Still on the Road

John W. Leyes/Darkness of His Dreams

Darkness of His Dreams

Driving down the poison highway
Through the nightmares of my youth:
Saccharine poetry, suicidal thoughts;
Disastrous experiments with vermouth.

Sterilizing self-inflicted wounds
With tequila, scotch and beer.
Bathed in sticky sweat,
Self-loathing, and fear.

Decades down a dusty highway
Through the terrors of middle-age:
Thinning hair; graying beard
Covering the still smoldering rage.

Calming the demons of the mind
With a single chilled glass of mead,
Wounds healed; scars run deep,
And occasionally still bleed.

Seeking release from suffering
In Athens; under an old fig tree.
A chance to finally flourish,
Living life in true equanimity.


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Along the Way-Eugenia, Guest Barista


Life’s an ongoing masquerade of emotion

Shuttered ideas foster inner commotion

The same old song shouts out confusion

Spell check the soul for a resolution

“Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens.”― Khalil Gibran
 Eugenia blogs at ThusNSuch and BrewNSpew She invites you to have a cuppa at the Tuesday Chatter Cafe.


Americas bread

Beth Tremaglio

beth tremaglio

“Soundness has left her soil.”
Americas bread..
Thousands stand on Americas land




without a god

she is left to herself.
America has cast herself unjustly upon

unknown waters

has sold her own for profit,

her children’s future land





upon their backs a weight of stone

they will chip away at,

belts around their waists pulled tighter with each swing.
Americas bread has now

returned to her diseased

poisonous waters flood

the streets


she is at war with herself


the wheat and tares

grasp for power,

drowning in her own lusts

for a new world built off of old systems

soundness has left her soil.

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Glitter Ghosts

Glitter Ghosts

There is no shame in undressing

But I can’t help feeling

If the trees had teeth they’d be gritted

Down to the gums

As the cold licks them clean.

I’ve been thinking a lot about hurricanes

People and possessions and cars

Torn away on unknown currents

Houses buckling and spilling their contents. Exorcisms

Everything gone with one sweep of tide

pollution spat into a swirl of Godawful senselessness.

How our losses end up in landfills or tangles of wheezing gulls and turtles.

Our impermanence fossilised in plastic

Junk that we’ve buried in the frenzy of squirrels

Knowing the winter will starve us

Knowing as we wait on the roofs of our lot,

No one has sent the boats or helicopters for us.

And wood, wood knows how to rot,

Even rock doesn’t know how to let the tide

Scape it so smooth.

If we could lose our bones like beachwood

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My Indecent Spell

indecent spell

It is in

blackened chambers

I cast a spell

on you

only  you

my spell

one of darkness


delicious, decadent desire

that will lick up

every decent

thought you had

and bury them

in folds of my devil

where pulses

milk your fuel

and guttural screams

fill me

more than once




Intoxication- Aurora Phoenix, Guest Barista

my eyes

launch celestial rockets

from limpid labyrinthine pools

spark interest

blur your vision

my murmurs

Calliope elegiac symphonies

sway limbs rhythmic

tilt you off-kilter

my touch

feathered fingertip graze

flutters kaleidoscope of butterflies

incites your insides

to inebriated riot

my kiss

spiced violet blackberry

lingers on your tongue

leggy blushes

beyond the pale

in vino vertigo

savoring languorous sips

my skin

subsumes your senses


Aurora Phoenix blogs at Insights from “Inside”

For Vincent van Gogh-John W. Leys, Guest Barista


Life is suffering,
Every day a struggle,
Tormented from within and without
Compulsed to share visions
No one else can see,
To paint portraits of a turbulent world
Through the lens of a turbulent mind
On a luminescent night in Provence
Shimmering Venus and Ares framed
By the Asylum window,
An ecstatic celebration of life,
Ever moving; never resting,
Using pigments of agony, anguish and madness,
Transmuting lead into gold,
Depression into sunflowers,
Tragedy into beauty,
Brief breath of life into immortality.

3/30/17 (Vincent’s 164th Birthday)


John W. Leys blogs at Darkness of His Dreams


  • Self-Portrait with Straw Hat (Paris, Winter 1887/88) by Vincent van Gogh
  • The Starry Night (Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, 1889) by Vincent van Gogh