ISSN 1551-8086
return to home search for a contributing writer

seach for poems by title

archive of previous issues submissions information mailing list online store links to other interesting sites contact us  
  November 2013
volume 10 number 2
-table of contents-
 
  home   (archived)
 
  featured poets
  Rose Mary Boehm
  Merrill Cole
  t. joseph dunn
  Alex Johnson
  John MacKenna
  Robbi Nester
  David Scriven
  John W Sexton
  G. Murray Thomas
  toren wallace
  Alicia Winski
 
  home
  poets
  poems
  archive
  submissions
  mailing list
  store
  links
  contact
 
Alicia Winski November 2013
   

 

bio


art by jeni bate

    Author Alicia Winski, of Seattle, was born and raised in Southern CA.  Having lived many of her formative years in several beach areas such as Venice, Playa del Rey and Malibu, California, she developed an early affinity for water and often incorporates that affinity, along with her love of music and color, into much of her writing.  Her work has been featured in numerous publications, and her first poetry collection, Running On Fumes was published in early 2010, with a second and third collection, titled respectively, of dreams & mortality and Naughty Girls Dream In Color,  set for release sometime in 2015.
    Cutting her teeth publishing at a small press located in southern California, Winski broke away in 2013, creating her own press, NightWing Publications. To date, NightWing Publications has published the amazing anthology, ...and it happened under cover, and Dancing On Broken Glass, by Barbara H. Moore. With a full plate on the horizon, NightWing has created a separate publishing entity, "fledgling, ink", with expectations of keeping both companies busy for the next two years. In her own work, Alicia Winski brings a fiercely honest approach to poetry in a uniquely strong and feminine voice.

   

 

Awakenings

A quickening;
an awakening of the senses
flash-fire quick sparked as
emotional antennae rise high.
Heart flutters rapidly as her interest
is drawn by this unexpected
interloper stepping
silently into her
solitude.

A confident hand reaches out;
a hesitant exchange, then another,
and another ...

Cautious as a doe in a new-found glen,
she steps forward wondering,
Is this a warm heart?

Or will she be shot down
and slaughtered
by a direct hit?

Sun-bronzed silk dances
wildly in tune with a faint
sea-scented breeze.

Impatiently prancing, unable to remain still,
she lifts green-eyed curiosity
up to the sky,
wondering,

Just what
lies over the hill?

Putting aside
her reservation,
she chasses to her destination,
anxious, eager, hesitating when he sees her
weighted under her burden of loss,
silently questioning,
do I take them
with me?

Or is it time to let go?

Bitter, bittersweet memories
fall down to the ground around her--
Letting them go regretfully as she would
a handful of petals to be laid upon a casket,
she turns away.

Tears staining a face
lined with grief, she asks herself,

Just where
do I go from here?

copyright 2013 Alicia Winski

   

 

This ain??t Cheers, baby, but everybody knows your name

*dedicated to this social network*

a nest of furies torching anonymous faces postage stamp small,
engulfed by torrid words blazing their good name, a hotbed of
slander where you can fuck em and leave em in an afternoon
saloon where aging lounge lizards loiter, networked in the dark,
carving rejection and perfidy from the heart of disinterest,
cold steel slicing, reptile quick licks over delicious wounds inflicted

on those they once called friend

An arctic techno world, where gossip is good
(as long as its not about you!),
character is consigned to cartoons gracing time, innuendo
morphs into implication, hell hath no fury like a man scorned,
and women will shank you in the back

with a burning blade of betrayal

A crowded venue housing the envious loudly lauding success
in sing-song insincerity
(Glory Be! Hallelujah!)

while damning it to hell in a single breath

Its Happy Hour all day, all night, a locale overflowing poisons
penned over the fallen; nothing is real, everything is real
and the nefarious mingle with the sublime beneath the heads
of stiffs hung on the walls of carnage; where everything
and anything goes, where everybody thinks they know your name

but really, know nothing at all

copyright 2013 Alicia Winski

   

 

Who's Your Daddy

come ere little child
lets see what ya got
you know what it is.
Oh, I like it a lot

Come give me some sugar,
just a little bit of love.
Ill give you somethin special,
though it might be a bit rough

But, I know you wont mind
and I know you wont tell,
I know you know better,
yeah, I know you real well

I know where you live
and I know where you sleep
I know where you play
and the secrets you keep

See, I am called Daddy
and youll call me yours,
I fill you with fears
you flood me with tears...

Now, some call it pain,
but I call it love
and our lil secret
aint no business of

the ones you call caring
the ones you call friend
Ive told you that
over and over again

So just you believe that,
now gimme a kiss,
then you lay yourself down
while I give you this

(previously published in Edgar Allen Poet 2013)

copyright 2013 Alicia Winski