POETRY BY JOSEPH V. DANOSKI

Joseph V. Danoski is a writer of letters and essays on diverse subjects, with strong opinions on many topics. A poet of horror, science fiction, and fantasy; he has been published in journals and webzines both in America and abroad.

Various publications include Scavenger’s Newsletter, Pegasus, Red Owl, The Ultimate Unknown, Penny Dreadful, Pivot, Psychopoetica (UK), The Nocturnal Lyric, The Quest (India) The Aurorean, The Mentor & Masque Noir (Australia), Twilight Ending, Talvipaivanseisaus (Finland), The Romantics Quarterly, Hadrosaur Tales, Endemoniada, Northern Stars Magazine, The NeoVictorian/Cochlea, Frisson, Black Petals, Outer Darkness, Sanitarium Magazine, and The Horror Zine. Other activities include being a multi-instrumentalist, songwriting, and recording original music.

Joseph currently resides in Berlin, New Hampshire.

THE LAST TENANT IN A HOUSE OF TIME

I’m the last angry tenant in a house out of time;
Now I’m serving my sentence that’s befitting the crime.
The clock counts down the hours, the final curtain call;
My time and space collapsing the night before the fall.

I’m the last lonely tenant in a house out of time;
The only mouse still stirring that hasn’t earned a dime.
The pendulum descending, the writing’s on the wall;
Tomorrow this old building will meet the wrecking ball.

Like the last living earthling in a world out of time;
I’m the sad sole survivor, and dying in my prime.
Or like the fallen captain who goes down with his ship;
It’s time to face the music with a stiff upper lip.

I’m the lost squalid squatter; the walls are closing in.
The town turned off my water, and all is wearing thin.
Like the last ragged soldier, defender of my ground;
I wonder where and how now my body will be found.

I’m the last angry tenant in a house out of time;
Yes I’m serving my sentence that’s befitting the crime.
Bulldozers they are rolling, jackhammers in the street;
A cat jumped out the window and landed on his feet.

CEMETERY ROAD

I took a wrong turn down cemetery road,
To avoid a big truck with a heavy load.
A sharp turn of the wheel, I just made the curve;
The brakes starting to squeal, the car in a swerve.
Just avoided a crash, broken bones and glass;
A body on the asphalt, blood on the grass.
A crow out of nowhere suggested I slow;
Although it was summer, it started to snow.
I passed miles of stones on a road without end,
Through the land of the dead with no fork or bend.
Just miles of names and graves to my left and right,
All becoming a blur as day turned to night.
I recalled Frost’s poem about the miles to go,
And the legended tomb in the gloom by Poe.
That misty mid-region between time and place,
And Yeats’ wood of nothing and a lake of space.
Now the end of the road where the stones are blank;
How could I be driving with an empty tank?
I took a wrong turn down cemetery road,
To avoid a big truck with a heavy load.
There’s a vision in my headlights up ahead;
An iron gate filling me with unnamed dread.
Black crows in the shadows, oh the wings of Fate;
Saying, “We’ve been waiting,
As always, you’re late.”

LETTERS FROM THE EDGE

Time to reread these letters from the edge;
Or were they only whispers of the dead?
Revisit days too close to the ledge,
With all those lonely voices
In my head.

I was a stranger with stranger ways,
So far out, I was out of sight;
As crazy as the latest craze,
Coming to life in the dead of night.

Disappearing into the dark
For an afternoon in the park.

I was the most charming of charmers
When people played the games I’d say;
Or a soldier in my armor,
Standing so close yet so far away.

Alone in the magnet of Mars,
Upon my mountain in the stars.

In my station of elation,
Drinking in each chilling delight;
Senses tingling with sensations,
In the dawn beyond the dead of night.