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  November/December 2012
volume 9 number 2
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  featured poets
  David Cravens
  Ivan Jenson
  Walter Ruhlmann
  Maryann Russo
  John Saunders
  David Scriven
  Apryl Skies
  Julia Stein
  mailing list
Apryl Skies December 2012



photo by james barros

    Apryl Skies, an LA native, shares a birthday with Anaïs Nin, W.H. Auden and the emotive Nina Simone. She is an award-winning author of A Song Beneath Silence and Skye the Troll & Other Fairy Tales for Children. The latter, Skye the Troll, has been adapted to clay animation winning the 2010 Gold Pixie award by the American Pixel Academy.
    Skies is founder and editor of Edgar & Lenore's Publishing House of Sherman Oaks and with several titles hitting the number one best-sellers list for Amazon, she is currently building solid momentum in the publishing industry.   




Like infinite stars
she was certain
I rolled from heaven,
orchids in my hair

Like infinite stars of divine
pause and refrain
she cried at my feet
begging deliverance

It was I in the
positive 45 degree angle of light,
her a negative backshadow
in the hollow door way

Empty of karma, or Jesus or the cross
fingers crossed like promises,
in the rearview
an El Paso church massacre.

A curved chrome reflection reveals
a former ghost, a guise,
a phantom rich with vicious vendetta;
taste for fresh blood

Dont look behind you.
Never look back.

copyright 2012 Apryl Skies



Black Birds

What is real within dream...

The vision, the scent,
the taste of dreamscape's apple
crisp with sin's tart intent?

Or be it soft feathers or angels singing
their voice one golden thread
be it an intuitive lock
the key a poets tongue?

Where is the wing when not a bird
the song when not a sparrow?

Why do we cry in sentences?
Our sorrow hungry s(words)
piercing the silence like black birds
crying into darkness
if only to be h(ear)d

(previously published in Edgar Allen Poet)

copyright 2012 Apryl Skies



All the Things I Don't Remember

The expression in the mirror
this morning reminds of bleak seasons,
a cold February spent sitting
on the door
waiting by the mailbox,
listening for the telephone on my birthday
How could you forget,
our dates 2 days apart?

Was looking at my face
pale and somber
too heavy a reminder
of your failures?

Will I spend the rest of my life
filling the void, trying to replace
the sentiments and loss,
trying to understand,
if you couldnt love me,
how would any other man?

How shall I?

Am I only the burden of your seed?
I was told I have your eyes,
shall I rip them from the sockets?
I share your same skin tone,
shall I surrender it to the leathersmith
under a cold blade of shame?
Our hair bears the same auburn hue,
shall I singe it at the altar of my regrets?

I have become accustomed
to raw disappointment,
to the wrenching of tears under a smile
the disguises you wear,
your leaving

Shall I resolve at a loss,
take to heart your discouragement
and toss aside all hope?

No longer will I send coins spinning
down the well of dream,
no longer shall I be defined by blood
or kindred, nor the coiled helix
that damns me.

No longer will the cycle of destruction
burn my depths to cinders,
branding my skin with
tragedy or statistic,
no longer will my eyes bleed
at the sight of your framed repose

I see your features
in the faces of my sisters,
in the mirror,
in memories wrought
with distance and disdain
Your contrition a sunken chest
upon the ocean floor,
a shrine of oaths broken,
an endless October skyline by the bay.

But I have since buried the past
in the yard like a lifeless kitten.
Because I dont remember
playing in the mud as a child,
under the old pine tree,
my hands wet with dark clay

I dont remember climbing high
into the plum trees papery limbs
with strong Santa Anas
whipping through my hair

I dont remember canning jam
with grandma, making quilts
or learning to ride my two-wheeler,
I dont remember the day
I sang on stage at church
in my velvet dress and curls
or bouncing my way to Sunday school
in the old rusty bus.

I dont remember my graduation, Halloween
or Christmas, or my birthday, or yours
I dont remember any of it

I was too busy trying to remember ...
trying to remember you.

copyright 2012 Apryl Skies