Firefly in The sky

Firefly in the nighttime sky,

Where did you come from?

Where are you going to?

I can only imagine the thoughts

That are passing through your mind

As I stand here watching you a-flying.

When I walk down my midnight trail,

I see your twinkle clear as a daytime bell.

As I walk along in my darkened way,

I’ve been told you’ll guide me to

My earthly grave.

Does your sparkle count the days

Remaining until the earth fades?

Are you tallying the sunrises of my future life,

From this very moment until my final hour of strife?

I see your sudden sparkle with each concluding sound

Of the Whip-poor-Will.

I’ve long heard it was Satan snapping his flail on some unfortunate soul

And having his thrill.

I ease along in the night gloom beside this old plantation ruin,

Your sudden outward movement warns of a potential undoing.

I saunter down the hill toward the creek,

Fish and fur I do seek.

I will collect enough to make it through the coming week.

Without you flying nearby I simply wouldn’t succeed

I believe.

I’m utterly fascinated by your style,

As I walk this wood trail by the mile,

I’ve been that way since I was a small child,

When I dig for hand sized shark teeth

in this creekbank seashell pile.

H.L. Dowless is a thirty five year writer who loves travel, exploring, and living life on the edge. 

How I Feel

I’m falling,

I’m tumbling,

I’m plunging

Headlong

Into this bottomless pit of dismal despair.

Don’t know what I’m going to do,

Have no idea where I’m going to go,

Nobody wants what I have to show;

I can no longer distinguish outright lies from hard truth.

I’m a drift,

I’m wandering,

I’m searching

For something solid to grab onto.

A floating fragment of wood,

A genie’s magic kite in the wind!

A bit of information that might be understood;

Oh when

Will this begrudging journey ever end?

A stone,

A bleached bone,

Both arms are wildly flailing!

I’m wailing,

There is not even a sour glimmer of a midnight moon!

I’m grabbing at nothing

Somewhere so deep inside this imperceptible gloom.

Ahead

The bitterly cold winds blow,

Behind

lakes of white hot flames

Leap and rage,

In between

The angry waters flow.

Where is my place on life’s stage?

So I stumble.

I stagger,

I bumble,

I pick along in a drunkard’s swagger.

Am I moving forward?

Might I be walking backward?

Could I be grooving in a circle?

I never intended for such to be so.

When I was young I imagined a place,

A glittering castle,

An envied employed space,

A life free of hassle;

But there was no foot landing to start,

No ladder to climb,

Nary an endearing heart,

No elevator to ride,

No warm guiding hand to grab.

So I floundered,

I wallowed,

My life raft transporting me to my ship crashed ashore!

I was shocked at how friends and everybody were so gelid

As I drifted off into a mysterious shapeless void.

H.L. Dowless is a thirty five year writer who loves travel, exploring, and living life on the edge.

Unfinished Exit

I keep thinking

about the time in high school

when you drew

me

a map of the city,

I still have it somewhere.

It was so easy

to get lost

in a place where all the trees

look the same.

And now

every time I see

a missing person's poster

stapled to a pole,

all I can think is

that could have been me.

Missing,

disappeared.

But there are no

posters for people

who just never came back

from vacation, from college,

from life.

You haven't killed yourself

because you'd have to commit to a

single exit.

What you wouldn't give to be your cousin Catherine,

who you watched

twice in one weekend get strangled nude

in a bathtub onstage

by the actor who once

filled your mouth with quarters at

your mother's funeral.

The curtains closed and opened again.

We applauded until

our hands were sore.

But you couldn't shake the image of

her lifeless body,

the way she hung there like a

marionette with cut strings.

And now every time you try to write a poem,

it feels like a

eulogy.

So even though you haven't

found the perfect ending yet,

you keep writing.

For Catherine, for yourself, for all the lost

souls

who never got their own

missing person's poster.

Because as long as there are words on a page,

there is still hope for an unfinished exit

to find its proper

ending.

Claudia Wysocky, a Polish writer and poet based in New York, is known for her diverse literary creations, including fiction and poetry. Her poems, such as "Stargazing Love" and "Heaven and Hell," reflect her ability to capture the beauty of life through rich descriptions. Besides poetry, she authored "All Up in Smoke," published by "Anxiety Press." With over five years of writing experience, Claudia's work has been featured in local newspapers, magazines, and even literary journals like WordCityLit and Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Her writing is powered by her belief in art's potential to inspire positive change. Claudia also shares her personal journey and love for writing on her own blog, and she expresses her literary talent as an immigrant raised in post-communism Poland.