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The Goddess of Woe

The Goddess of Woe

Observing them from behind the invisible veil,
Cackling over their sin and pain entwined souls,
Twisting their paths back toward the old roles,
Playing with their fate till the last doleful wail.

Following her as she stops by the ancient clock,
Whispering to her words of otherworldly bliss,
Preparing fateful circumstances of the last knock,
Annihilating hope of future with a baneful hiss.

Ripping soulmates asunder is my demonic play,
Giving and taking with insouciant and cruel whim,
Showing the mortals their lives are fragile clay,
Filling their hearts with pain throbbing to the brim.

Delighting in brokenness caused by fickle hearts,
Infusing hope only to shatter it anew with glee,
Trampling dreams of picking up the broken parts,
Wreaking havoc before to other amusements I flee.
Jana Vasilj-Begovic

Writing is a creative outlet for me. My regular job deals with military foreign language training and testing (Department of National Defence of Canada), a field in which I have publishe…

Shrewsbury Street






 

Shrewsbury Street 

 

I suppose all that I really want some days

is to walk into a corner market

with a lunch counter and a juke box

order an ice cold Coke

and listen to men talk about baseball

faulty starters and local politics

 

If you think I’m kidding I swear that I am

sincere as this is a kind of American zen

I can practice and not feel entirely phoney

 

Even though it’s a wish I probably picked up

from some novel or old film

and though I’m sure to be disappointed when

it isn’t as photogenic an experience as I mean

it to be, it still won’t matter

 

There's always the clatter

of coffee cups and faux porcelain plates

in an old diner

on Shrewsbury Street in Worcester, Mass

which I do remember

 

A diner with 6 booths

and hometown brewed Polar root beer

where you could order a plate

of Boston baked beans

a wedge of pie and refillable coffee

and the short order cook

who was a card

would let you stay late

talking about what a good man was

so long as he got a few words in

and you managed not to praise the Yankees.

 

 Jeremy Nathan Marks

  

Jeremy Nathan Marks is a poet, teacher and podcaster living in London, Ontario. His poetry has appeared in places like Lake, Muddy River Review, The Hopper, Morel Magazine, Nomadic Magazine, Jewish Literary Journal, The Blue Hour, Up The Staircase Quarterly, Eunoia Review, Word Fountain, Futures Trading Lit and Green Writers Press. He has poems appearing in I-70 Review, Chiron Review and All For One Journal later this summer.


 

Comments

  1. I very much enjoyed this and the sentiment of it..

    ReplyDelete
  2. Pamela A. CorbettAugust 8, 2017 at 7:58 AM

    I enjoyed this quite a bit. I can see it and imagine the ambience of such a place. I too would like to be a part of a scene as this, even though
    I am a Yankee fan.

    ReplyDelete

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