Where I am right now the heat is a relentless vengeful force, soaking into me before the sun even rises. Where today’s guest author is, winter has arrived and the bite in the air is nibbling at noses and toeses. Today is our last poem in the series by Benjamin Blake. So turn on your radios friends and listen to the messages seeping through the airwaves.

To Inspire You:

(Artwork was created by me, Jeanette Andromeda, in black ink on watercolor paper).

Shortwave Transmissions from Tomorrow

The signal comes
Weak at first
But rapidly growing in strength
From this attic room
Of an old house
In the Pacific Northwest

A garbled voice of sorts
Intermittently punctuated
By presidential speeches
Snippets of science fiction shows
From the early ‘50s
And other assorted half-lost broadcasts

A futile attempt at a response
Little lights blink on and off on the dial
And out the small, round window
The stars seem to glimmer in time

Suddenly everything dies
The desk lamp, the radio, the quiet hum of the ceiling fan
On the wooded hillside
The brightest glow is growing
Pervading the surrounding pines
And trailing toward the skies

He rushes down the pulldown stairs
Through the quiet house
And out into the night

Returning three days later
With a misplaced sense of time
And strange markings
Upon the upper inner thigh

Written by Benjamin Blake

Created by You:

Last week we all went for a spin at the Vortex Club. Here are the tales that made it out:

Cocoon the next form
Wrapped in silk, butterfly
Filling up the skin#horrorhaikuesday pic.twitter.com/IKMqvnDHXw

— SelkieMade (@selkiemade) June 26, 2018

Creative curtains
Even stilled hearts yearn for love
Deviated course

For #horrorhaikuesday https://t.co/YU83aw5snr

— Kerry E.B. Black (@BlackKerryblick) June 26, 2018

For #horrorhaikuesday

Stitched smiles, simpered sighs
She clings to an illusion
Death imitates life https://t.co/kdRuUw6sfU

— Kerry E.B. Black (@BlackKerryblick) June 26, 2018

#HorrorHaikuesday
Two spirits, both draped;
One in flesh and one in silk,
And both in regrets. pic.twitter.com/saNEJPWOYh

— David Tully (@CynicalEyebrow) June 26, 2018

Oh dark necromance,
Living soul woos shrouded corpse,
Life’s dance with itself.#horrorhaikuesday #amwritting #haiku #poetry pic.twitter.com/Bzl8RiImPP

— J.P. Knight (@JPKnight001) June 26, 2018

Graveyard dalliance
to tango with the corpses
before your dinner #HorrorHaikuesdaypic.twitter.com/MCCygFhN1b

— A. F. Stewart (@scribe77) June 26, 2018

Pack for the picnic.
All the dainty comestibles
wrapped for convenience.#HorrorHaikuesday pic.twitter.com/W5llwolPAq

— Chris Fischer (@SurlyByDefault) June 26, 2018

About Today’s Poet:

Benjamin Blake was born in the July of 1985, and grew up in the small town of Eltham, New Zealand. He is the author of the novel, The Devil’s Children, and the poetry and prose collections Southpaw Nights, and Standing on the Threshold of Madness, as well as the forthcoming split All the Feral Dogs of Los Angeles. Find more of his writing (and photography) at www.benjaminblake.com.

Praise for Standing on the Threshold of Madness and Benjamin Blake 

“I was most impressed with Standing on the Threshold of Madness. These dark, brooding vignettes do far more than send a shudder up one’s spine (although they do that again and again, with elegance and panache). Benjamin Blake has found a way to infuse into his horrific lyrics a keen sensitivity to human emotions, an understanding of the fragility of life, and a bleak portrayal of the evanescence of all existence. This is a volume that aficionados of weird poetry will want to read over and over.”–S. T. Joshi

“Benjamin Blake relishes funereal lyricism with a spice of surrealism.” – Ramsey Campbell

“Language and imagery rule in this collection of dark visions. Blake has a distinctive voice, rich in surrealism, and he uses it to considerable effect.” – Bruce Boston, SFPA Grandmaster Poet

“A plethora of dark and haunting poems that could be likened to a bone chilling symphony overall!  Mood enhancing language that will curdle the blood, and excellent, original imagery!” – Marge Simon, Bram Stoker Award winning poet