The second letter of the series addressed to the anonymous beloved of Stephen J. Dawson Jr's Ms B.
My homage to Mark Twain upon reading Letters From The Earth. I wrote a letter myself addressed to a select few concerning my time living amongst Mankind.
Indignantly, Feeling certain dignity. Breath and tone, Blood and bone. Complete oblivion, At times I beg for you But often I shun you Effortlessly. Window-shattering sounds Cluttering the mind and Confusing the Body. Ever so sweet, But Cowering, From the Synchronous sourness. Once a hungry ghost, Now just a mood-swing Within winter, Hiding. From everyone I... Continue Reading →
Think poetry is a fluffy, giant pageant? That's the plebeian idea. It's cutthroat. Want to choke down your prey before you become its prey? Try this. Stephen Dawson's personal rules for writing poetry. Don't like rules? Feel free to break them.
Let not the excess of lusts and comforts mislead you as they have the sheep of this hellscape, miasma, painted in this poem.
Leah Cappelli is a poet and psychonaut from Staten Island, New York. Leah works as a counselor for people with mental health and substance abuse issues and has experience on both ends of the therapy room. Leah has experienced the trials and tribulations of hypo-manic and depressive mood-swings, panic attacks, and dissociation. Her passion lies at the crux of all forms of social justice, mental health advocacy, and writing as a form of therapy. She has been previously published in Open Minds Quarterly, various blogs, and is in the final phases of launching her first chapbook, Radiate and Resonate, in the coming months.
The Man Who Swallowed Himself by Stephen J. Dawson Jr. These are an old man's last dying words, Lined in absurdity of voices he's heard, "To my unnotice, my heart beats so still With a filling, if absent, still much harrowed will." But unknowing the touch of a woman in bed, Or of nature, of... Continue Reading →
I wanted to repost this poem with audio to exemplify a prose poem that still conveys the style of verse and pays mind to rhythm. Listen closely. Upon Reading Byron's Darkness by Stephen J. Dawson Jr. The snake lie in wait shan't grant you his rattle. The predator wise shan't babel but rather flood venom... Continue Reading →
Dog Years by Stephen J. Dawson Jr. Collect just the spoils of that which you've earned As you endlessly toil through days Where a lifeless authority strengthens his word Whose victories soil your name You paddle on through and carry the blunder The bend in your spine is revealing Your stomach fills empty and... Continue Reading →