Samples from Poetry Zine #3

Disturbing Hate Poems
[a collection of erotic verse and love letters]

© Love Beth Drew with illustrations by John Schultz

Poetry Zine #3 Cover
Cover Image


Once upon a time
there was a man.

He lived by the ocean
alone with the trees and the rocks and the
glass-sharp sand on the beach.
He would lay in the sun
and his sweat would collect
in crevices and corners
and lobes and shadows.

And at the end of the day
TwilightIllustrations by John Schultz
He would bottle his sweat
in bottles he pressed
between the rocks on the shore
from the sand on the beach
and hung them to shine
in the branches of the trees
by single strands of his pretty hair.

The winds would caress him
and sing him lullabies
and turn the bottles into chimes
making music
random noise
to soothe away the pressures
of his day to day to day

And he slept.

Often the man sat on his rock
perched by the sea
watching the waves dance
in sublime freedom
and abandon.

His sweat was sweet
like roses and sugar
and it began to pool in
tidepools along his body

Once he picked the sandburrs
from his animal companions
that came to visit from time to time
and pressed them into his flesh.

And when the time came
to refine his essence,
he added the sharp, stinging
memory of the pain
to his day
and hung them in his bottles
colored blue and green
and frosted with salt
from his ocean
and frosted with salt
from his sea.

And the music they made
as they chipped and fell
made his ears bleed
as he lay in his cave
caressed by the twilight winds
that blew in
through the cracks
that time had made.

And he hummed along
to their song
Deaf to the world
and he closed his eyes
blind from the sunshine
reflecting off the water
and he laughed a deep laugh
and he fondled himself
as he huddled himself
into embryo balls
of dementia.

And he slept.

And he knew that
tomorrow would be another day.

Illustrations by John Schultz
Two poems to my interior male self, written on New Moon night, when Mars was the closest it will ever be in my lifetime:


His lips of smoothly crafted
polymer. Glinting ever so
slightly in madness. Dull,
lackluster upturned laugh
lines. A flicker of white
enamel. Dark veil, shabby.
Soft, thin, yet illusionally
luxurious. Long, sad features
hint of deep deceits not
yet fathomed. Freckles.
Sun spots. We are merely
seeing the afterburn from so
many light years away.
It’s burnt away. He stands
alone not proud on the
edge looking down. Today,
grey eyes. So moist they
are dry. A backwards
hand gesture wipes away
all loneliness. Pucker
up for the final kiss.
I want to know all
your dirty little
secrets. I want to know
all the lies you tell
yourself. I want to
crawl inside your head
and set up shop and
a twin bunk bed. I
want to drink the
overflowing blood from
your cavernous mouth
and suck the tastebuds
from your yardstick of
tongue. You’re un-
believable beyond words.
You make up for your
shortness of stature with
your length of desire.
Drop your voice another
octave and pretend.
It’s purely physical.

Completely hypothetical.
Deeply irrational.
Almost obtainable.
I read it in your article.
Your the wor(l)d.Illustrations by John Schultz


Sit for your portrait My
dear one my loved one.
Sit and enjoy
motion of motionless
movement -- just breathing.
Just sigh.
Sit for your portrait and tense
muscles relaxing. Fade, and erase,
and focus on me, as
I see you.
Perching on a stool, borrowed from a
cavernous studio --
windows and white
walls and wood
floors galore. Perched
yet not caged oh my
loved one my longed
for one. Waiting for
completion so you can fly
Sip this tea that I
offer freely. Let it
warm you from inside
out through bloodways
and byways synapses
and causeways. Let
the warmth steam
rise and mingle with
rain outside fog cause
I brush your lips to
the canvas. Sensual
slowly. Rubbed raw.
Soft murmured words only
confused ignored only
deep trolley noise only
stop moving -- stay still
stand tall.
Brush your hair with
a paintbrush. Tangle
ochre with vines.
Entwine longing with
hatred. Enemies
retorted, drunk wine.
Faded grey t-shirt.
Worn Boots. Placid
smile. Sit for your
Portrait my dark
one my deep one.
Sit drink
dream remember.
My dear one. My
loved one. My longed
for, long ago forgotten
Sigh movement fog
Breath settled.
My good one. My
bad one. Myself and
then some one.
Scrape canvas
length die.

Illustrations by John Schultz

you deserve the truth
you deserve honesty and
the pleasure too.
you deserve your dreams in reality.
it seems.
all the words the meaningful glorious words
were already taken yet I
go on
it's a dance
one step
two step
take my hand, spin
twist dip spin
twist dip 'round
the prize a surprise
hidden, wrapped
in gauze and taffeta, linen and wire
to make a pretty picture for awhile
ripped on hot coil shame
it's in the beautiful
and it could be so
but it had a stunted growth
but you feed its fire.
lightning storms and salty sprays of rain.
the floor is checked in white and black
and villains dance toe to toe
with respect and pushing
with strength vast wide
from the vast, wide
samson denied.
mercury's in retrograde
and it's a game
dance two three
you deserve more than me
as a man could be.
there is no more
than an empty echoIllustrations by John Schultz
of an excuse here.
i am the responsibility
of masses of unused claims.
explain me this
wise sir of youth
inhabited by hostile
forces locked inside
this dance
this hug
this kiss long time
from one point
mirror room reflected
dance hall elongated
melancholy suffocated
it will break and
and the wrapper
of a former self
will flutter to
the floor
caught not
on wings
that grow
from support
and love
endless and boundless in
deep pools of earthy rich
soil colored
and here,
i see with eyes the
color they will be
a crack in the floor
through which we can escape.

Set In Motion, Obsession

Judged by the lack of self-involvement. It has been decreed. Music. Dancing, happiness--by order. Slither in the exotic snake. Into her chamber, the coolness marks the event. By eveningtide the creature will know no fear of dark crevices and entries.

The kiss of the wind off the water leaves its mark on heatworn skin. Slither in, slither in.

Darkness falls none too soon. Behind closed eyelids mark the final breath of the night. Expeller depressed, leaking the fluids of her last transformation. Beautiful, meaningless salmon flowers open under hallucinations of vast, wide, opened spaces. A trail set to follow. Wet and dry, sunbleached and pale. The snake has her permission to retire in the chamber entire. Her mind somewhereelseplaced?

Moan into the respected quiet of a workweek night. Cry bleeding internal loss of womb salt spray. Hush the voices of the already dead. Vacate the dreams of the sultry landscapes. There can be someone else there, not who. Ah, her obsession. Less it would be a summer without the nightshades of a darker night.

Could it really happen like this? Follow the decree. Music silent. Dancing quiet. Happiness concealed in dreams--by order.

Snap all senses fully awake. She’s learning to do it for herself. Oh, to be so involved and oh so aware. Set the date for the re-trial.

Illustrations by John Schultz
And Yet Another One To Take Its Place

Pierce me with your angel wings
Always black and bloodied
From hiding what you
Think most vulnerable
And Leave
And Leave
And Leave
This new idea
Could be a reverberating
Dead refrain
Of the same model
Make and Size
Fits all
You Dark Haired
Starry Eyed
Of a
And altogether
Solemnly laughing