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 the US 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. Dojonaki05@gmail.com

CHASING DESOLATION

I’m always chasing desolation,
Hiking trails of unbroken snow;
Seeking new heights of isolation,
Leaving it all behind, below.

Checking my compass for direction,
And getting closer to my goal;
To reach below-zero perfection,
The northern pole within my soul.

Leaving cabin fever confinement,
Far away from society;
Finding solitary refinement,
The winter world inside of me.

Welcome to my annihilation,
I always knew the day would come;
This icy fever and elation,
Warm embrace of oblivion.

I’m always chasing devastation,
But it finally caught up with me;
Facing this final desolation,
Or some small immortality.

CREATURE OF HABIT

Now it’s midnight at the crossroads
And the moon is always full.
Like a creature of the shadows,
You yield unto its pull.

You’re a creature of your habits
And a monster on the move.
You were bitten by a madness
That keeps you in the groove.

You have blackouts in the moonlight,
And you have your hell to pay;
When you’re freeze-dried
In the frost-white
Another midnight
Day.

You’ve a monkey on your shoulder
That’s as horny as a bull;
And a werewolf in the closet
That’s dyed into the wool.

It’s the living night of phantoms
And the howling of the hounds.
You’re the creature of your habits
And prowling dangerous grounds.

THE DAY THAT MARY WENT AWAY

I asked her nicely not to leave,
But she made like a tree and left;
Leaving me all alone to grieve,
Forever feeling so bereft.

Yet, she is always ever near,
With the memories I hold so dear.

She whispers in the autumn leaves,
In a voice only I can hear;
Or in the winds beneath the eaves,
Sometimes I’ll even shed a tear.

I hope she’s in a better place,
She disappeared without a trace.

I revisit her when skies are gray,
To relive that merry month of May;
The happy day she came to stay,
Before she had to go away.

Leaving me standing there in grief,
A tree that lost its one-last leaf.

She didn’t realize what it meant,
Just thought I had a need to vent.
I never told them where she went,
And now the flowers wear her scent.

Each night
She comes to haunt my dreams,
Enjoying all my shrieks and screams.