Tuesday, March 31, 2020: National Women's Month: Alicia Winski's two poems "Our Little Secret" and "Flame Thrower"

our little secret

As our eyes met in understanding,

my co-conspirator tells me she’ll be making rounds

for the better part of an hour and closes the door

leaving me to gather a courage I’m not sure I own.

Dear God, I’m so afraid,

can I, should I

do this?

But God’s not here, is he?

and there are really no choices to be made,

there’s only one way out

and I clutch it tightly in shaking hands.

The pungent scent of ammonia wafts

through the air as the cap is twisted off a small vial.

The illicit bottle emptied, minutes (or is it hours?)

pass before I see it coming: lungs stalling, stuttering, striving for air,

while limbs twitch and quiver.

Rheumy eyes scan the room,

finding and fixing on my own.

Thank you, they say,

thank you for keeping your promise.

His cheeks are wet from tears

I don’t know if they are his or mine.

I love you

I tell him

as death announces itself with a rattle.

His body shudders and stills with a sigh,

at rest at last.

From behind me, I hear

he heard you, look

he’s smiling –

And so he was.

Leaning forward, I kiss the top of his head,

slipping our little secret into my pocket,

then leave the room, walking down the hall

to where She waits.

Always the innocent bystander.

© 2020 Alicia Winski

Flame Thrower

An enraged lioness stripped of her pride

I’m left licking and assessing wounds we’ve inflicted timelessly--

no idea how our journey together led us to this destination

I am bled out, dying by heart undernourished-

atrophied in struggle and starvation

So much time wasted, too many tears fallen

faith faded in a mire of hurt feelings and miscommunication

Everything we had slipped away thru bonds

breached by anger and misunderstanding

Putting yourself out of reach, into solitary confinement

you locked me out of a cell I would gladly have shared

if only you hadn’t swallowed the key

So, inflamed, with little thought

I aimed and took my best shot

A commando intent on unleashing devastation,

throwing flames guaranteed to annihilate on site

a man standing against a woman armed and dangerous

Over and over, my flame thrower smoking you

for every harsh word thrown my way only to be met

by a wall of by a wall of passive resistance—

an indomitable force passively absorbing my firepower

leaving us both burnt out -

two countries unable to come to terms

Perhaps we deserved every burn we got

maybe we simply set the fire too hot burning us

both up in the fires of our good intentions

It no longer really matters--

the war’s been fought and lost – pipe dreams scattered

lying cold upon the ground

Victims of emotional warfare

Rev 2020

(previously published in Running On Fumes, Edgar & Lenore’s Publishing House, 2009)

© 2020 Alicia Winski

Bio: Alicia Winski, poet and writer of short stories, was born and raised in Southern California. Having spent many of her formative years on or near the beaches of Venice, Playa del Rey, and Malibu, her writing style, both contemplative and personal, is reflective of the affinity she developed for water, music, and color during those years. Along with her first collection of poetry, Running on Fumes (Edgar & Lenore’s Publishing), her writing has appeared in publications like … and it happened under cover (NightWing Publications), From the Four-Chambered Heart: A Tribute to Anais Nin (Sybaritic Press), Rolling Thunder Press, Cliterature, Requiem Magazine, Neon Highway Poetry Magazine, and Marbella Marbella Adelante! Having spent the last several years in Seattle, WA, as publisher of NightWing Publications, Winski currently lives in Los Angeles, CA, and continues to work on her second, and third poetry collections.

Women's History Month: Alicia Winksi's "Shipwrecked"

There’s a shipwreck over yonder,

tethered to the pilings by thin strands frayed

by tensions and pressure, a miserable sight to behold

I once knew that ship

A small, proud lady she was, lovely to watch

gliding over glass oceans, so sleek and fine,

delicately crafted to ride soft swells

But the sea is a fickle bitch, brutal to a vessel too weak,

too poorly constructed to withstand the force of tumultuous waters

Blind to dark skies, deaf to gale wind warnings clamoring around her,

she sailed directly into the path of storms she might have

steered clear of, if only she could have looked ahead

A ruin, now,

she’s damned near unrecognizable

She was found washed up and broken, fragile hull splintered

against the headland, her beautiful masquerade washed away

as debris descending into murky depths, lost forever to sand and silt

It was thought perhaps she could be salvaged, many tried--

until the deep rot of her core was bared to light, exposed,

no longer hidden behind pretty bells and whistles

Twisted and warped, dark secrets outed, she lists unclaimed 

against the pier she’s knotted to, discarded, irreparable, unsalvageable

I once thought I knew that ship,

but I never really knew her at all


(c) 2019 Alicia Winski

Alicia Winski, ​poet and a writer of short stories, was born and raised in

Southern California.Having spent many of her formative years on or

near the beaches of Venice, Playa del Rey and Malibu, her writing style,

both contemplative and personal, is reflective of the affinity she

developed for water, music and color during those years. Along with

her first collection of poetry, Running On Fumes, (Edgar & Lenore’s

Publishing) her writing has appeared in publications such as ...and it

happened under cover (NightWing Publications), From the

Four-Chambered Heart: A Tribute to Anais Nin (Sybaritic Press),

Rolling Thunder Press, Cliterature, Requiem Magazine, Neon

Highway Poetry Magazine and Marbella Marbella Adelante! Having

spent the last several years in Seattle as Editor of NightWing

Publications, Winski now resides in Los Angeles, and continues

work on her second and third collections.

National Women's Month: Carly Bryson's poem "Sides"

Sides My friends have all taken sides collective vs collective I sit with my nose pressed to the dirty glass Watching as they roam the streets Striking each other with well worn slurs Then crying into the social media equiv. Of a boob tube with test pattern eyes Lamenting about the unfairness of it all While I sort of want them all to understand What it really means to suffer

© 2017 Carly Bryson

Carly Bryson lives in Houston, Texas and writes poetry and prose about cracked dirt, the desert, lonesome highways, dirty rotten wars,nasty city air, pending dystopia and the frailty of the human condition.

National Women's Month: Alicia Winski's poem "untitled"

memory is vile and intrusive

I watched him get out of the car

something about the way he was moving…

for a moment, I loved him

until he stopped moving

we went inside

and I let him make love to me anyway

sometimes I feel suffocated

tucked under a New York deep freeze with you

choked out on ashes and frozen leaves of grass

but every once in a while

I like to get out and remember

what it feels like to breathe

© 2017 Alicia Winski

Bio: Editor for NightWing Publications and 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,  including Twizted Tungz, Jan 2013, Vol 4 Marbella Marbella Adelante!, (Spain) Dec 2012, The Shwilby.com, Twizted Tungz, Vol. 3, Neon Highway Poetry Magazine, Issue 23, Requiem Magazine, Edition 6, The Right Eyed Deer, 5th Edition, Edgar Allan Poet, Real Change.org, Cliterature Journal, Rolling  Thunder Press, Ygdrasil, A Journal Of The Poetic Arts, RezFez and Poetic Diversity. Her first poetry collection, "Running On Fumes", was published in early 2010, with a second collection entitled "Dreaming In Color",  and a third collection, "of dreams & mortality", set for release sometime in 2017.