Jason Constantine Ford

The October Selected Poet is Jason Constantine Ford

Please feel free to email Jason at: jasonconstantineford@gmail.com

Jason Ford


Denial walks from place to place
Without a sense of grave disgrace
From keeping lips which never talk.

The men renowned for hiding face
With veils denying any trace
Of what is real, begin to walk.

A book of lies is being carried
Upon the backs of men married
To form of creed which oscillates.

Shadows are passing through the street
With steps which now complete
The final stage of reaching gates.


I heard a story about a town overcome
By a foe who chose to enter into their ranks
As one who made their immune systems numb
Unto a fate that shattered them like splintered planks.
None of them could see this foe’s face nor the kind of sound
She made before she struck her prey with grief profound
from a bag of poison as it reached out across
Communities afflicted with so much loss.

Upon her entrance into a town, ignorance spread
As fog of blindness was becoming dense.
No eye could see the path on which she tread
Nor detect the designs of her pretence.
No one recognized the way she moved with ease
Unto breathes of passion breathing out disease.
Each mind was left without the skills to grasp
A danger reaching deeper than the sting of a wasp.

On the day she touched the ground, no one saw her walking
As lies regarding her were molding into a myth.
Each nose among deluded creatures was balking
A warning smelt concerning scent of death.
The ignorance of prey who could feel the heat
Of fruits which fell from trees and rotted in the street,
Endowed Cholera with confidence to take
Away the lives of prey brittle enough to break.

On the night of the first day, Cholera struck
With poison injected into people’s meals.
As people were dying from the knife of fatal luck,
Cholera walked effortlessly on high heels.
In each place where she walked, people were dying
As their doctors were desperately trying
To find a cure to a plague that was epidemic.
Cholera smiled as her presence was systemic.


Where is the Reaper sowing seed tonight?
Is he evolving swifter in the way of guile
As one concealed among the trees away from sight
Until his lust for blood becomes a rose fertile?
In all the places where the Reaper comes,
He waits within shadows until his prey succumbs
To fear about the way a life is prone to falter
When it sees its’ neck as helpless in a halter.
The crops he reaps are thrown into a bowl
Which mixes flesh and blood until they harden
Into compost unique which suits his garden,
A garden fit for Death’s embrace upon a soul.
Prey ensnared within the places where the Reaper sows
Cannot escape the fate of Death’s repeated blows.

Jason Constantine Ford is from Perth in Australia. He works as an employee at a book shop. He has over seventy publications of poetry and fiction in various poetry and literary magazines, ezines and journals from around the world such as the Criterion: an International Journal in English, The Muse: an International Journal of Poetry, Bewildering Stories, the Fowl Feathered Review and Poetry Magazine. The major influences on his style of poetry are William Blake, Edgar Alan Poe and Gerard Manley Hopkins. Jason’s main influences for short stories are Edgar Alan Poe and Phillip K. Dick.