Monday, 28 December 2009


These are the silent times, the best of times
Where reflection is the handmaiden of realisation
To soak in the tallow glow of a candle flickering dimly
And find memories laid bare to analyse retrospectively
To hear the voices in the still nothingness
And observe the shapes eldritch formed which try to defile
This is the calm before the storm when all will come again
To seek to confuse the namelss scribe of introspection
Sounds from a distant melancholy invading cunningly
Seeking to make true on the harpies' seductive deception
But never to find their way into the protective stream
This is the moment of our benediction to higher powers
When we put pen to paper and let words flow like liquid cyanide
A curtain call to those who would but listen for its instruction
And a calling card for the dissolute, disaffected generation
So bask in these moments well my friends
For they will only come when least expected
And once we float away on the obsidian wings of angels
We shall find our truth, before all is lost in the maelstrom of consequence

Reg Davey

Country of Residence: UK

Hometown: Nottingham


Nancy Huang said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Nancy Huang said...

Dear Editor, just wondering if there's anywhere I could get a printed copy of the magazine pls? Thx!

And below's my information and contribution. I do hope you like my work!

Pen Name: Xi Nan
Hometown: China
Country of Residence: UK

Reborn: Wake up and farewell

Another sunny afternoon, near summer.
I woke up.

Do one last recall, and this is the real farewell.
Last summer, those unbridled loud cries and laughs ---
Floated away!
Quietly flowed through my body, as swept by a gust of tornado, ran towards the opposite direction and disappeared in waves.

Glossy leg fell asleep.
It will no longer wake up. I knew.
You hold my face under the moonlight. When tears become pearls, my reborn life is announced.

So screw those miniskirts!
Even wearing black nail polish, I have miraculously regained virginity.

Let me use the gentlest voice to talk to you.
If there is no tenderness, how can we survive?
You must take me with you.
I'll grow between your fingers.
When they clench, I obediently fall asleep.
When they open, I show the most coquettish erotic dance to you only.

And then, I will sit among crowds and listen to the stories of countless others.
I listen to stories.
I write stories.
I tell the stories to lots of irrelevant others.
It also gives me joy.

Apart from you, this is the second thing I feel happy for.
And this will do. I am very satisfied.

Another sunny afternoon, near summer. I woke up.

The soul in the flame died along with the evil body.
The reborn life stands in the ocean, with so much excitement.
Darling, let me show the most coquettish erotic dance to you only.

Richard James van der Draay said...

Dear Nancy,
Thank you for your wonderful poem which has now been published. In answer to your question: AHM is only published online; there is no print edition.

With kind regards,

R. van der Draay,