know shit 
About pain, fear, and that rage… 

That arrives breathing flames 
An out-of-control freight train 
Hot steel screaming off the rails 
Smashing the flimsy wooden gates 

Of those prescription “cool it” drugs 
Ignoring the years of psychotherapy 
Hotwiring the brain for an evil joyride 
That won’t stop until heartache 

Or someone else gets hurt 
Forced to share the pain 
That true sufferers of PTSD carry 
Like spoiled meat, rotten veg 

Deep inside their chests 
Hidden so well, nobody knows 
Until something sets it off 
Releasing the hounds of rage 

(First published in JMWW on 9/23/2022 with this photo above)

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The second poem, “Home Sweet Hideaway,” was acquired by Erin for the Unnerving published gothic horror anthology Haunted Are These Houses in 2018. Sometimes homes are nothing you’d see in Better Homes & Gardens. I spent about ten years of my formative life living directly in front of a huge swamp, which I explored now and then until I began working on cars and trucks in the front yard. It was never not creepy in the swamp and sometimes it was downright terrifying. 

HOME SWEET HIDEAWAY
by Brian James Lewis

Used to be my summer nights were spent 
sitting on a lawn chair and staring off 
into the swamp behind my trailer home 
But these days, I’m a much busier man 
Now frogs sing in a madness choral 
while fireflies dance in misty gloom 
All of us waiting for the spirits to arrive 
in the eerie moments under a blood moon 
Giant shadows glide silently between 
the pines, hemlock and poplars 
Leaves wagging like tongues in the 
gurgling breezes that bring 
Raw smells of the ancient ones 
Huge, flapping dinosaurs and others 
without names that held the pointy 
headed nuts of the KKK at bay 
Blam! Blam! The beavers’ tails report 
As they cruise on patrol of the stagnant 
creek where jack lighters dispose of 
deer carcasses and assorted filth 
Used condoms, beer cans, panties, wallets 
and even cell phones adorn the muck 
beside the old bridge that crosses over 
a bone filled body of greasy water 
Deer move silently in the growing dark 
feeding here and there as I watch 
motionless in my chair as anticipation 
fills my mouth with sticky juices 
Don’t move! The swamp shadows are 
creeping closer-Air crackling as more fire 
flies join the dance-picking up speed 
until it flares like chain lightning 
I’m not lonely as the dark closes in 
This is a busy place, with barely 
enough room for the living as the 
shadows crowd around laughing 
Before this home sweet hideaway  
I didn’t know where I fit in-But this lot 
full of clapped out cars and derelict 
trucks needs my mechanical madness 
The food I catch here at night is tasty 
Someone is yelling in the darkness, but
I only see flesh-So I just chuckle and 
keep on rending, tearing, and stripping 
No time to waste-There’s much to do 
With a snap I release my knife. Hah! 
Demons, bring around my rusted hearse 
The evening hunt is on! 

(First published in Haunted Are These Houses – Unnerving on 9/14/2018.)

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This third and final new poem is about dealing with the constant pain of physical disabilities that aren’t going away pretty much ever. I finally made it out of the wheelchair I was stuck in for numerous years, thanks to an accident that left me with permanent spinal and nerve damage. Early in 2023, I had been hopeful that I’d finally be able to have corrective back surgery. I lost weight and went through the prep only to have my hopes dashed by a well-meaning surgeon. Turns out that there’s a high risk of permanent lower body paralysis which would put me right back in that wheelchair forever. And no bones about it, he was correct that if that happened, I would most likely commit suicide or go seriously off the rails that I’ve been trying so hard to spike back into place. So, I’m stuck taking pain medication on the daily to keep myself functional. Some people, including my blood family, seem to think that this must be a whole heck of a lot of fun. They’ve even been so bold as to say this to my face. Here’s a clear eyed view from the front row.  

SILENT ENEMIES
By Brian James Lewis

There are days when 
all I want to do is 
kill myself 

Wash away the pain 
forever and just  
be totally free 

Of what I’ve become 
Fat and addicted to drugs 
meant to manage my 

Pain but they only 
dull it a little and 
turn my brain to sludge

Then drive me crazy 
because my face itches  
like it is full of a 

Million tiny bugs 
that are trying to eat 
the inside of my nose 

I wipe and wash 
scratch and poke 
But it’s no use 

Damn it! 
I just want a razor 
sharp knife so I can 

Peel away the 
skin of my face in  
thin bloody sheets 

Just to get rid 
of the maddening itch 
The crawling prickle 

That keeps me awake 
at two in the morning 
ruining any chance  

Of sleep-My dreams 
invaded by the horrible 
sensations that rule me 

Pain pulses and 
flares, forcing me 
out of my own bed  

To face the itching  
that make one’s 
fingers enemies that  

Attack in the night 
like silent killers 
from another land

The aim of writing poetry like this isn’t about making people feel sorry for you. It’s about expressing oneself in a relatively positive fashion and letting others who are fighting the same fight know that they’re not alone. Most times the medical community doesn’t have the best approach and even the kindest physicians can make us feel like freaks. But we’re not and we sure as hell didn’t voluntarily sign up for this.

The one thing that helps me to get away for a while is writing. Especially when I get immersed in my characters while working on a story or express myself via poetry. That’s something that we can control and laser focus on, even if for just short bursts. During that time, we’re not hostages, we’re escapees running for the border. Some naysayers may tell you it’s dumb or you’re not making big bucks. Do not listen to them. They’re just bitter because they cashed their dreams in a long time ago for the dubious concept of security. Never stop writing, it’s how we breathe.

Brian James Lewis, Biography –

Brian James Lewis is a disabled writer with PTSD who writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction that often straddles the line between horror and literary. He enjoys using old manual typewriters that he has brought back from the dead, including one originally owned by Rod Serling. Brian is blue collar to the bone and has been a mechanic, truck driver, veterinary kennel attendant, library clerk, and a janitor.

Most recently his work has appeared in Trajectory, The Siren’s Call e-Zine, and JMWW. He is looking forward to being published in 2024 by Smoking Pen Press, The Iconoclast, and a new, close to his heart short story “Gonna Be A Long Cold Winter” that balances hope and reality on the edge of a curb, which will be coming out in the next issue of Trajectory. After midnight Brian often transforms into his horror reading undead alter-ego, Skull, and reviews books on his Damaged Skull Writer blog. Pop on over when you have a chance, he’d love to have more followers.

You can read all Brian’s past poetry on my site, as well as his essay on mental illness and writing, here, and why he started writing plus more poetry, here.

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Thanks once again to all those who are taking the time to enjoy and support the Poetry Project. I know the poets appreciate it as much as I do. Please help continue it by sharing with others.

If you’re interested in past Poetry Projects, you can find the links to an insane amount of excellent poetry on my site here.

I hope 2024 has set off on a good foot for everyone and best wishes to all.

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: Three New Poems by Grace R. Reynolds

Poetry is attune to emotional depth spiraling out of every phase of our lives. Dealing with changes – motherhood, death, moving, and coming-of-age at any decade. Poetry is stream-of-consciousness or delicately placed words. Poetry is our life made into art. It’s something that connects us.

Grace R. Reynolds is new on the scene but she has come in on fire with her writing. In the last few years, Grace has had poetry and short stories published in literary magazines, anthologies, online, and has published two short story collections – The Lies We Weave and Lady of the House. As well she has been guest of honor at book signing events and has endeared herself to a great many writers in certain poetry and dark fiction communities with her smile, kindness, and talent.

It was my honor to have the opportunity to serve as an editor on Grace’s The Lies We Weave with her before publication was secured. Grace’s words touch me deeply; her poetry is beautiful and soul-crushing and hopeful all at the same time. Her words resonate in this collection, especially to me as a mom (she has two small children). Its gothic feel created melodic and melancholy vibes and her words tragic, contemplative, and lingering. In reading Lady of the House, it was along the lines of quirky horror with a strong female empowerment element and domestic horror vein (which as you all know I write myself). It’s a clever read and also inspiring.

Grace’s poetry comes from somewhere deep inside her – whether it’s lying on the floor during a painful day having her thoughts ignite like fireworks, in the car waiting to pick up her child from school, at her desk working on wordsmithing phrases just right, or writing during and after painting and stenciling beautiful patterns on her walls, doing double duty creating allegories. Grace’s mind is always moving across the page. We are blessed to have some of that put to paper (or keyboard). I feel so happy to have met Grace and be able to read her work. She’s a wonderful friend and person!

Grace is in the middle of writing and editing another poetry collection – a chapbook. She’s sharing with us three brand new poems from that grouping written in several different styles. Enjoy!

SIGNS I REMEMBERED TO TAKE MY MEDICATION 
by Grace R. Reynolds

I swallow Texas sunsets, lay in beds of grass yellow and green, a sixty milligram fever dream— 

         sweat prickles the nape of my neck. 

Fire wheel blush, ant pile brush, 
welts blister in the spaces between my toes 

         hot, a sharp fervor settles in my bones. 

Red yucca curves, Mexican tile swirls, 
terracotta clay smooth— 

        the dull ache in my fingers lulled.  

A choral accompaniment of cicadas hum 
as night welcomes a gentle breeze, 

       the thrum of my body quiets into a midnight blue.  

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SAN ANTONIO UNDER MY SKIN 
by Grace R. Reynolds

I want to create / let my hands dip brushes in paint 
   feel the flat finish dry, pill between my fingers.

Long strokes / glazed shades
   patterns reminiscent of Talavera  

peppered on textured walls / this cookie cutter house  

         an encroachment on a place once called “dog town”— 

(I just wanted to live somewhere quiet.) 

Memories resurface / hot blacktop 
   the Jalisco near Tezel Road / remnants of frescos 

I think of Mission San José / the Rose Window
   recreated in facades across the city, a testament of 

enduring love / a city’s history
   the echoes of Spanish colonization— 

(The croak of a grackle deafens my thoughts.)

I’m so tired / of white and gray
   the death of a generation / monochromatic and egocentric 

Here there is community / pride as tall and wide as the “Pride of Barbados”
    as warm as a marigold sunrise / all consuming like the migration of monarch butterflies 

Prickly pears / cilantro and lime so bright 
   like whorls on alebrijes from Oaxaca— 

A passion bursting and vibrant / crowns of roses
  floral calaveras and Huichol art 

under my skin / there is healing in this place,
    and how precious it is to feel the sun in my heart, again— 

I paint, and I paint 
   and I continue to paint.

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IT’S 94 DEGREES OUTSIDE 

and I am thankful for respite from triple digits / digits that are sore and yearn for relief like the sedation of a cold shower / blood pools in my feet / increased circulation / blurry vision / a white out that stretches like the limestone facade on so many homes in San Antonio / factory made house farms / a sprawling city now home to California and New York transplants / millennials who cannot afford to live in the Austin suburbs / Live Oaks with gnarled limbs that twist, reach toward the sky / my hands tingle with involuntary muscle movements; numb / ball moss clusters that fall into asphalt streets / persimmon rot, crusted top shriveled “ohs” / my lips twitching / orthostatic intolerance ever present as I sit in the hot sun of the car pickup line at my child’s school / skin cold and clammy / and now my eyes are twitching / closing / a fight to keep them open / wondering if I will suffer an aneurysm and die here in the blistering heat behind someone’s Honda Odyssey / twelve hours left in my audio book and the A/C is blasting 68 degrees / golden locks that strap themselves into the backseat / “what was one good thing that happened today?” / every day / rinse / medicate / repeat.

– by Grace R. Reynolds

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Grace R. Reynolds, Biography –

Grace R. Reynolds is a native of the great state of New Jersey, where she was first introduced to the eerie and strange thanks to local urban legends of a devil creeping through the Pine Barrens. Since then, her curiosity with things that go bump in the night bloomed into creative expression as a dark poet, horror, and thriller fiction writer.

Her short fiction and poetry has been published by various presses. She is the author of two poetry collections from Curious Corvid Publishing, Lady of The House (2022) and The Lies We Weave (2023).

Connect with her on Substack, Instagram, or Threads (@spillinggrace) or visit her website.

The Lies We Weave, Synopsis –

Planted ambitions. Wounds that never heal. Cycles of generational trauma that keep us from breaking free of our turmoils. Suffused with Gothic undertones, THE LIES WE WEAVE collection of dark poetry and prose is a journey of self discovery that offers a unique perspective of one woman’s path toward healing. Beauty, darkness, pain, and hope can be found along the way so long as we allow ourselves to take those first steps into the unknown.

“As delightful as it is devastating, The Lies We Weave showcases Grace R. Reynolds’ skill with dark poetry and prose in examining motherhood as an excision, contagion, and revelation while exploring the gorgeous and gory nature of femininity.”

– Jessica McHugh, Bram Stoker Award-nominated author of A Complex Accident of Life

“The Lies We Weave is breathtakingly beautiful and hauntingly visceral. You cannot read this collection without feeling it move beneath the surface of your skin. Reynolds has constructed an intricate, intimate exploration of womanhood and the self that is earthy, cosmic and utterly transfixing.” 

– Emily Verona, Bram Stoker Award-nominated writer and author of forthcoming Midnight on Beacon Street

Purchase and Links –

Curious Corvid Publishing, direct
Amazon
GoodReads

For a short time, both The Lies We Weave and Lady of the House are on sale for .99c for Kindle.

Thanks once again for joining us for these poetry features! It’s almost time to close them for the year. Just one or two more coming up (depending on if one is submitted), then I’ll let you all know what I’m doing with it moving forward! It would be so helpful if you can share where and when you can so that we can get lots of eyes on poetry.

Be sure to head to the POETRY tab to read all the links from this year as well as past years!

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: Poem and Art by Acclaimed Writer and Artist Sandy DeLuca

Poetry sometimes is simply scenes of our life mapped out cinematically for the memories. The things that make us feel good. Poetry can be the extension of life and the thoughts we have about life and beyond. Poets also write about dangerous liaisons, monsters, the supernatural, the universe – to entertain or overcome trauma. And sometimes poetry and art co-exist as well in the most beautiful of ways to tell a story or scene.

Critically-acclaimed American and New England novelist, poet, and painter/artist Sandy DeLuca is a two-time Bram Stoker Award finalist for poetry and has been nominated for the Rhysling and Elgin Awards as well.

Not only has she penned her own poetry collections, had poems featured in anthologies and magazines, and has co-written several poetry collections with others, her illustrations also accompany notable poetry collections and she has painted cover art and illustrations for popular genre magazines, anthologies, and books. Her original paintings have been exhibited in Rhode Island, Massachusetts and New York’s Hudson Valley. Her Stoker nominated poetry collection, Burial Plot in Sagittarius (Thievin’ Kitty 2000), is held in a special collection at Brown University as it’s now sadly out of print.

{I love this art by Sandy DeLuca for the cover of this poetry collection.}

Sandy has been writing and painting since the 1980s – she was accompanied in by the ‘zine era – and her volume of work, her legacy, and all she’s accomplished so far, is commendable. Sandy writes with haunting darkness, tension, and visceral and sometimes graphic and disturbing prose, but all in a way that transports your thinking. Her prose writing is also very poetic while her poetry is often sexy, fun, and if not shocking, dark and seductive. Though novel and fiction writing dominate her published writing these days, she’s still writing poetry, too. In fact, I know in the past two years she’s had a few longer poems (her favorite to write) published in an anthology and magazines. I hope I heard correctly that she’s thinking of publishing another poetry collection, too, if I can encourage her to do so, I will!

Sandy may write dark prose and poetry but she’s one of the nicest people you’d ever meet. She’s gracious, tender, funny, a good listener, humble, and has a wonderful energy (even though I’ve never met her in person yet)! Her creativity, and the heart and soul she puts into her projects, is stunning. She’s incredibly talented in all her pursuits. Her art style is so unique and colorful and full of vibrancy, whimsy, and the bizarre. I feel her work, whether writing or art, often has messaging as well. Generally, she’s a voice for women, portraying their pain and sadness and suffering and even deviousness. She’s a voice for women in freedom and abandon and independence and survivorship in her all her creative formats. And I appreciate that so much about her.

As you can tell, I highly admire my friend Sandy so I want you all to learn how talented she is! Please enjoy her art and poetry of Dracula.

{Dracula Painting by Sandy DeLuca – used with permission of the artist.}

Dracula 
by Sandy DeLuca

The movie played on 
Friday night—
black and white images 
in a downtown cinema, 
built when gold and marble 
were in vogue. 

Outside we scattered ashes 
on the walk, 
whispering words Aunt Lil 
said over plates filled with oil 
and water, 
and Bela Legosi smiled at 
us from ancient posters. 

Traipsing into the lobby, 
huddled closed 
with tickets torn in half, 
and olden glamor queens loomed large, 
faded faces framed behind tarnished brass. 

Monroe with sadness etched 
across her face, and 
Garbo with shadows in her eyes

they spoke to me, told me 
secrets they kept inside lockets 
made from gold and scarabs. 

Old women, wearing pearls, 
walked slowly to their seats 
arms hooked round each other 
waving fingers when we scurried by. 

And we’d climb to the balcony, 
savoring each word 
and sighing when Dracula 
spread his cape— 

Then we whispered, 
*“To die,  
to be really dead, 
that must be glorious.” 

Sandy DeLuca, Biography –

Sandy DeLuca has written novels, several poetry and fiction collections, and a few novellas. These include critically acclaimed works such as DESCENT and MESSAGES FROM THE DEAD.  Over the past three years, she also co-authored three novels with Greg F. Gifune. 

She was a finalist for the BRAM STOKER © for poetry award in 2001, with BURIAL PLOT IN SAGITTARIUS; accompanied by her cover art and interior illustrations. It was also nominated for a Rhysling Award. A copy is maintained in the Harris Collection of American Poetry and Plays Poetry at Brown University, 1976-2000. She was also Stoker nominated for poetry once more in 2014, with co-writer Marge Simon, for DANGEROUS DREAMS. It was also nominated for an Elgin Award.

Her visual art has been published in books and magazines. It has been exhibited throughout New England and in New York’s Hudson Valley.  

She lives in Rhode Island with several feline companions, including a black cat named Gypsy and her two sons, Gemini and Leo. Another black cat, named Mojo, joined the household in 2023. He was born in her great grandfather’s house, a structure that was once a stagecoach stop. And the inspiration for a novel in progress. 

In addition to the novel, she is working on new poetry and a series of large-scale expressionistic paintings. She spends some of her free time volunteering at a local food pantry, photographing abandoned buildings, and perusing secondhand shops.

See Sandy’s array of books and her beautiful artistic paintings and cover art and illustrations on her website. You can also see her published work on her Amazon Author Page.

Her newest release…

The Still Place, Synopsis –
Co-written with Greg Gifune, Novel
Published September 2023 / Journalstone

{Cover by Don Noble}

When Mina, a troubled and struggling young painter, is awarded an artist’s residency offered by a small collective of eccentric artists in the mysterious coastal town of Crow’s Cry, she’s hopeful the opportunity will help get both her career and life back on track. Headed by the enigmatic, elderly, and internationally distinguished German artist Klaus Riker, a brilliant painter known for his unorthodox practice of combining art with spiritualism, the collective warmly welcomes Mina into their fold and provides her with every opportunity to take full advantage of the residency program.

But in time Mina senses there may be something more going on in Crow’s Cry than meets the eye. There is something strange and unsettling about the collective, about the dark old house on the cliffs where Klaus lives and hosts his community of artists, about the horrifying dreams Mina keeps having, and even something disturbing about the paintings Mina’s working on herself. As she becomes increasingly isolated from the outside world and drawn deeper into the collective and their unusual practices, Mina begins to suspect that Klaus and the others may not be exactly what they seem.

Could their motivations for selecting her be far darker and dangerous than she imagined, or is it only Mina’s personal demons and paranoia at play? As she delves deeper into what may actually be going on, Mina creeps closer to the truth behind not only her own troubled soul, but the collective, their plans for her, and the unspeakable horror that awaits her in THE STILL PLACE.

The Still Place Purchase and Links –

Amazon
GoodReads

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Thank you for stopping by and reading the next post in Hook of a Book Poetry Project. To honor these poets, poetry, and to help me keep this project going, please share these posts as you can and where you can. Read all the links from the project on the poetry page.

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: Three Evocative Poems by Claire C. Holland

Poetry can reflect culture, issues, and feminine anger. It reflects the power of feminine love and sexuality, too. It can be a form of activism in its own right and be a catalyst for outrage and conduit for change. It can also showcase women’s independence, confidence, freedom, body autonomy, and it can reflect fierce love and desire and hold no inhibitions, too. It can be evocative and ask questions, as like fingers trailing up the spine.

My dear friend, Elgin Award Nominated poet Claire C. Holland, writes all of this and more. She is one of my favorite people and writers – someone who thinks and feels those deep thoughts; records the desires of her heart and soul onto the page. I adore her so very much for her strength and bravery on so many levels. I’m thrilled to be featuring below one original poem by her and two she’s featured on her blog.

When she wrote her debut poetry collection a few years ago, called I Am Not Your Final Girl, it was acclaimed for its empowering messaging for survivors, like me. The themes were brought to the page through the final girls of horror films. The website Features of Fright said, “Holland has curated the patron saints of tragedy and trauma, and they fight for all survivors.”

However, in reading Claire’s work over the years, whether poetry or her stellar thought-provoking essays, I know she writes for all independence of spirit and body. Her words trickle off her pen below in her poetry as they might drip off her lips. Her words are beautiful, reaching deeply, and filled with carnal love and desires. Savor each line for her tender but raw, unflinching, provocative emotions. She’s a seductive, wordsmithing force

The First Love Note
by Claire C. Holland

There is something particular about a boy’s throat. 
Something about the sight of it 
straining, yearning, 
the desperate tug 
of each swallow 
and the way it catches 
in the gasping 
column 
between collarbone and clenched jaw. 

I would pluck out this tender part of you 
first, open your boy throat 
like an envelope 
like a love note 
like the plum just pitted 

red and glittering against greedy lips.

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Valentine
by Claire C. Holland

Fuck romance, I want your filth. 
Give me your grimiest, your 
dingiest desire, 

wrenched out 
from the bloody center, 
dripping. 

Hold it in your palms, let me 
see the thing 
that makes you sorry. 

I want to bathe in it, 
to revel, I’ll help you lick it 
unclean. 

I don’t want you to be good, 
darling, I want you 
to be free.

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Werewolf 
by Claire C. Holland

Your body is a secret I hold 
in mine, your heart a rough 
animal. We hold everything in the body— 
especially pain. At night, I feel yours 
like knots on a tree, ossifying 
under my palms. 
Transformation is a trauma 
response, the broken 
down body’s way of remaking itself, 
cell by starburst cell. 
Did we become beasts 
when no one was watching? 
If, in the cocoon of our connected 
bodies, we grew horns and sharpened 
our fangs on each other’s throats, 
if the hard dragging of my nails across 
your soft parts makes you moan 
now instead of cry, 
will they call us cursed? 
Your skin is pine-sweetened, 
sap-kissed, still.

Claire C. Holland, Biography-

Claire is a poet and writer from Philadelphia, currently living in Los Angeles. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found reading or binge-watching horror movies with her wonderful husband and her Wheaten Terrier, Chief Brody. Her book of poetry, I Am Not Your Final Girl, is available now on Amazon. Claire and her work can be found on Instagram or on her website.

Claire on Hook of a Book –

Read Claire’s previous poems contributed to the Poetry Project here. Read Sonora Taylor’s discussion of feminine rage and the collection, I Am Not Your Final Girl, here.

I Am Not Your Final Girl, Synopsis –

“There is nothing else in this world / like realizing / you’re going to live / and not being sure / you can.”

A timely collection poetry that follows the final girl of slasher cinema – the girl who survives until the end – on a journey of retribution and reclamation. From the white picket fences of 1970s Haddonfield to the apocalyptic end of the world, Holland confronts the role of women in relation to subjects including feminism, sexuality, violence, and healing in the world of Trump and the MeToo movement. Each poem centers on a fictional character from horror cinema, and explores the many ways in which women find empowerment through their own perceived monstrousness.

An Elgin Award Nominated Poetry Collection.

”This beautiful poetry collection by Claire C. Holland pays homage to all of the iconic Final Girls of horror history. Opening up their stories to examine their roles in a context of feminism, sexuality, violence, empowerment, and healing, this book follows these beloved fictional characters on a deeply personal journey. From Halloween’s Laurie Strode to The Witch’s Thomasin, readers walk a poetic path of reclaiming feminine monstrosity.” – The Line-up

I Am Not Your Final Girl Purchase/Links –

Amazon
GoodReads

Watch for a new poetry collection in the future from Claire. I know I’m excited for one!

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Thank you for joining us this week for the Poetry Project! There should be another this week and several next week as well. Please share and spread the word to support this project and the poets… and poetry!

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: A Poem by Author Patrick Tumblety

Poetry, besides being a way to process emotions, is a wonderful way to pour out ones heart, manifest healing, and work on letting things go. Writers can grow and work on themselves as they write. It’s cathartic. It’s a release. A way to cope. For readers, it’s about relating. Poetry can also help readers heal when they relate to the words and emotions of others.

Author, Poet, Writer, and Multi-media artist Patrick Tumblety writes emotional poetry and stories, whether it paints art with words from a landscape, alludes to or focuses on mental health, deals with loss, or fights allegorical or fictional monsters. Sometimes his poetry sets a beautiful serene scene, sometimes they’re fun, sometimes they’re dark. Much of his poetry is touching, melancholy, but also often hopeful. His poem below, words that helped him work through the loss of his friend and passing of time, is an example of this.

Patrick is such a kind person, supportive of so many other writers, and is inspiring in his creativity and passions. Take a moment to read the poetry he’s shared with us.

Exposure
by Patrick Tumblety

Snow gathered on the road faster
than the sugar in your blood. To you, 
it was an acceptable reason. For me,
an excuse to forego the long drive 
through a weather-torn season. 

Time and health were always against us;
such as when they took your left foot,
and the socks I had already sent
didn’t arrive until the day after Christmas. 

My little one had the flu the year after.
Although true – another reasoning 
in a whirlwind of white… lies. 
The reality? Days piled high. 
I sometimes don’t have the energy.

This year I had been determined-
no snow would be too high. Unfortunately,
my car got stuck inside an embankment
as I received the message that you died.

For you, I continue trudging through the storm,
fighting the time and waistline snow – fast,
before I lose my feet to the cold – piece by piece to the ghosts of Christmases past. 

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Note from Patrick: This poem is dedicated to my friend John Elliott, who passed away due to complications with diabetes. I miss him every day and will always regret how I thought we would have more time to spend together. 

Patrick Tumblety, Biography-

Patrick Tumblety is an author of horror, science-fiction, and poetry. He has been featured in numerous anthologies, including Tales of Jack the Ripper from Word Horde Press, The Dead Inside, from Dark Dispatch, Gothic Fantasy: Science Fiction, from Flame Tree Publishing, and Dark Moon Digest from Perpetual Motion Machine Publishing. He has also been published by and is an active member of the Horror Writers Association. His work has been described as being able to deliver both “genuine fear and genuine hope.” (Amy H. Sturgis – Award-Winning Author and Professor of Narrative Studies) 

Find Patrick on Twitter or his website!

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You can read Patrick’s wonderful ocean and nature-inspired poems published in the last Poetry Project here.

Also, feel free to read all the poetry featured from this month and find links from the past projects, too. Thank you for joining us for another feature in the Hook of a Book Poetry Project! Please spread the word and share to support poetry, poets, and this project!

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: Vampire Poetry from Award-winning Poet LindaAnn LoSchiavo

Award-winning poet LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a four-time nominee for The Pushcart Prize and a Rhysling Award nominee, to name only a few of her accomplishments. She has published several poetry chapbooks as well as full-length poetry collections. One of the latter, A Route Obscure and Lonely, earned her an Elgin Award.

Now, she brings to readers Vampire Ventures, a coagulated (see what I did there?) chapbook of poetry that embraces the mythos of the historical vampire while embracing how contemporary vampires might act in the technology age, all while bringing the fear, obsession, gore, sexiness, and passion we’ve come to love as vampiric readers.

I really enjoyed reading this collection, with her use of various types of poetry, and found her word play, plucking me like fingers on a violin, made me tense for the next poem, while also wanting to peek around the corner (or on social media) to see if any blood thirsty vamp was lurking. There’s chills and darkness but humor, too. It’s an entertaining collection for horror poetry connoisseurs.

I’m thrilled LindaAnn has agreed to share one of her poems from Vampire Ventures here, below.

Villanelle: Defined by a Stygian Realm
by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

From a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored                               
He arrived. Evil means produced his kind.
Superstitions lurked in forgotten lore.                                    

The curse of darkness appeared on our shores,
More frightful than ever known to mankind
From a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored.                                          

Pale stranger with charm.  Just flirting, I swore.
To the dangers therein, I had been blind.
Superstitions lurked in forgotten lore.                                    

Red flags? Advice and rules are such a bore.
He seemed refined. Who knew he was defined
By a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored?                                 

Eternal love he vowed. His past, he swore,
Was doomed by gossip. Ex-girlfriends would find
Superstitions lurking in forgotten lore.     

Our bridal chamber was suffused with gore,
Blood moon’s oath. We’re now immortals entwined.
From a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored,                              
Superstitions lurked in forgotten lore.           

From a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored                               
He arrived. Evil means produced his kind.
Superstitions lurked in forgotten lore.                                    

The curse of darkness appeared on our shores,
More frightful than ever known to mankind
From a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored.                                          

Pale stranger with charm.  Just flirting, I swore.
To the dangers therein, I had been blind.
Superstitions lurked in forgotten lore.                                    

Red flags? Advice and rules are such a bore.
He seemed refined. Who knew he was defined
By a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored?                                 

Eternal love he vowed. His past, he swore,
Was doomed by gossip. Ex-girlfriends would find
Superstitions lurking in forgotten lore.     

Our bridal chamber was suffused with gore,
Blood moon’s oath. We’re now immortals entwined.
From a Stygian realm ‘twas best ignored,                              
Superstitions lurked in forgotten lore.           

LindaAnn LoSchiavo, Biography –

Native New Yorker LindaAnn LoSchiavo (she/her), a four time nominee for The Pushcart Prize, was also nominated for Best of the Net, Balcones Poetry Prize, an Ippy, a Firecracker Award, the Rhysling Award, and Dwarf Stars and also won an Elgin Award. She is a member of SFPA, British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild.

She has published Women Who Were Warned, Messengers of the Macabre, Apprenticed to the Night (UniVerse Press), Felones de Se: Poems about Suicide (Ukiyoto Publishing), and her newest, Vampire Ventures (Alien Buddha Press).

Forthcoming in 2024, she will have a book published called Cancer Courts My Mother from Penumbra / Stanislaus State College, and in 2025, Eros and His Entourage from Naked Cat Press.

Vampire Ventures, About –

Vampire Ventures is a 41-page chapbook of poetry that beckons readers to embrace the mystique of the shadow sphere and savor the forbidden allure of encounters with the undead — be it a moonlit rendezvous, an otherworldly romance, or a seductive soiree thrown by the enigmatic Count himself. In a realm where immortal desires and human emotions intertwine, 19 poems use the tropes of popular culture to explore the paradox of “living in death,” a theme central to the vampire mythos.

Chronicles of blood lust await you…

To learn more, go to her dedicated Vampire Ventures website.

Praise for Vampire Ventures –

LindaAnn’s new collection is a rich cocktail of Vampire Lore. Her eclectic style, bold and imaginative choice of language and sophisticated word play, adds gravitas to a beloved genre. “The Tale of the Vintner’s Daughter” is a particular favorite, highly evocative, nuanced and as deftly constructed as a spider web.

 — John Stocks, Poetry Editor,Bewildering Stories

Vampire Ventures showcases LoSchiavo’s formal versatility: fibonacci, haiku, golden shovel, villanelle, sonnet, prose poem, and the decasyllabic lines of poems that seem otherwise unconstrained.  She’s equally adept at shifting among tones, from the eerie to the ironic. Her work is encrusted with images and phrases that will sparkle in the dark behind your eyelids long after you’ve finished reading.

— Carl Bettis, Editor-in-Chief, Tiny Frights

There’s romance, humor and blood in Vampire Ventures — like in the good old times.  

— Mark Benecke, President, Transylvanian Society of Dracula

Purchase and Other Links –

Amazon
GoodReads

If you see this link before the end of November 2023, and are a bookseller or reviewer, you can find Vampire Ventures on NetGalley as well.

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Thanks for joining us for the Hook of a Book Poetry Project. You can read more about it, catch up on past posts this month, as well as posts from previous years, here on my Poetry page. Spread and share to help support the poets and the project.

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: Featuring Poetry by Amy Grech

Poetry is a meaningful tool we can use to express ourselves and is a great way to deal with or work through emotions. The poet I’m featuring here, Amy Grech, as many writers of poetry, has also looked to the form to process feelings from during the pandemic and its aftermath. During that time of uncertainty, its ups and downs, writing was cathartic and helped many of us to see the world, and our personal worlds, more clearly. Amy offers a poem to readers that she wrote as she dealt with this catastrophic time, but also she reminds us of the hope and the ability to move on.

Amy has been published in a hundred venues, assists with the Horror Writers Association NYC chapter, and is always helpful and supportive to fellow authors online.

She features this poem below in a chapbook published with the same title by Alien Buddha Press, in which she offers poetry as well as short fiction. Maybe it will make you think back a few years yourself and see how far you’ve come and what you’ve reinvented or overcome since that time.

A Shadow of Your Former Self 
by Amy Grech

Rich or poor, you never know 
what’s in store. 

The virus doesn’t discriminate. 
It’s the cause of great debate. 

Thousands of people won’t survive. 
What a time to be alive. 

How best to prevent the spread? 
And limit the number of dead. 

Social distance; some resistance. 

Gone tomorrow or here to stay.  
It’s impossible to say… 

So close, yet so  
far. Six feet apart.  
Breaks your heart. 

Wear a mask
as a sign of respect. 
One less person to infect. 

Dreams deferred.  
Undeterred, you  
forge ahead. 
Not better off dead. 

COVID-19 antibody test 
causes civil unrest. 

Negative results, you’re  
clear. One less thing to fear.  

If antibodies are present,  
you resent self-imposed 
quarantine. 

Endless Zoom calls, so 
mentally draining. You’re not  
the only one complaining. 

This new normal seems anything but. 
You carry on no matter what. 

Ensconced in a protective bubble.  
You hoard supplies,  
hoping to avoid trouble. 

Amazon, Fed Ex, and UPS 
provide contactless 
delivery. An endless 
onslaught of essentials.  
So much untapped potential. 

The struggle is real.  
You don’t know 
exactly how to feel.  

Some days you’re perfectly  
content to spend the day streaming,  
Disney +, HBO, Hulu, 
Netflix, Prime Video, Showtime,  
Shudder…So sublime.  

Other days you wake up screaming.  
Order takeout with reckless abandon: 
Thai for lunch from your favorite place, Sushi for dinner. Such an expensive disgrace. 

You spend hours texting friends.  
Will this mindless boredom ever end? 

Weeks pass, and you’re scrambling
to pay the rent. An unexpected email 
from the Head of Talent at the creative firm 
where you had a cushy job—notice that 
all projects are on hold—catches you off guard. 
Sometimes the world can be so cold… 

As a consultant, you didn’t need to leave your 
Brooklyn apartment to make a buck.  
Talk about dumb luck! 

A shadow of your former self 
Suddenly, you find yourself without wealth. 
Your finances have become a house of cards. 
Now, you’re left rummaging through shards. 

Lost in a momentary state of panic.  
Until you realize you were hired  
as a W-2 employee. That makes 
you eligible for Unemployment. Apply is 
something you quickly do. You discover, too,  
due to COVID-19, that you may qualify  
for an additional $600 per week. You shriek with joy.

This pandemic, rife with strife won’t destroy  
your quality of life. Or so it seems. 
You have plenty of hopes and dreams.

Amy Grech, Biography-

Amy Grech has sold over 100 stories to various anthologies and magazines including:  
A New York State of Fright, Apex Magazine, Even in the Grave, Gorefest, Hell’s Heart, Hell’s Highway, Hell’s Mall, Microverses, Punk Noir Magazine, Roi Fainéant Press, Tales from the Canyons of the Damned, Yellow Mama, and many others. Alien Buddha Press published her poetry chapbook, A Shadow of Your Former Self.  

She is an Active Member of the Horror Writers Association and the International Thriller Writers Association. She lives in Forest Hills, Queens, New York City. You can connect with Amy on Twitter/X or visit her website.

Praise for A Shadow of Your Former Self, Amy’s chapbook (from which this poem above is re-published) –

“Amy Grech’s enticing collection of poetry and fiction takes us on an excursion of life through the eyes of a New Yorker, from 2020’s forced isolation and displacement, through facets of personal loss, to the devastating impact of guns on our lives, in action and at rest. There is humor here also, a short and a long piece that involves eating, told in Grech’s singular style.”

-Linda D. Addison, award-winning author, HWA Lifetime Achievement Award recipient and, SFPA Grand Master

“A Shadow of Your Former Self offers up a stark examination of the pandemic and an array of other horrors. Journey through NYC, down the subway, and into unsettling places as dark poems and tales take readers into the murky shadows.”

-Sara Tantlinger, Bram Stoker award-winning author of The Devil’s Dreamland 

Purchase and GoodReads Links –
Amazon
GoodReads

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Thanks for joining and supporting poetry! Read the previous poetry postings this month on my Poetry Page, where you’ll also find out about the project as well as read the published works from previous years. Enjoy and spread the word!

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: Review by Jessica-Drake Thomas of Poetry Collection, The Lies We Weave, by Grace R. Reynolds

Haunted Women, Toxic Houses: The Gothic In The Lies We Weave by Grace R. Reynolds 
Review by Jessica Drake-Thomas

“Inescapable dread crawled across/my skin, and I knew this was it./This was the end.//I had ventured too far into the darkness,” the speaker says in The Lies We Weave, Grace R. Reynolds’ gothic poetry collection. In her follow-up to the popular collection about a murderous 1950’s housewife, Lady of the House, the poet takes common Gothic tropes and makes them new. In The Lies We Weave, Reynolds focuses on the melancholy girl and what happens when she grows up and raises children of her own.  

In true Gothic mode that is reminiscent of the work of Shirley Jackson, Reynolds explores fraught mother-daughter relationships. In the poem entitled, “A Mother’s Love,” the speaker says that “Mother’s love is a haunted room,/ brimming with secrets, it splinters/through boards like rusty nails,” the imagery bringing to mind haunted houses, where the dark forces hold the gothic heroine captive. “How many times has a daughter broken/her nails, digging them into the grain?” the speaker asks. “How many times has Mother cried out/her name while a daughter held her breath?” The torment in this toxic relationship is clear.  

When she writes, “A daughter’s hands are dirty, /ruddy and brown, her fingers still clasped/in prayer for a god that isn’t there.”  Reynolds empathizes with children who find themselves in a place where the person who is supposed to take care of them is harming them, where the one person that they should trust cannot be trusted.  

The final stanza in this poem complicates things in a way that is really unique. “Mother’s love drags,” the speaker says. “it pulls her down into dark places,/spaces where her daughter cannot save her,/and how would a daughter save her/when a mother’s love glints/on the edge of a razor?” The daughter in the piece wants to save the mother, but cannot. Both are harmed by the mother’s toxic love. Both are dragged down. Furthermore, the child in this situation has been put into the place of a parent, where she could save the mother, had she been an adult, but is too young to take this burden on. When someone is too young to help themselves, they cannot help their parent.  

Another Gothic trope that Reynolds explores in The Lies We Weave is the dark double. Often in gothic literature, there is the “good” protagonist and a “bad” double of them. Usually, this dark double is the antagonist, propagating the idea of dark versus light and good versus evil.   

In the poem, “We Are The Wicked,” Reynolds celebrates the dark double. In the poem, the speaker says they are “spun from the charred hair/of the cursed before us, hungry/for a taste of goodness.” This immediately calls to mind women burned for witchcraft. The Wicked have walked through fire. They have gotten their sustenance by licking it off of knives.   

In the final stanza, the speaker says, “both living and dead, dragging/our stumps through the forest/leaving crimson trails for our sisters/to follow, where thickets of brambles/grow, paths where our blood still glistens/to show the way through.” This stanza calls to mind every fairytale where the girl went into the forest, breaking the rules. Most of those stories end when the heroine meets her end. But this is a poem about survival. Here, she died and she survived, and she learned from the experience, became stronger. She became one with the forest. She became something wild, something other.  

Here, the dark double survives because her past pains have created a trail to show her and those who follow the way out. This is an important point that this book makes. That, even though someone suffers, she can still make the way better or easier for the women who follow her.   

In the poem, “Mothers Drown First,” the speaker says that “Body frigid, clothes sodden,/and I am holding you above water/as best I can.” This recalls the earlier poem, “A Mother’s Love.” However, this speaker is grown up, a mother herself now. “I will never let your feet dip below/the crests of waves so long as/corpses float beneath the surface,” she promises her own child. “Though it is too late for me.”  

This poem changes the tone. The contentious battle between mother and child has ended, and now the daughter has grown up to become the mother figure herself. Here, the writer shows that there is a different way to care, to parent, than the one she grew up with. Though she seems to believe that it’s too late for her, she is caring for her child in the way that she wanted to be cared for herself. In so doing, she’s breaking the cycle.  

There’s healing in the final stanza where the mother speaks of holding her child up though it hints that the speaker still has a ways to go to get better. The generational cycle of unhealthy, toxic relationships has been ended by the speaker. Her wounds have not yet healed, but she’s consciously making different choices.  

This collection is a phenomenal addition to gothic poetry, which explores common tropes of the genre, but makes them new. It explores difficult relationships, dark women, mental illness, and motherhood in ways that take new paths and offer alternate solutions. Overall, the book’s main message is that it’s possible to break cycles of toxicity and silence and to find one’s own road, strength, and voice.   

Jessica Drake-Thomas, Biography-

Jessica Drake-Thomas is a poet, novelist, and PhD student at the University of Wisconsin Milwaukee. She’s the author of two poetry collections, Burials (CLASH Books 2020) and Bad Omens (Querencia Press 2023), and one novel, Hollow Girls (Cemetery Dance 2024). She holds degrees from Tulane University, Emerson College, and the University of Arizona. Her work has been featured in Ploughshares, Eye to the Telescope, and The Dark Side of Purity, amongst many others. She has been nominated for the Best of the Net, the Rhysling Award, and the Elgin Award. She lives in Milwaukee with Nick and their dogs, Poppy and Potato.  

The Lies We Weave, Synopsis –

Planted ambitions. Wounds that never heal. Cycles of generational trauma that keep us from breaking free of our turmoils. Suffused with Gothic undertones, THE LIES WE WEAVE collection of dark poetry and prose is a journey of self discovery that offers a unique perspective of one woman’s path toward healing. Beauty, darkness, pain, and hope can be found along the way so long as we allow ourselves to take those first steps into the unknown.

“Any reader will find companionship in the night in The Lies We Weave and any woman will find sisterhood here, too. Reynolds carries within each page blatant and raw honesty that allures, horrifies, and ultimately animates and brings hope to darkened days.”

-Stephanie Kemler, author of BLOODBORN and BLOODMAD

“…breathtakingly beautiful and hauntingly visceral. You cannot read this collection without feeling it move beneath the surface of your skin.” -Emily Verona, Bram Stoker Award-nominated author”…both feminist and feminine…Reynolds skillfully carves her words into our flesh-this is all of us, each struggle to be seen and to hide, to reclaim our bodies and also create ourselves anew.”

-Laurel Hightower, author of CROSSROADS and BELOW

Purchase The Lies We Weave –

Curious Corvid Publishing, direct
BookShop.org
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Add to GoodReads

Grace R. Reynolds, Biography-

Grace R. Reynolds is a native of the great state of New Jersey, where she was first introduced to the eerie and strange thanks to local urban legends of a devil creeping through the Pine Barrens. Since then, her curiosity with things that go bump in the night bloomed into creative expression as a dark poet, horror, and thriller fiction writer.

When Grace is not writing she can be found dreaming up macabre scenarios inspired by the mundane realities of life. Her short fiction and poetry has been published by various presses, including Brigid’s Gate Publishing, Creature Publishing, Dark Matter Magazine, Death Knell Press, and more.

She is the author of two poetry collections, Lady of The House (2021) and The Lies We Weave (2023), both released by Curious Corvid Publishing.

Connect with Grace on Instagram and Twitter as @spillinggrace, or her website.

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Note from Erin: I’m very happy to be featuring these women on my site as I’ve been an editor for both of them! I’ve edited a couple books for Jessica, one which is coming out from Cemetery Dance next year, and I also edited Grace’s poetry collection discussed here, The Lies We Weave. I wanted to outwardly give this disclaimer of working with them, not only because I think they’re amazing women I’m honored to have the opportunity to work with, but because I also want everyone to know that Jessica reviewed and submitted Grace’s collection review all on her own, so there is no bias here just because I’m hosting it. Although, okay, I AM kinda biased in a way because they’re stellar writers and people so GO READ THEM BOTH!

Thank you for supporting my Hook of a Book Poetry Project! Follow along on my Poetry Page.

Hook of a Book Poetry Project: Poems by Author & Actress Alicia Hilton

Alicia Hilton is an author, editor, actor, arbitrator, professor, and former FBI Special Agent. Her work has appeared in many publications over the years from magazines to anthologies. Alicia writes hopepunk—speculative fiction, neo-noir, and poetry about bravery and resistance. Her pieces can be humorous, thought-provoking, strong, as well as cosmic, and though sometimes dark, often uplifting.

She stays busy in her many careers, which leads me to believe she has to be whole-brained (using both sides at once on full speed) and possibly has super powers as well. She’s also an actress of stage and screen. She’s had acting roles with NBC’s Chicago PD, Fox’s Empire & Proven Innocent, Showtime’s The Chi, and more plus the Lyric Opera of Chicago and the Joffrey Ballet.

Alicia has been a past participant in my Poetry Project and I’m very happy to welcome her, and her poems, back for you to enjoy. Thank you, Alicia, for sharing with us!

Hot Dog and Ectoplasm 
by Alicia Hilton

My dog and I share an addiction—ectoplasm. There’s no greater joy for a corgi with a sixth sense than hunting ghosts in Central Park. 
Luna yipped at auras while ordinary dogs chased balls.  

A snort of spiritual essence from an apparition wearing a pinstripe suit strolling past the zoo. A dead ringer for Frank Sinatra.  
I opened my jaws wide and inhaled shimmering euphoria. 
Ol’ Blue Eyes tasted like starlight and lemon meringue pie. 

The sun was setting when Luna and I arrived at the pond.  
No other pedestrians saw the phantom grab the woman feeding the ducks. 
The ghost’s gray aura turned crimson when corgi jaws chomped his leg.  
Some spirits bled. Tail-wagging deliciousness. 

{First published in September 2023 Issue
of parABnormal}

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The Great Beyond  
by Alicia Hilton

Desperate for rescue 
the sole human survivor 
aboard a space station 
sent an SOS 

Back on Earth 
rocket scientists 
beamed instructions 
vacuous politicians 
beamed platitudes 
that failed to fix 
holes in the hull
punched by asteroids 

Robotic explorers
probing the dark side 
of the moon 
wanted to wail  
in sympathy 
when they heard 
the astronaut’s SOS 
but the robots 
had no voices 

Orbiting Jupiter 
five scientists 
screaming about 
stolen rations and 
an extramarital affair 
ignored the SOS 

Beyond the Milky Way 
interstellar travelers 
heard the astronaut’s plea 

Beyond human technology 
the extraterrestrial  
teleportation machine 
beamed the astronaut  
to another galaxy 

Aboard an alien ship 
the former Earthling 
found kinship 
her soul  
shone brighter 
than starlight 

{First published in Issue 46 of 
Eye to the Telescope.}

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Alicia Hilton, Biography-

Alicia Hilton is an author, poet, editor, actress, arbitrator, professor, and former FBI Special Agent.

Her work has appeared in Breakwater Review, Channel, Creepy Podcast, Dreams & Nightmares, Eastern Iowa Review, Litro, Modern Haiku, Mslexia, Neon, NonBinary Review, Not One of Us, Space and Time, Stoneboat Literary Journal, Vastarien, World Haiku Review, Year’s Best Hardcore Horror Volumes 4, 5 & 6. She’s had poetry featured in several of the Horror Writers Association’s Poetry Showcase anthologies and has writings in a few horror anthologies; additionally, she co-edited one as well called Alternative Holidays.

Look on her website for more information. Follow her on Twitter with handles @aliciahilton01 and Bluesky @aliciahilton.bsky.social. 

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Check out Alicia’s work HERE from a prior Poetry Project! Thank you for your support of poetry. Please share far and wide and read any you missed over on my poetry page.