The Nox Anthology - Dark Poets Against Abuse
Click here to return to the Nox Anthology Table of Contents
Click here to return to the Nox Anthology Table of Contents
| To the Safety of Minds, Hearts, Bodies The poets of this collection have all donated their works, and to thank them for this gift of creativity and insight, a regular donation is made to CASA (Community Action Stops Abuse), a safe haven organization for families and individuals who are striving to leave abusive environments in their lives. To learn more about CASA, please visit their site using the link below. ___________________________________________________________________________________ |
I don't know what you are having
by David Kopaska-Merkel
It's been a long day,
a lot to do around the house
and the salesmen just kept on coming.
She swears it's the pull of the moon
that moves the tide inside.
The wall leans into the corridor
like a two-bit thug,
pictures hang askew, and the carpet
talks about its day:
the bloodstains haven't faded much.
Ellen pads towards the door
with hunger in her heart.
She lifts the mail flap and sniffs,
someone is there.
Her fur erects,
she rears up on her hind legs
and turns the knob.
Her husband comes in;
doesn't even look at her.
Her forepaws thump the floor
and she follows him
down the hall, dugs swaying,
shreds of clothing caught
in the fur on her thighs.
He throws his briefcase on the table
and grabs a beer.
What's for dinner? he asks,
not looking around.
She bares her fangs.
copyright David Kopaska-Merkel
by David Kopaska-Merkel
It's been a long day,
a lot to do around the house
and the salesmen just kept on coming.
She swears it's the pull of the moon
that moves the tide inside.
The wall leans into the corridor
like a two-bit thug,
pictures hang askew, and the carpet
talks about its day:
the bloodstains haven't faded much.
Ellen pads towards the door
with hunger in her heart.
She lifts the mail flap and sniffs,
someone is there.
Her fur erects,
she rears up on her hind legs
and turns the knob.
Her husband comes in;
doesn't even look at her.
Her forepaws thump the floor
and she follows him
down the hall, dugs swaying,
shreds of clothing caught
in the fur on her thighs.
He throws his briefcase on the table
and grabs a beer.
What's for dinner? he asks,
not looking around.
She bares her fangs.
copyright David Kopaska-Merkel
painting by Malcolm Deeley
| ___________________________________________________________________________________ |
Shell Shocked
by Wendy S. Delmater
You can't do a good job
When you are constantly panicked
Always looking over your shoulder
For the next shoe to drop,
Shoes were dropping
The whole time you grew up
Paranoid defenses were a necessity then
But they get in the way now
And old habits die hard.
Constantly worried
Hyper-listening
"Did I do something wrong?
Will I be yelled at?"
Probably not,
But that's what you're used to.
The hell of it is
That you feel more at home
In abusive companies
Than in ones that treat you well.
The more unpleasant the circumstances
The better your coping skills work.
You can set yourself up,
Thinking you heard what you didn't hear
Worried that the rug will be
Pulled out from under you
(But it always has been before)
Emotional paraplegic -
You haven't a leg to stand on.
copyright Wendy S. Delmater
by Wendy S. Delmater
You can't do a good job
When you are constantly panicked
Always looking over your shoulder
For the next shoe to drop,
Shoes were dropping
The whole time you grew up
Paranoid defenses were a necessity then
But they get in the way now
And old habits die hard.
Constantly worried
Hyper-listening
"Did I do something wrong?
Will I be yelled at?"
Probably not,
But that's what you're used to.
The hell of it is
That you feel more at home
In abusive companies
Than in ones that treat you well.
The more unpleasant the circumstances
The better your coping skills work.
You can set yourself up,
Thinking you heard what you didn't hear
Worried that the rug will be
Pulled out from under you
(But it always has been before)
Emotional paraplegic -
You haven't a leg to stand on.
copyright Wendy S. Delmater
Thief
by Wendy S. Delmater
You stole my smile, and
Left staggering darkness,
Then blamed me for it.
The Frankenstein Index
by Wendy S. Delmater
If you find
That you can't stand
Scary movies
Could it be because
Your life has already been
A nightmare?
And your capacity
To handle nightmares
Has been exceeded?
One way to gauge
Recovery
Might be
That the more you recover
From emotional injury
The more you can deal with your demons,
The more you can think of buying
A bag of popcorn
And sitting back
To enjoy a good scare.
Call it silly.
Call it the Frankenstein Index
It works for me.
copyright Wendy S. Delmater
by Wendy S. Delmater
You stole my smile, and
Left staggering darkness,
Then blamed me for it.
The Frankenstein Index
by Wendy S. Delmater
If you find
That you can't stand
Scary movies
Could it be because
Your life has already been
A nightmare?
And your capacity
To handle nightmares
Has been exceeded?
One way to gauge
Recovery
Might be
That the more you recover
From emotional injury
The more you can deal with your demons,
The more you can think of buying
A bag of popcorn
And sitting back
To enjoy a good scare.
Call it silly.
Call it the Frankenstein Index
It works for me.
copyright Wendy S. Delmater
Bon Voyage
by Wendy S. Delmater
The ship "Cruelty"
Leaves selfishness as its wake
And swamps your boat. Swim.
Crux
by Wendy S. Delmater
Save me your platitudes -
You don't understand.
If God does, I shudder.
Does that mean
That this is part
Of what Christ bore
On the cross?
Or does it mean
That when they say
Christ was tested and tried
In every way
That this was one of them?
Did he suffer abuse?
Was he raised in a dysfunctional home?
Was he hit?
Was he violated
Yet without sin?
It is not a sin
To be a victim.
But it does tend to give people a chance
To nail you.
copyright Wendy S. Delmater
by Wendy S. Delmater
The ship "Cruelty"
Leaves selfishness as its wake
And swamps your boat. Swim.
Crux
by Wendy S. Delmater
Save me your platitudes -
You don't understand.
If God does, I shudder.
Does that mean
That this is part
Of what Christ bore
On the cross?
Or does it mean
That when they say
Christ was tested and tried
In every way
That this was one of them?
Did he suffer abuse?
Was he raised in a dysfunctional home?
Was he hit?
Was he violated
Yet without sin?
It is not a sin
To be a victim.
But it does tend to give people a chance
To nail you.
copyright Wendy S. Delmater
painting by Malcolm Deeley
David Kopaska-Merkel lives where the gods of summer rule. He shares a house with two artists,
three other mammals, and countless vermin. By day he describes rocks and in odd moments writes
things like this. His works can be found at projectpulp.com, shocklines.com, and the genre mall.
The chapbook from which this poem was taken was published by Sam's Dot Publishing
(www.samsdotpublishing.com).
three other mammals, and countless vermin. By day he describes rocks and in odd moments writes
things like this. His works can be found at projectpulp.com, shocklines.com, and the genre mall.
The chapbook from which this poem was taken was published by Sam's Dot Publishing
(www.samsdotpublishing.com).
| ___________________________________________________________________________________________________ Wendy S. Delmater is the managing editor of Abyss and Apex Magazine of Speculative Fiction. Please visit their poetry online at : abyssandapex.com. __________________________________________________________________________________________________ Click here to visit the Community Action Stops Abuse Website Click here to visit the Gromagon Press Home Page |
| ____________________________________________________________________________________ We thank the contributors to this page, and ask that readers respect their copyrights. Please do not copy or distribute any poetry or artwork without permission. ____________________________________________________________________________________ |
Torn Walls Flapping
by David Kopaska-Merkel
Torn walls flapping
dust enters private place
as mountain winds wail
Snakes of sand wend sideways
cresting dunes like rollers
Empty bones reaching
A buried weapon glints
while the stones sleep
Hooves crush a brittle skull
riders wonder at ancient loss
The end
copyright David Kopaska-Merkel
by David Kopaska-Merkel
Torn walls flapping
dust enters private place
as mountain winds wail
Snakes of sand wend sideways
cresting dunes like rollers
Empty bones reaching
A buried weapon glints
while the stones sleep
Hooves crush a brittle skull
riders wonder at ancient loss
The end
copyright David Kopaska-Merkel
Flesh eating alien vampire sex on the moon
by David Kopaska-Merkel
The Shummle flight is uneventful
outside the window: the final frontier
inside he sees few prospects for fun
At Dubya station he eyes vertical
lunar beauties who make earthly
anorexics seem plump
She reels him to the bar from across the room
he smokes into a wind from the planet of dry ice
The usual lines dry up his tongue
swells and his eyes water
he can't remember how to open his wallet
She pays in coins that glister in iridescent colors
she pulls him into a room and his pants deliquesce
His blind spot swells till even her
breasts vanish but he smells her
with his skin and brain
she breaks the skin with horrifying appendages
she burns him sucks him like a crawfish eats his head
They never find him
not even the bones hell
they don't even find the room
copyright David Kopaska-Merkel
by David Kopaska-Merkel
The Shummle flight is uneventful
outside the window: the final frontier
inside he sees few prospects for fun
At Dubya station he eyes vertical
lunar beauties who make earthly
anorexics seem plump
She reels him to the bar from across the room
he smokes into a wind from the planet of dry ice
The usual lines dry up his tongue
swells and his eyes water
he can't remember how to open his wallet
She pays in coins that glister in iridescent colors
she pulls him into a room and his pants deliquesce
His blind spot swells till even her
breasts vanish but he smells her
with his skin and brain
she breaks the skin with horrifying appendages
she burns him sucks him like a crawfish eats his head
They never find him
not even the bones hell
they don't even find the room
copyright David Kopaska-Merkel