Audience Participation
The billionaire showman
of the carnival his father bought
forces us into a ring where we fight for scraps
and betray our friends for the chance
to survive another night in the land of horrors
The showman gives us piles of bones for bedding
We eat the tendons and scraps for breakfast
until the bone shards in our bellies
hemorrhage
slowly and surely
The affluent audience laughs
at the display of our desperation
because they don’t realize that they’ve become
part of the show
Wreck the Monoliths
Corporations eat a steady diet
of wage theft
and rise as monoliths
crushing homes and hopes in their wake
The stone slabs grow steel cables
Tentacles
meant to choke us into desperation
The monoliths tell us to be good little worker bees
and carry the weight of their excess
But when the prospect of spending a lifetime
ensnared
becomes too much to endure
a whisper drifts
through the stifling atmosphere
rolling into a thundering shout
until all of the bees
decide to do nothing
forcing stone walls to crumble into ash
and we all agree
to never build our prisons again
Image Description: a photograph of two large yellow sunflowers. A yellow and black butterfly sits on one of the sunflowers.
Life has been weird and uncertain lately. I’m fearful that the US will regress permanently and women and minorities have drastically reduced rights. It’s strange that my kids are growing up in a time where they already have fewer rights than I had as a teenager. I grew up in the 1990s, during the time where music festivals and ragged flannel shirts were plentiful. The rebellion against the status quo was rippling out from obscure punk bands and becoming prevalent in more mainstream music, across several genres. The trend of pushing boundaries rather than adhering to them was seen in the types of television, movies, books, and magazines gaining in popularity.
Books and music were an inspiration, a way to begin difficult conversations and gauge other people’s openness to the way our little part of the world was moving forward. I had always loved reading, and around the time I hit the high school, the library down the street from home expanded it’s offerings considerably. I found a plethora of books authored by women. In these stories, the female characters, whether they were heroines or side characters, were portrayed with actual depth rather than being shown as one-dimensional plot devices that propped up the male characters. I loved that these stories were written in a way where a woman’s curiosity and imperfections were not used as morality devices intended to instill fear and shut down questions. Sadly, the time has come again where books that pose such important questions are being frequently hidden from the people who seek answers.
There have always been book bans. Political leaders and ultra conservatives don’t want us questioning the laws and rules we’re expected to live under. They don’t want us to be able to find the right words to prove that they’re trying to create a society that benefits only them. Any version of history other than the sanitized, colonized words of writers who couldn’t begin to understand how much empathy they lacked, is being removed from the shelves and tossed in the proverbial fire, once again.
Some states now require parents to accompany their children, even kids old enough to drive and take SATs, through the library and authorize all books checked out. Imagine the information that will be lost, the staggering amount of opportunities for learning and progressing forward that will be crushed because information is being hidden with foolish fervor.
I miss the innocence of thinking progress and rights that had been fought for and won before and during my childhood would be guaranteed in perpetuity. I miss the security of thinking things would continuously improve for people who had often been denied opportunities in the past. While advancements in medicine and technology had been phenomenal, humanity’s capacity to lift each other up and care for one another does not seem to have evolved.
During the past thirty years, I have completed a master’s degree, raised two children, changed careers to become a writer, and dealt with various health issues that gave me a glimpse at my own mortality. In all that time, my country has become increasingly bigoted and intolerant, and those perpetrating such ignorance have been noticeably more empowered by political leaders to speak out and enact laws that openly discriminate.
Power hungry billionaires and CEOs want more wage serfs to serve their purposes. In time, it won’t just be poor people, people of color, or women whose lives and chances for prosperity become drastically limited. After a while, the billionaire class will come for everyone but their own, even the millionaires. The line of inequality will continue moving and if we don’t scream about things and disrupt the process now, there may be no way out of the path of becoming human ants who have no time to do anything except work brutal hours before falling into an exhausted sleep, yet still barely make enough to survive.
I don’t know what will happen in the next few years or decades, but I can’t just sigh and accept the inevitability of living in a sad, subservient future. I will continue to write stories and poetry that shows truths and possibilities, I will make phone calls and show up in protest lines, I will ask questions, and I will find as many ways as possible to resist.
Origins of a Ghost Story
Uranium invades harmony
Fish can’t out swim toxicity
Corporate goals achieved
Image description – photograph of a desolate dirt road beneath a foggy sky.
This is my first attempt at a lune poem (three words/five words/three words version). Origins of a Ghost Story was inspired by the ever-present problem of corporations and real estate developers overtaking a terrifying amount of natural land. The consequences are devastating to the environment but not to the corporate entities and shareholders who bring about the destruction. They have no reason or requirement to care about what they’ve done, so the damage continues. Ghost towns and over-priced, treeless suburban mega sites packed with chain restaurants and phone stores are often the result of these development projects.
The land doesn’t have a voice, so when I write fiction, I try to create characters who take care of nature and see it as a necessary part of life and soul, rather than a resource to be developed into oblivion. In my poetry, I often write about the harmony of humanity and nature, and the capacity for greed to disrupt what could be a peaceful coexistence.
Melting
Sun shines on the dance floor
melting away ice masks of
winter’s masquerade
Image description – The sun is shining on a partially frozen section of the James River. Sections of ice are thick in outer areas and broken and thin towards the middle.
I have to keep reminding myself that there’s always a light shining. Even when the sun sinks into the sky, the moon will still rise, and when clouds block her brilliance, there are still lighthouses on distant shores. And if we can hold out a little while longer, we’ll see the sparks of fireflies that risk their lives to light the night with the hope and truths that fuel our reason.
Simmer
In that uncertain space
where fear and hope
are still separate things
take a rest
take a breath
Let rage and indignity simmer
We’ll stir the pot
until our anger boils into a scream
that rises above
their manufactured misery
Image description – photograph is of the night sky. Clouds are on the left side, the moon is in the middle, and clear dark sky is on the right side of the photo. Barren branches rise from the bottom of the photo.
I don’t really have adequate words for the sadness and fear many of us feel about the orange mistake taking place today. I’m still in shock and trying to process how this could happen and what the fallout will be. Taking a moment to rest and gather strength is the kindest thing we can do for ourselves, but after we rest, we rise and we won’t relent until equality and decency prevail.
I’m thrilled to have three poems (Salt, Garden’s Revenge, and Transformation) in Querencia Press’ anthology, Unstable!
This anthology was inspired by a bunch of asshats on social media being jerks. In response to that behavior, the creative team at Querencia Press asked contributors to send in our most unhinged work, and out of that, they put together Unstable. Read with care.
Purchase links for Unstable:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/UNSTABLE-Emily-Perkovich-ebook/dp/B0DPLLGFS3
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/unstable-emily-perkovich/1146640020?ean=9798341839038
If you’d like to read more of my poems, find about my latest book release information, read excerpts, get book recommendations, and other fun stuff, you can find me at:
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Everything is Fine
Relentless misinformation
permeates the fabric of logic
Propaganda
gives insatiable corporations
an excuse to create
ants
that march through the prescribed routine
Punching time
Hoping for enough scraps
to tide them through
to the end of the line
but the liars redraw the line
and move the bodies
so they can pretend
everything is fine
Image description – a photo of a small tree that has fallen and become partially submerged in the muddy water of the James River. Surrounding shrubbery appears unkempt and somewhat unhealthy.
What inspired this poem?
The broken system of unchecked corporate greed and wage theft in the US was weighing heavily on my mind when I wrote this poem. In a country with relatively few protections for employees, there is no real incentive for business owners and corporate executives to pay their workers a living wage or ensure that employees aren’t overworked. One particular tool of misery currently being utilized to lower employee pay is the customer satisfaction survey.
Though the original intent of the surveys was (possibly) to make businesses aware of how to improve the quality of their service, that is rarely how the surveys are applied. The results of customer satisfaction surveys are tied to frontline employees’ bonuses. In many cases, their actual pay rate can be contingent on their survey ratings. What makes it difficult for employees to consistently achieve good scores is the fact that the questions employees are evaluated on are often out of their control, which gives employers a way to sneakily cut costs without having to expend much effort.
The problems customers complain about on the surveys won’t be fixed— more people won’t be hired, equipment won’t be updated, prices won’t go back down, quality of the product won’t be restored, not until the business is financially ready to make the investment. But since employees are usually the scapegoats for bad management decisions and corporate cost cutting strategies, employees impacted by negative surveys will be the ones who have to apologize to the customer, grovel for forgiveness, give free merchandise or discounted services, and beg for better ratings on the next survey.
Every time I see a customer satisfaction survey in my email inbox, I’m disgusted that politicians have allowed businesses and corporations to design a system that keeps employees constantly in fear of losing their jobs along with their health insurance. It’s time to fight back against the corporations that have refused to pay proper wages while forcing workers to sacrifice their physical and mental health.
There’s always a little bit of magic, even in the most ordinary things. In my flash fiction story, The Forests After Fire, a song, along with some help from the universe, brings two strangers together.
#shortstory #romantasy #romance #seasons #lovestory #flashfiction #healingafterheartbreak
The Forests After Fire
The weather was still warm enough for one last weekend at the ocean when Caletta’s world fell apart. Well, not her whole world, just enough of it to ruin her weekend getaway and take half the stuff in her house. He left a huge mess in his wake and Caletta was too tired to clean. She had to duck underneath all the questions that hung in the doorway. Numb habits— a gift from a universe that understood that healing isn’t instantaneous, like striking a match or pouring water over a fire.
Trees and people take time, and by the time the autopilot light burnt out and woke Caletta from her sleep-walking life-dance, the leaves had changed colors. The trash can full of microwave dinner containers was full and she found herself craving something cooked on the stove. She soaked chicken thighs in butter and seasoned them with parmesan, crushed red peppers, and oregano. Spicy and savory. How long had it been since she’d been able to cook with red pepper flakes? He had hated spicy foods. Dinner tasted so good she cried at the tragedy of eating it alone. Then she cried harder at how the pitiful sound echoed through her half empty house.
The memories and the emptiness burned. Her tears burned too, long into the night. By morning, her tears tasted like the ocean and she wrapped herself inside her blankets to shake off the cold. Things were fine while she took a shower and got dressed. Her playlist begged her to sing, not quietly like she used to, but at top volume, until the lyrics were an anthem. She was happy for a few minutes, but then, the walls made her mad.
Every room in the house was some shade of beige. He’d convinced her that the bland tone would go with everything. Then, he’d made sure everything went with the beige, no contrasts, no vivid splashes of brightness— including her. Somewhere along the way, she’d learned to keep everything on mute, including her thoughts and ideas, because only soft, gentle things got space and love, at least with him. No more. Time to paint the walls.
Caletta dug around the boxes in the back of her closet and found her purple jacket, frayed jeans, and multicolor Doc Martens. Dressed like the Caletta that had been forced into hibernation for stupid reasons, she went to Best Mart. On the way to the paint aisle, she spotted the clearance section for Halloween stuff. Damn, I missed my favorite holiday! She’d missed that time of year when the veil was weak and two different worlds walked together, for those who wished to see. After Halloween, the magic was softer, quieter. But the veil that she felt open every Halloween wasn’t the only veil, nor the only kind of magic that wound through what seemed like ordinary days.
She found a bracelet of tiny silver skulls that jingled and a necklace of red leaves and alternating white beads that gleamed like little snowflakes. The necklace didn’t seem to be in the right place. She checked the price tag. Definitely not on sale. She put the necklace in her basket along with the bracelet, anyway. As she walked down to the paint aisle, she heard a song she couldn’t place but found she couldn’t turn in the direction of the sound. She didn’t feel… ready to hear the whole song. She shook off the strange feeling and picked out paint colors that would make her house feel alive again.
Matteo heard a soulful song playing through static. He wished Best Mart would fix their speakers because the music was… he didn’t know what it was. He needed to hear more of the saxophone notes and the singer’s powerful voice, but the sound faded out completely. He went on about the chore of stocking up on groceries and finding everything on his list for repairing the damage she’d done to the house when she’d left. Ordinary chores and an ordinary day mixed with memories and pain, and questions he’d never have answers to, but that song stayed on his mind. Songs were for hope while the forests healed.
On a night so hot, his ancient air conditioner gasped and tapped out, Matteo dreamed of red leaves blowing in the wind, of snow falling, and soft bells jingling. He heard the song again and found himself on a path of oak trees, lit by fairy lights. Something purple caught his eye, just a flash, then gone before his dream-self could get a better glimpse. When he woke to a broken air conditioner, he opened his bedroom windows and memories slipped out. Fireflies ate the worst parts and lit them up inside their bellies, one last, bright, awful time, then flew off into the night.
That November, the red leaf wind blew quickly into the first snow. The Autumn Festival of Lights in Great Oaks, Virginia began at sunset and Matteo, though he was running late, still managed to snag a good parking spot. He texted his friends that he would meet them soon at the arena for the outdoor concert. Strings of colorful fairy lights lit up the trees at the entrance to the festival. The sound of something softly jingling caught his attention.
A woman in a purple coat crossed his path. Her brown hair and lovely green eyes stole his breath and his words. He could have sworn that he’d seen her before. Somewhere. But he couldn’t find the words to ask. In the distance, he heard the band introduce themselves and their first song began.
“That song!” she said. “I’ve been dreaming of that song for over a year but I couldn’t remember more than a few notes.”
Matteo nodded. “I’ve been hearing it, too.”
They found a seat together and listened to the band play. The snow fell on the concert and the universe wove her magic through the forest and trees, and into the two people who were ready to see.
I typically write paranormal romance novels with a ton of steam and suspense. Over the past couple of years, I have been writing poetry as well as dystopian, horror, and fantasy short stories. I am just beginning to get the hang of writing flash fiction. It’s been a challenge to condense an entire story into less than 1,500 words, but I feel like I’m starting to fall in love with writing flash fiction.
If you’d like to follow me on social media for my latest book information and excerpts, poems, contest info, book recommendations, and other fun stuff, you can follow me here on my blog. You can also find me at:
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Christina-Lynn-Lambert/e/B01MCYK0K7
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The Moon Screams the Truth
Spoiled
vines strangled the moon
She grew teeth and tore free from
rules meant to keep her
silent
Image description – a photograph of the night sky. The moon is visible and shining bright above several trees.
The initial shock and numbness of the previous day has worn off and now, I’m livid. Now, I’m gathering strength and screaming the truth. Many rules aren’t created to keep us safe, rather, they’re passed by those in privilege and power to keep people quiet. Their main objective is to shut questions down and make it too hard, too dangerous, too costly to object. My voice gets louder every year. My teeth get sharper.
We have to come together in anger and find ways to tear down the system that tries to silence us. We can stand and hold signs, write and call lawmakers and demand they give us an audience. We can run for office in record numbers. We can write about the truth, whether in fiction, Fahrenheit 451 style, or as journalists reporting the truths we see. We can continue teaching our children to be decent human beings and we can reach out to people who need a hand. We have to fill the time and space with our presence and with our voices. We have to be unrelenting.
Trick or Treat! ‘Tis the month to celebrate all things paranormal, supernatural, suspenseful and mystical. If you’re like me, you’ll want to accept this very special invitation to join the festivities at N. N. Light’s Book Heaven’s 6th annual Trick or Treat Book Bonanza. 24 authors share what they’d dress up as for Halloween as well as 33 books featured plus a chance to win a $100 Amazon gift card.
I’m thrilled to be a part of this event. My book, Coyote’s Vow, will be featured on October 31, 2024. Wait until you read what my Halloween costume would be. You won’t want to miss it. The Trick or Treat Book Bonanza runs from October 1 – 31, 2024
Bookmark this event and tell your friends:
https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com/trick-or-treat-book-bonanza
Image Description: a graphic of a spooky grey mansion surrounded by grave markers, pumpkins, and leafless trees. At the top of the graphic is written in white letters- A N. N. Light’s Book Heaven Trick or Treat Book Bonanza Pick. At the bottom of the graphic is an image of a smart phone with a book cover picture shown of my paranormal romance novel, Coyote’s Vow. The book cover image features a couple embracing in the forest at night. Below the book title is a coyote peering out of the trees.
Christina Lynn Lambert 