The Purpose

The Purpose


This month has been a whirlwind of activity. Postings on Just Another Paranormal Monday, Guests to feature, Creatures to feature – we showcased Death, in case you missed it. I’ve also been trying – really, really trying – to accomplish my own works in process, as well as listing a month full of Dark Poetry over at JAPM. Thankfully, however it is not only the darkness that moves a writer / a poet.

As the seasons change I look around me and see life bursting in vivid, glorious colors. Spring rains spawn their destructive forces with one hand while the other thrusts buds from the earth, each one gasping for a morsel of the great Mother’s life giving sustenance.

Each breath we take is filled with the possibilities of new beginnings, and new hopes – despite the darkness that swirls in the ominous skies above; skies that growl and thunder. Skies that articulate their grand entrances and exits with a roar.

These are the roads we walk, we writers. The things we consider. While the world around us, with its hoary, wild, rapturous myths and beliefs step off the edge of the pages into some sort of calculated decline. It is almost a predilection prophesized by philosophers, psychics and hopefuls – each one searching for meaning and purpose in history’s past. Seeking possibilities in the casting of the stones and the direction of the bones. It is here that we listen with intent and purpose while the wind whispers the story we all long to hear.


• Vernon Wellman - Once I Read A Book



I signaled for another drink

The keep, he nodded yeah

And filled my glass up to the brink

Then twisted lime with care.

I found the place was fully packed

With faces that I knew.

But I just sipped and gulped and snacked

To bid the day adieu.

She took the stool adjacent me

Ingesting gratis beer.

Ignoring her, like she did me --

For contact I did fear.

Her wrinkles aped a dressy skirt

Where pleats and folds abound.

She just wore a tattered shirt

With jeans that dragged the ground.

Her hair was colored bottled red.

She swallowed beer and burped.

Discarding chair, I thought me shed

But then she loudly chirped.

“Dere’s fairies labeled Twinkerbell

And queens dat married Popes.

Columbus came from Ireland.

Hell no, I ain’t no dope.

And Jesus was a Mason sure.

I tink that’s what I learnt.

While Nero fashioned fishing lures

So Rome, he let get burnt.”

I grinned -- well kind of leered.

What could I really do?

Then waved to have my chaser beer --

She said, “Hey, make dat two!“

I nodded sure so came the brews.

Her thanks was short and sweet,

But quiet ceased again, anew

As on and on she’d speak.

“Dere’s spacemen in da ’lantic

Dat’s why dose ships get lost.

Da Queen’s all nuts and frantic

Just watch her eyes go crossed.

And Washington, he was a girl.

He wore some wig -- for true.“

Her glass she raised and gave a swirl.

“So what’s da matter you?“

I paused awaiting insight

From God who dwelled above,

And lo these Words I heard all right --

Just give ol’ Truth the shove.

I smiled and smiled then praised her brains

Less tricky than her looks.

She proudly beamed as she exclaimed,

“Yeah once I read a book.“