On set

Quarantine and Chill ,a powerful script written by Jane Dillon that has translated into a dramatic surge of a short film , shooting is complete Shaun Daly worked the camera with style despite lighting issues that we overcame , Jane is directing herself , Queen Banerbie plays her antagonist , as production assistant I became immersed this is the second time on set for me , the first was Matopulas as a first time actor working behind the scenes has enriched my knowledge especially towards screenwriting my awareness of pages becoming literal has altered some of my screenwriting perceptions, it was a great week made new friends Sian Woods who worked sound and camera and Amanda Borg the make up artist who is amazing . Once done through editing by Christopher Buckenham we will be revealing to the world and every festival we can but until then I will keep you posted

http://www.amandaborgmakeupartist.com

http://www.sianwoods.wixsite.com

My wife Karen Lawrence , Spikey Mouse Photography did the behind the scenes stills for advertising and marketing etc, she is an amazing and talented person and should look at her work on:-

http://www.karen-lawrence.pixels.com

An Owlet Calls

hospital sounds occurred as

limp wires stretched to where she lay

quiet

body traumatised by the crash

she would scar , she would heal

away without him

her abuser,possessor , nightmare husband

a moth glimmered in her eye

how did it get in

then seemed to grow

expanding into something larger

she managed a smile

as it settled upon her

she sighed

it’s body pressing on top

a noctuidae

face bearded wise

antenna folded, she wanted to touch

trying to speak intubated

a gargling slur of nothing

I will protect you

it seemed to say

a fair exchange would be

probiscus probing pressing

her vein rich neck

flowing with oxygenated life

it pierced her flesh gently

a soft penetration

unlike others experienced

she would be safe

the owlet moth said so

quiet

she slept

Owlet moth copyright Daniel Kaliko

#PWpoetryprompt

Corona Flare

fables of pandemic unfold

more monsters than gods

take to visual stage

casting blame stones

impaled on their own arrogance

desperate to be seen

as the one

not concerned with people

fleshy pulp of the continent

oozing red into their eyes and hearts

more pledges of gold

in coffers in pockets

skin slaves toil

frontline fodder

without health armistice

broken promises

soiled memories

of what was and still

could of been

when it’s over

people will rise

staves and torches

battering the ivory towers

hoping this time

it will change

Blast

cumulonimbus squall

of a headache

tore me out of delirium

to blister pack paracetamol

choked almost

that raw pharmaceutical taste

mug of tea

apple spiced

wishing the phone

would cease

exhausted now

as silence fell

I took to being asleep

with tainted tongue

and abstract thoughts

it’s so much nicer / immutable / technique / my former lives

Rob Plath an amazing poet with such a distinctive voice , I love him

Boned

by Rob Plath

image1.jpeg Art by Rob Plath

it’s so much nicer

it’s so much
nicer hanging
out w/ the dead
than the living
tongueless jaws
are better
vacant rib cages
are better
empty skulls
are better
horizontal frames
beneath layers
are better

immutable

the skull laughs
when you try
to stifle it
its jaws happily
chattering
b/c it has no
tongue
to cut out

technique

i keep skinning
myself daily
& when that fucker
death knocks
it’ll just be sickle
meeting goddam bone
the final poem

my former lives

i’ve never believed
in past lives
but thinking today
i’ve come to the conclusion
that i probably lived many
& i’m only in touch
w/ all those bones
of my former lives
a long line of skeletons
murmuring in my cells

Rob Plath is a 48-year-old poet from New York. He has published 21 books so far. . He is most…

View original post 29 more words

Thanksgiving by Scott Wannberg

A poem by the brilliant and missed Scott Wannberg

Rusty Truck

 Thanksgiving

I give thanks to your eyes
and how they see through artifice and lies.

I give thanks to your heart, how it pumps
vital information that will save us both in the end.

I give thanks to your voice, go ahead, sing one
so everyone can feel the necessity to dance.

I give thanks to your brain, how it finagles
and sorts the incoming news.

I give thanks to your legs for they take you
places not yet apprehended or appreciated.

I give thanks to your energy
for it has allowed you to overcome your pain.

I give thanks to how the light lands on you.

I give thanks to our ability to dream.

I dreamed that I said thank you,
and you heard me.

Come, join the attempted soiree.

The dancing light is on.

Scott Wannberg
11/26/05

Listening to Steve Goodman

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Issa Lopez -Tigers are not Afraid of the Dark

Issa Lopez delivers a film , now streaming on Shudder that will in parts crawl inside or just be absorbed , a young cast who are accomplished , honest and natural Estrella played by Paola Lara makes you feel each strand of loss and abandon , and El Shine she meets who is so succinctly played by Juan Ramon Lopez each and every cast member gives something , so much so that there time on film is not wasted.

When it comes to production I don’t think you could ask for more, Juan Jose Saravia handles the cinematography in a way that like in a documentary you live it fully, underpinned by Vince Popes score that steers , aligns but but never overwhelm.

This truly is 10/10 film and I look forward to what Issa does next

Fields Ploughed

I look at my penis

skin collar

lychee tip

then piss

a long straw stream

you are not a memory

you are a gift

finger folds

and soften furze

we know we belong

but until when

the scythe decides

Chris Lawrence

Whistle Me Away

when apes discover genocide

I wonder how long I will linger

on the verdant green and blue

insulated by my own sickness

that brackish bile

of human contempt

apes will sing not our mythology

but one of burnt forests

and dried out lakes

human carcasses so vile

carrion crows refuse

to dine without the thought

of consequence

and I will lie down

human leaf litter

becoming fertiliser of the new

season a generation

or era where the truth of nature

will win

Chris Lawrence

Mystery Apex

Concussed by mornings

sharpened light

grasping cotton silence

each breath was tentative

alone

without the other

that shadow fragment

of a once upon a night

recalling synaptic responses

she knew

he had departed

but to who

or where

tears where of no consequence

why shed them

fuck memories

and fuck those

who fucked them