Wow
MAGAZINE WORDS OF WRITERS
V O L U M E
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F E B R U A R Y
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TABLE OF 12
19 ARTISTIC SPOTLIGHT: SOPHIE PENFOLD
A LOVE STORY
36
22
11 FREAK SHOW
01 03 04 05 06 09
Dark Fulcrum Masquarade Ball Book Review: Tay Reem Humanity Almost Touching Bloody Cecily
10 13 14 15 16 17
Undressed Innocence/ Daemons Societ's Atonment Bright light on the Right Path Polaroids Elysian Tales Some Call it Escape
CONTENTS 18
37
PROFILE: JACOB MARLEY
22 20
POETS ISLAND
20 23 23 28 29 30 39
Words are Cheap Caught in a Web Invisable Wounds/Desire Timeout L.R Sterling Poetry in Dark Death's Whisper
07 24 25 26 31 32 36 43
AUTHOR SHOUTOUT
Invisable Wounds/ Desire Who am I? / An Eerie Kiss Roses for my Valentine / Golden Dice Self Publishing Until We Meet Again All That We're Editor's Table
ARTISTIC
DARK
WOW MAGAZINE PRESENTS Dark Fulcrum, the cover artist for February's editon, is 53 years old and lives in England, who's artwork is non-professional but purely a hobby. The artists unique signiture style of creatively is instantanly recognizable, in a blend of what the artist describes as 'dark, creepy and a little cute.' WOW Magazine was privilged to have an interview with Dark Fulcrum
What inspires your creativity?
Inspiration comes from my warped imagination mainly Influenced by books,H.P Lovecraft, Poe, etc. Films -I'm a big Star Wars fan.
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FEATURE
FULCRUM
Who are your favourite artists? Ralph McQuarrie, H.R Giger, Turner and Da Vinci.
When did you start sketching/painting? I've been sketching and painting since I was very young, around 5yrs old.
What mediums/tools do you use? I paint with acrylics on canvas. Sketch with cheap pen (biros).
What advice and words of wisdom would you convey to other artists? To other artists... Never compare your work to others. Enjoy the process and don't over challenge yourself. Learn to appreciate your own talent and what you create.
A Short Story Written By: Visalakshi Siva
A glass of red wine, twinkling eyes, A blue tiara on her head, Delicate hands with painted nails, Elegantly , she walked past me. Curious, I followed her, Through the dungeons of the palace, as she went from room to room. Then from under her ballgown, She pulled out a set of keys, Opened the lock quietly and slipped in, out she came, holding the crown jewel. "Thief", I yelled as she came closer, and put her forehead to mine. Her lavender perfume, pearl earrings, captivated was I with her beauty. "Shh", she whispered, "don't scream". "I am sorry, I can't betray the queen" I said; she reached behind her ears, and delicately pulled out a needle pushing it into my neck. She wore a smile like a loaded gun, while her eyes sparkled of thievery. At the masquerade ball, I found her and lost her, Never to find her or the crown jewels again.
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Book “TALES OF WOE” BY TAY REEM Of Family, Self, and Hope
Reem’s debut book on poetry and prose, “Tales of Woe,” seeks to explore and implore readers to unshackle from ties that bind leading to our own demise. Unfortunately, these ties are often root of childhood trauma and renders us vulnerable to wounds that fester into adulthood. The book begins with a narrative of a young mother, who upon giving birth to her child, is faced with the stark realization that she is alone and unable to care for her baby. Added to such dire straits is her obsession and her desperate attempts to gain the love of a man who refuses to acknowledge his role as the father , leads her to commit an unthinkable act. “Mother’s Day” serves as a paragon to a world of poetry and prose that captivates readers to a tumultuous journey that explores the dysfunctional dynamic between child and mother, child and father, and most importantly, self. All of which lead to the intersection where vengeance and healing meet. “To be or not to be, that is the question.” One must unclasp the chains of allegiance and loyalty to the past that hold one captive to a way of being that does not pave the way towards self actualization and happiness. The book ends with a poem titled, “The Sun’s In My Pocket,” wherein Reem declares, “We can have it all / Heightened convictions within our souls / Coy smiles and sweet oranges / Naked rears and warm sand / I want it all.” Surely, after a journey of breaking to mending, through various narratives within each section, we, too, feel compelled and exhilarated at the idea of “want(ing) it all.” “Tales of Woe” is a celebration of healing while we detach from ideas and norms that seek to dictate what happiness ought to look like in the eyes of society. A MUST READ! Available on kindle and on paperback. Link to her book also found in her bio. Follow her on Instagram @iamtayreem
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Review By Fatima Misa
Once Upon a Time on the mountain of I don’t know where a Union Desire… Foundations of colored hands joined painted as brides holding Humanity: the mountain too hight to climb. Disjoint unity for too much weight of sacrifices they no longer have sensitivity no feelings in touch peak sprinkled with hope hidden in dead end. Disbelief has turned value into an erupting volcano… swalowing hands in the magmatic Hell of confusing separation. If brides hands knew that renunciation is a diamond on the top of the mountain of such hardness they would have carved shining beauty.
H U MA N I T Y ROSANNA MARCUCCILI Author/ Editor/Poet/Animation
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ALMOST TOUCHING WORDS BY CLEOPATRA FERNHILL
Enchanting alchemy of moonlight secrets float among the stardust this ebony night, influencing moon’s metallic eyes, and his silver, moon heart. Energies are exhumed by loving, generous hands of destiny as a weary, spent cocoon is cast aside ever so gently, served its purpose, houses darkness no longer. A new winged beauty emerges, drinks in lush memories of his silver light, exhales shimmering, silver flecks of constellations. From the shadows he sang secret lullabies to the lonely corners of her heart, as she dreamed only his touch. Mysteries of moonbeam rhapsodies meant only for them are revealed. Everything remains. I’m not a memory. We’re almost touching.
Frightened no longer of the darkness, free at last, wings formed in the heart of the universe, take flight. Moon’s longings awakened now in each breath, embodied in a silken vessel of gossamer. Delicate, ebony wings whisper midnight, garden secrets, wish to flutter closer to the glowing, silver orb. Her longings multiplied by her echoing question, “Am I just a dream you dreamed?” Everything remains. I’m not a memory. We’re almost touching. Magic of moonlight beguiles her no longer, invites her out into the effervescent light, as secrets anchored deep within her heart are revealed.
Silver moon sighs, responds, “You are my dream come true. Tonight the stars gathered in the deep, violet sky, we’re delirious together, falling in love with you, the stars and I.” Wind’s gentle caress, moonlight bliss tracing delicate wings of forgetfulness. Winds twirl, arabesque joyfully lift her, black beauty, moon’s desire, his effervescent wings of delight. Beauty of stillness, these silent reveries of theirs, his loving gaze penetrating the vast overflowing ebony. Him finding her, Euphoria. ©cleopatrafernhill1
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WRITTEN BY: INK MISTRESS After an on and off relationship with writing poetry, I began to pour out ink consistently since September 2020. The pandemic that has been the harsh reality for many, leading them to the art of weaving words to be heard. This has been an amazing journey as I have met many kindhearted writers on Instagram writing community, and we synced so well, sharing the same variations of energy to lift each other up. I choose to stay anonymous, so that I can express freely without having to think twice as I mostly write what I feel and what I am passionate about. During this venture I met another writer (@thoughts_all_night) that decided to do a collaboration with me and we started our own community for writers and poets which is called “poets_island”. And these writers and poets are referred to as “Islanders.”
We sailed united on a virtual boat that drifted us to white sandy beaches where we scribbled by the sea shore with sea shells and built sand castles with words that clipped our feathers together. Every Islander, unique in their own genres of expressing, We support and work together on weekly prompts and sharing ideas through interactions and collaborations. We show little pieces of our world to one another and paint the gloomy skies with hues of vibrant creatively. The aftermath of a sunset that left us all speaking the universal language of “Kindness” pushing, away all the negativity of the brutal truth we live in today. It is a space to vent, rant and walk in unity to grow together. Poets Island is a land where heat dares you to come closer and let the light smear across every horizon.
BLOODY CECILY
A lady named Cecily roams the streets, her hands stained with mud, fingers caked with dirt, her fragile figure wrapped in bloodied sheets, her voice breaks in quiet sobs filled with hurt. Sweet Cecily was a beautiful maiden. She was the youngest out of seven, bestowed with hair as black as a raven, and a voice as tempting as a Siren's. She lived somewhere in the outskirts of town, visited the village to sell her mother's pies. She walked timidly with her head bowed down, for she didn't like the stares of some curious eyes, but a lady as beautiful as she, cannot be unnoticed by men, you see, so one night while passing a dark alley, she vanished with her cries of agony. Poor Cecily was never seen once more. Now she haunts the silent streets at night, her deadly beauty luring men to her door, as she kisses them a frightful goodnight.
Written by: © R.F. | @theclockworkwriter WOW MAG | PAGE 9
U N D R E S S E D I N N O C E N C E
Your mouth is like a sea of dishonesty Spewing vile chitchat Dispossessed emotions Secrets and lies... The bed you lie on is covered with mendacity A pillow bomb blasted with fibs A duvet filled with the hush-hush of others Your eyes are a universe of their own Deep secrets embedded to mimic stars Your intentions, impressions and insecurities Are asteroids that clash with pure conscience Deceit drapes your shoulder Your body - dressed with threaded lies Shoes with cleats that hinder secrets You are an image of of Beelzubub that Wears pride... And a mask of innocence... Lindokuhle Mathenjwa
D A E M O N S
There's a nest of daemons in my throat They wriggle and writhe With every disgruntled note Up they fight to fly, so lithe! To nestle in new homes Unleashed, rancid and black Drawing red from their souls Exposing this egomaniac Who's left combing through the coals While this new evil roams I could, force them inside Where they fester in my heart Indulging on all love I provide Yet what lessons do they impart? I haven't found the tomes So tell me, wizened foe Where do I let them float? With my bloody hope below Or shall I just rip out my throat? And build upon my bones
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Image and poem by: Zach Birch
FREAK SHOW Written by: Ruby Jane
The Ringmistress welcomes you to the sideshow of fright, Who will be lucky enough to star in the freak show tonight? Hold very still, so the blades can be thrown JUST right... Will elephant man use his ears and take flight? Witness a force of nature when a lion and a man unite, And a scribe who likes to use blood to write... Watch as she swallows that sword... an impressive sight, She has such a sharp tongue, don't put up a fight. There is a rope bunny with a web, she ties nice and tight, Then the savage cannibals come out for a delicious bite. Beware the mermaid with a hypnotic voice, she's a socialite, A two headed witch... sounds like an adventurous night. She casts spells, for long lost lovers to reunite, And she keeps men in cages making them perform to excite, When they misbehave she feeds them fire on site . She is such a tease... and what she does out of spite... A puppeteer, pulling their strings forcing their plight. When you leave don't get lost in the moonlight And whatever you do, do NOT a take that third right. Thank you for coming, to the spectacle of torturous delight, Sweet dreams for all , and demon kisses goodnight!
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ENCAPSULATE A LOVE STORY OF A STAR-CROSSED YING AND YANG By Jaimeboey
Part¹ Disjointed in puzzles these nasty scars Hurts that never leave seeks for console Between space and time as the clock ticks Heartaches sucks out at the hands of fate His fingers played broken chords Onto her tender harp strings Yet she tunes something ethereal In her zeal for him to heal Devotion inked in ebony Of the love once bloomed fragrantly Onto passionate ivory Something ethereal to infinity Notes laid nakedly in words Kept In her closet of clouds Lived on as wilted petals To the one she yearns to burst
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Part² Valentine's Tale of Oneirataxia An ode to longing for my dark Valentine I whisper come to me your messed up heart We dance the limelight of forbidden love The day we met, that one day we'll be clouds I plead that you've ate out my heart If you would take a forever gone past I would crumble at the edge of despair Hold me tight until the end and beyond We dance hiraeth the promised neverland Pledge my love immortal into your keeping Oneirataxia endless love we're seeking.
Society’s Atonement
BY
SARFRAZ
Mistook evil culture for His holy ordinance. Charged so by a guilty conscience, And His stand against intolerance. They atone for decades of sins. Folded hands begging forgiveness. They regret discriminating against love, And it’s humble kindness. They beg pardon for spreading hate in His name.
Guilty eyes scream louder than lips mute,
Heads bowed in shame,
Moist cheeks speak several volumes.
They apologize for killing, citing His sake.
Pulsing hearts become serial offenders.
As the day of repentance arrived,
They kneel before their respective creators.
Society swallowed pride,
For in the name of religion,
Bowed down to the language of paradise.
They had become cruel dictators,
For even He forgives those, Who respect the power of love, And it’s selfless sacrifice.
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Bright Light on the Right Path
A short story
A place where sun shows up every morning, alarming the world to wake up. That’s the Law of nature, right? Even if the sun isn’t visible one morning, we know it is there, watching us from the dawn to dusk, even after dusk from some other part of the world. Why does the sun see this hell every day, roaming in the sky. why does he show the light to every ominous human.
While walking on the footpath, a sudden monotonous and disembodied sound came to me saying “Love”, the same voice earlier but more soft and pleasant. I moved my head around fizzling from the suddenness, no presence of living just silence was there, I stood up and ran in a gallop, the voice came again louder this time saying “Its Love my child”,
“Love” someone said in the crowd, Love? How can a bright shining fire ball love the hell on this earth?
I stumbled again, thumping my butt to the hard stone of road. I was scared yet wanted to know what it exactly meant. Moving my head towards the bright shine, I saw the sun smiling, it wasn’t visible but I felt he was smiling.
No voice replied to the question, I started moving on the path leading home.
I moved my head downwards and saw a blonde haired old man standing in front of me, “To clear some lies and unfold the secrets I am here to tell you why its love” said the old man It was the same voice. More pleasant and soft, his smile welcomed my trust to his will. “It’s love that bounds the universe, and there” he pointed his finger towards the sun saying “There that shining beauty is glowing everyday glows because of love” continued the old man. “Wait” I said interrupting the old man “How can sun love the hell on this earth?” I asked the same question. “He loves you the way you are even if its harsh, he admires the moon as hope in the darkness, so why can’t he pour his bright light on the right path.” said the old man, his eyes started to shine, I felt safe and my heart pumped slowly. “I understood, its Love” said I, smiling genuinely after a long time. I again moved my head towards the sun and said “its Love, the rest is all a lie”. The old man was not there, he was gone. I wasn’t shocked instead I felt at peace.
By: Garvit Chawla
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SOMETIMES, I WISH I COULD KEEP MEMORIES AS
BY CORVINA ZENNETH
Sometimes, I wish I could keep memories as polaroids, Smiling faces and teary eyes, all too much for a brain to hold, Overwhelming sentiments and chilling nights, Warmth of a summer breeze and tug of a pretty storm Silence as faces stare with laughing eyes, hearts and souls warm with booze, The beautiful blaze of the little fireplace at the cabin we spent last winter in, Mugs and bowls scattered around the university dorm, And the little fountain by the lake which made no sense Sometimes, I wish I could keep memories as polaroids, Vintage glam all stored up in a big jar at the entrance of my mind, I wish I could keep memories as polaroids, So I could share myself, without a word. WOW MAG | PAGE 15
I I I I
am afraid, of the shadows made. am scared, I will loose all cared.
And here I stand With none to lend me hand. I desire someone to understand And save me from sinking in sand. I am afraid, from the memories I will fade. I am scared, from world I will be blurred. They reappeared, the shadows Besides me, that none knows. No matter how well I shut my windows Still the pain shows. I am afraid, My fears will come true I am scared, You will see through.
IN LOVE WITH INSECURE ME WRITTEN BY ELYSIAN TALES In a terrible cyclone, I am stuck all alone. With none to hear me scream in muffled tone, None to hear me groan. WOW MAG | PAGE 16
The imperfect me, I never want you to see. All I thee Is that cozen me Tricks, making me the perfect she. I hate my insecurity For it ruins my purity Still it resides in me From the world unseen.
SOME CALL IT ESCAPE Written by Melissa Anderson
i closed my eyes and allowed my mind to take me anywhere but there some call it escape but i know it was preservation as i held on to the tiniest glimmer of hope stardust eyelashes and a persimmon nose cherry blossom lips and a raspberry tongue licorice fingers traced the hem of my royal blue velvet gown as if it were a string of freshwater pearls and just for a moment i wasn't where i was and i wasn't ill my body was whole and my mind still preservation and survival for warriors and dreamers stubborn optimists and believers
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PROFILE
JACOB MARLEY Human Extraordinaire WRITTEN BY FATIMA MISA
Thousands have been graced by the words that pour forth from the mind of the incomparable, Jacob Marley.
A powerful writer who minces no words and is unabashed in pushing his creative elements in his quest for unique artistic expression. Not bound to any form or style, he is a poet, writer, and thinker of indomitable spirit who honors the diversity that exists and connects us one to all. His work conveys an understanding of esoteric phenomenon and tangible human experiences that fuel the language of his poetry and prose...and sometimes music too! (Do check out his jazz series! You’ll be glad you did!)
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Marley remains to be a formidable talent the world has yet to embrace, but for those of us who have, know his work is beyond measure and one we always look forward to reading! Follow him on Instagram @jacobmarleypress
A R T I S T S P O T L I G H T SOPHIE PENFOLD All photography are by the artist
SOPHIE PENFOLD FROM THE UK, IS AN AMAZING WRITER AND PHOTOGTAPHER.
She finds beauty in nature, especially in the trees, maybe because they create different formations that puts your imagination to work. In her photos she captures just that. It is a joy to visit her page and look at her beauty from the nature. It is like every tree, every sunset or sunrise, insect or flower has their own voice. Meaningful images that invite you to use your imagination. She is an adventurer who shows nature's own beauty. When she photographs, she creates a memory that remains. She is a versatile writer. She can write spiritually, with gratefulness, happy vibes, or darker pieces. She captures the beauty in her photos and creates the most beautiful force of atmosphere in her writings.
WRITTEN BY : ORKIDEDATTER WOW MAG | PAGE 19
WORDS
ARE CHEAP By S.M.Klees
Words are cheap Empty promises Thrown into a hollow vessel You’re telling me Exactly what you think I want to hear Master of disguise With your smooth talking lies Forked tongue Harbinger of saccharin sunshine You hold my rapt attention Like the second coming I’m hanging on your every word Too awestruck to see What’s right in front of me Cotton candy delusion Served up by a misfit marauder Dressed as a paramour Your heart is never more Just a con artist With a lackluster soul Spinning the truth You’re out of control I thank you for sharing As you weave your web You’re devoid of caring
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For anyone but your own Narcissistic self interest You’re writing karmic checks Your ass can’t cash News flash We all get What’s coming to us in the end You’ll crash and burn On the helix of your debauchery Just another disillusioned lost boy And it’s plain to see You’ve swallowed your own fantasy Don’t come crawling back to me Looking for clemency You’ve made your bed So slither back into Whatever putrid pit You came from With the rest of the Parasitic pond scum
AUTHOR
Shoutout
REBECCA LANGE
Reading is magic because it can transport us to another world to escape reality for a while. For many, books are a happy place. ever since I joined Instagram, I have met many incredible Indie authors, and I would like for you to meet some of them too. Get your TBR list ready for this.
As a romance fanatic but not so much a regency fan, I was hesitant to read this book. However, my regency atheism was cured quickly. Author Joanna Barker knows how to swoon your heart and take you to a different time. You can’t help but fall in love with the characters, especially shy Nora Hamilton, who has to learn to stand up for herself because her father is determined to marry her to Mr. Weston, whom she does not love. Her heart belongs to her childhood friend James Allen, who happens to be not only handsome but has a wonderful sense of humor and is an incredible kisser too. Does James love Nora as well? Get the book and find out for yourself.
A Proper Charade by Esther Hatch gives your romantic heart everything you desire. The main characters’ passion lets your heart flutter and will make the butterflies in your stomach be on steroids. Lady Patience Kendrick feels challenged when her brother, the Duke of Harrington, makes it clear that he disapproves of her carefree behavior. Wanting to prove herself to her brother, she pretends to be a maid and attempts to be hired by General Woodworth, who used to be her brother’s mentor and superior while serving in the military. The General isn’t home, though, but his handsome son is. Anthony has been courting a lady for two years and, seeing how ladylike and beautiful his new maid is, comes up with a charade to win the heart of Miss Morgan. Is she still the person he desires to marry, though? I never knew I would become so adventurous regarding the books I am reading. It is fun to discover amazing new authors and new worlds full of romance, suspense, humor, and drama.have always been pretty picky with what I read, and I still am to a point, but my wanting to support other authors, has also expanded my horizon to read something different.
I am super excited for the third book, though, because Stephanie has promised me that “Found” would make up for my love-hate relationship with book #2, so I can’t wait for its release. Now, before you think these books are not worth reading, you are wrong! I am just giving you a warning that things might not turn out the way you think they will. I didn’t have that warning, so you are welcome! I love it and have gained a new appreciation for specific literary genres and the hard work indie authors put into their books. Let me introduce you to one of my favorite new authors. Stephanie B. Whitfield has created a beautiful paranormal story with this book series. (I am not really into stories about witches and such unless it is Harry Potter, of course, but Stephanie knows how to reel the reader in). “Hidden in Roll” is about Josephine Baker, who finds out she is a witch and that a witch hunter killed her mother. She falls in love with Logan, who comes from a hunter family, and Josephine has to not only prove to Logan’s father and brother that she wasn’t into dark magic but ends up having to face the murderer of her mom. I was thrilled when the second book was released because I loved the first one. “Marked“ has some fun and playful romantic situations between Logan and Josephine, but when they take a trip to Mexico, a lot of things change, and Jo has to face the man again, she thought she had already killed. This book had a twist and turn I did not see coming, so I wasn’t prepared. I am not a crier while reading, but this sudden change of direction caught me off guard, and tears may or may not have been involved. As much as I adored “Marked,” the ending was unexpected and not exactly welcome.
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Now, to tell you a little about myself: I am the mom of two teenage boys (13 and 15 years old) and have been married for over 16 years. I am a total Harry Potter freak, a lover of chick-flicks and anything romantic (as long as it is clean romance), and fluent in sarcasm and sass. My three biggest passions are acting, writing, and reading. I have written and published five novels so far, one cook booklet and one regency Christmas novella. I am editing my newest soon-to-be-released book right now and am working on novel #7.
C A U G H T I N W E B
A
BY ELAINE T. STOCKDALE
We're all poets wanting to be heard and seen Striving to be more than merely anonymous words on a screen Getting lost in a dream through snippets of souls all with individual stories to be told. We like and comment to stroke each others egos while some spam dms screaming “look at me though.” Vulnerable we seek souls in hope for attraction just to feel some deep satisfaction. Hiding in metaphors but our true colours exposed With gushes of emotions in a single swipe Tell me more of your heartache and your compelling life. You follow me now but will you follow me when your page is lost in my feed Where broken souls bleed and plant their seeds In search of something to be, posting prose to be free and poems for some sort of guarantee in mentions, features, likes and follows that you hope will burn away all your sorrows and drown the pain Are we all going insane? Addicted to a social media game. Where we look for those the same bleeding through words, draining batteries, all just for some flattery.
I S S WOW U E 1MAG 0 • |VPAGE O L U23 ME 12
Just wanting to matter amongst all the chatter of a thousand voices speaking at the same time looking for something while scanning blind. When the numbers on the left increase Do you feel like some sort of beast? Wanting your thoughts to be some sort of feast. Sometimes I just want to up and go But you get so caught in this web It becomes all you really know, so you continue the show. But are you in control? Or does this app take souls that are vulnerable and lonely, looking for a community homey. Maybe its not that deep and its just a perception What I get from my phones reception. How long will we stay on the gram? posting each day was never the plan. The comfort I feel makes it seem real but my self-esteem is at stake As I wonder who’s real and who’s fake AS I serve up my heart on a plate Mental health at stake I wonder do you really truly relate?
Invisable Wounds By Mystic love
The pain from wounds that do not show, abandoned often for time to heal. The lies that leads the heart to suffering, accepted as betrayal and deceit. Love is lost while lust is well received, the house is set on catching fire, but all you can do is neglect or pretend not to see.
Desire As he holds my hand My heart begins to race He grabs me closer and there's a belch of belly butterflies Lost in his arms I find myself Just his touch on my skin a feeling I cannot express His eyes sparkle offering me a kiss I am left blushing in eternal bliss These tides thirst with the desire for more to find all there is of him to explore WOW MAG | PAGE 24
WHO AM I? Am I my conscious Or my memories My past Or my upcoming future My desires Or my hidden needs My experiences Or my immortal morals A question I've always asked Who am I? What am I? A synthesis of all of the above
Dark-ish-ink
A mosaic of tragic love
AN EERIE KISS I'm a ghost
I'm a thought
stranded in the dusk of her eyes,
sowed in the fields of her dandelion,
Relieving her gaze
Wandering her weed
erupting from a lyric in the breeze,
healing the nerves of punctured petals,
Like an afterglow of a mosiac horizon
Like an echo of a crowning note
wilting in euphoria,
dancing in the voice of an oracle.
Secluded to breathe in a tear
I'm a ghost of her tenet,
I melt in the symphony
A thought of her silences
of her quivering lashes,
A musk of her Elysian skin.
Dreaming in the grace of her sleep
For my love is in the abyss
Like an echo of a veil flying
of her mind
down the magical aisle.
My entirety lays on her tongue exists in the eerie of her sweet kiss
Written By: ijthesonnet WOW MAG | PAGE 25
Roses for my Valentine Valentine’s Day and I’m staring at roses Roses in bloom on a day in February Tall and straight not bushy and bent Like in my own garden in June How can this be a thing ? All Valentine’s roses come from Ecuador At the earth’s equator so it’s flowers reach up To touch the light shining straight down High evolution causing vibrant colors In thin atmosphere roses are born Cut down from their roots Thorns removed their natural defense Trafficked to the hunger of the world To feed an obsession of the heart Bought on the roadside out of a bucket Last minute from thoughtless partners Rushing home after a day of work - Walt Oz
Those golden dice serve to trigger. Rolled across the mahagony table top, they rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle till they are spent. Each number, a command, demanding to be obeyed. A fist rasping these numbers on the tabletop, cold and calculated, orchestrating the unyielding, shivering will to succumb, to contort to various positions of ease and unease, blushing and damned. And trigger stages of steadfast unwrapping and unboxing the bronzed silhouette; unfastening unbuttoning untying unravelling till laying undone, porcelain-skinned and spent.
BY
WOW MAG | PAGE 26
SUBHADRA
LOVE IS BUT A TREASURE WRITTEN BY : FRITUAN1 Love is but a treasure open to naked sight An open box of goods enough for every eye Yet somehow we manage to search day and night In every crook, cranny and corner to find the eternal light
And when found, the struggle begins Each contender strong but not wise Fight to eternal glory yet win one to lose nine Wasting breath , energy, and time, simply to call someone "mine"
Some lose the battle before the war began Hidden under fear, accompanied by gold and shine They pray to cupid to find the missing whole He couldn't help, cause they never left the hole
Love is need, luxury and blight Love is what every being needs to survive Love is enough to kill or die Love is limited yet enough to suffice Love is a reminder of times that passed by
One who has little starves, one with too much blasts Love despises gluttony and sloth the same And Lust slaughters any chance left at fate All love requires is patience to part the gift in time For you to summon the jewel that nests within the rhythm
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Timeout WRITTEN BY MONTYHALL Despite external chaos he finds peace through meditation Deep in thought he connects to Jah and begins to heal Third eye open to the truth he regroups and replenishes his cup at the fountain of youth Diving within his conscious weighing pros and cons He spawns a new path Masterminding complex equations deconstructed to simple math It all becomes clear once the smoke and mirrors disappear revealing a trail littered with shattered dreams and broken promises How he’s still sane is quite astonishing Taking the rode less travelled is not for the weak but with every setback he gains more clarity. Life and death love and loss tragedies and triumphs and all that’s in between He rests in the hands of his creator and awakes from this lucid dream.
WOW MAG | PAGE 28
IN MY NIGHTMARE THERE ARE BUTTERFLIES ON THE CEILING WRITTEN BY L.R STERLING
She walks into the room wearing a black locket of dead roses, forget-me-nots in white powders, clasped in fake gold He tells me she wants to be like me and I remember there were butterflies on the ceiling, the walls suffocated with the dead An array of souls, making fanfares of their rites to scream, a ceasefire among tombless skulls It was a destitute waltz, it was... My body, bloodied, an empty funeral, choirs of sympathy down the roads of April Turn loose the vultures on my winter skin She is wearing my locket She wants to be like mother She cannot be grief She cannot, be grief
FIt may have been beautiful on a scarlet morning The blood in my hand, this purse of ash and wings I only have monarchs to replace grief with Gather me up in halls of absence Only a nightmare She cannot be grief They take me under their wing...
WOW MAG | PAGE 29
Community Page Feature
POETRY IN DARK BY FATIMA MISA We celebrate with our friends from Poetry in Dark @poetry.in.dark as they reach a milestone! Founded by S.K. Mustafa and Ari Deep, the platform’s vision is to invite poets and writers from Instagram’s poetry community as guest co-host, and read works not only of their own, but others as well. Congratulations!
CO- FOUNDER S. K. MUSTAFA S.K Mustafa is from London. She started writng poetry in the early 2014 after a bereavement. Remembering how nervous she was before her first live, had she considered the option of going live without showing her face, she would have considered it sooner. Seeing Aru go live, in the dark, was a refreshing experience, without being destracted by what was going on onscreen.
Aru Deep, is from New Delhi, India. He started writing poetry fairly recently, participating in the National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) Being hesitatnt about revealing his face during a live, Aru read a live in the dark, the reaction from he audience was favourable. The idea of the page was sparked by S.K who heard him reading in the dark.
CO- FOUNDER ANU DEEP WOW MAG | PAGE 30
Self Publishing
WOW MAG | PAGE 31
PART 2
Last month we started our journey
While you ponder what self-
into the world of self-publishing. We
publishing looks like for you, here’s a
talked about the pros and cons of
few things you should be doing:
the self-publishing world and how many well-known authors got their
1. For God’s sake, write. Write, write,
beginning by self-publishing. So,
write. And then craft. Be merciless
here we are - you are excited,
and be open to ideas as you craft
driven, you want to make your mark
and shape your story. Be honest with
in the publishing world so what is
yourself about how much time you
next?
are willing to dedicate to writing each day or every other day and
Kindle, Nook, Kobo, Lulu are just a
then stick to it! Your deadline is your
few of the popular sites for self-
own but there will be nothing to
publishing. I myself have used Kindle
publish if you don’t write.
to publish both e-books and print on demands. Kindle has user friendly
2. Invest in a good editor. I don’t
tools that can help you format your
mean just take it to mom or your old
manuscript to the proper size and
English teacher. Yes, they might be
can even help you create covers for
able to spot some of your mistakes
your books. (Canva also has cover
but if you want perfection, you want
creation options and is free and
to pay someone who does it as a
easy to use). If you’re not
living. You can use sites like Reedsy
comfortable designing a book cover,
or Upwork to check credentials. If
a quick search on Instagram and
you want to take it a step further
Facebook will bring up many
(such as with a novel) you may want
professionals. Take your time and
to hire a copy editor. They look for
shop around to find a creator who
story plot holes and mistakes to
will work with you and will fit your
make sure your work is well rounded
aesthetic. If you’re planning on
and makes sense.
publishing exclusively to Kindle, they will provide an ISBN number and
3. TAKE. YOUR. TIME. The biggest
barcode for your books. It is
mistake I made when I published my
important to know that if you use
first collection was being in a hurry.
their number, you won’t be able to
I was so excited to hold my book and
publish on multiple platforms. If you
see my work in ink that I blew
are creating something you’d like to
through the process without pause.
publish in multiple places, it will be
The result was a book full of
helpful to buy your own ISBN
grammar mistakes, unaligned pages
numbers (from Bowker or the
and deep disappointment.
International ISBN Agency). You can buy them in bundles so they are
4. Take some criticism. Take a lot.
cheaper and then apply them to your
And be prepared for it. Don’t fall
books. If you publish through Nook,
into love with your work so much
your book can be made available
that you can’t accept outside view.
through stores like Barnes and
These are your potential readers –
Noble. You can also set up an
you want to make sure that while
account through IngramSparks, a
you’re weaving your story, you’re
print on demand website that will
also appealing to your audience.
help you distribute your books!
Continued
PAGE 27 It can be, in structure, grammar,
It’s helpful to remember that we
appearance, story-telling, book
deal in words, not numbers, and
cover….all of it. Be open to
while building a reader base is
suggestion. You don’t have to take
important, what’s a reader base
anyone’s advice but seeing your
worth if we don’t have confidence in
work from other perspectives helps
our work? I struggle often with “am I
round it out and make it come alive
good enough?” “will anyone read
for more than just you.
me?” “am I doing the right things?” so I put my blinders on, and I stop
Self-publishing has been an exciting
comparing myself to other people
journey for me. I have put in
because I know what I have to offer
countless hours educating myself on
is uniquely mine.
the best ways to publish, advertise, format, and create, but ultimately
trust the process, I work hard, and I
what it comes down to is the writing.
have faith that by producing a well-
You will have no book to publish
crafted piece I am proud of, I will
traditionally or otherwise if you do
attract the people who want to read
not write. I saw a quote once that
it.One of my dear friends, Stormy of
said, “write like no one will read
Stormdragonpoetry (go follow him!)
your work, edit like the whole world
is an amazing poet and incredibly
will - Shilpa Goel” and I think that
encouraging friend.
sums it up pretty well. It’s also
He helped me tweak my ads on
incredibly important to surround
Instagram to start getting myself out
yourself with supportive and
there more and the result was
likeminded individuals. I spent the
amazing. He’s always there to
beginning of my authorhood alone
celebrate my accomplishments or
and it wasn’t until I started engaging
call me out when I need it.
with the writing community that I realized what I had been missing.
I do suggest reading self-help books
Don’t underestimate the power of a
on self-publishing to find what you
friend who knows what you’re going
are looking for. These are three
through.
books I have read, and they are all available through Kindle:
Someone who will be there with you, sympathizing through the edits and
“The Naked Truth About Self-
self-guessing, and who is there to
Publishing” by a collection of
celebrate every achievement, big or
authors
small. Being in a community of
“Self Published Millionaire” by
authors who are all working towards
Joseph Alexander and Tim Pettingale
bigger and better things helps you
“The Independent Publisher: How to
stay focused, accountable, and
Build And Promote Your Best-Selling
motivated.
Book” by Jerrold R. Jenkins
They often see success where you do not. In a world like Instagram, its
Don’t be afraid to find and follow
easy to lose focus and be swallowed
local self-published authors or indie
by numbers – how many likes you
publishing houses. They are usually
get, how many followers you have,
more than happy to talk about their
how much engagement you get on a
experiences and help others on their
single piece.
way!
Continued
You are more than welcome to message me anytime for thoughts or advice on self-publishing. I have been helped by many amazing writers, poets, creators, and dreamers and I am happy to return the favor.
Ravven White lives in a castle by the Sea with her husband,
I hope this has been insightful and helped you gain an inside look at the world of self-publishing and the many opportunities to be had! Whatever you decide to do, I hope you will continue to write and share
Link; daughter, Starlight; and their two hellhounds. She dabbles in mystery and magic and spends most of her nights reading books or scribbling crazed stories from her pen.
and put yourself out into the world. After all, you have a story to tell and no one will write it for you!
WRITTEN BY: RAVVEN WHITE
I
'm excited to announce a new segment on my Instagram entitled "Ravven's Ravings"!
A NEW SEGMENT ON MY INSTAGRAM
I love inspiring and lifting up my fellow poets so there are two ways to be featured on an episode: Each month I generate a theme of writing prompts and if you write a piece using one or more of my prompts, I will read your piece in my monthly prompt episode! For February I am running a Gothic Valentine prompt, be sure to check it out! If prompts are not your thing, I also do readings of poetry that I am DM'd or tagged in.
To be featured in any episode, please be sure to tag me and use #ravvensravings!
UNTIL WE
MEET AGAIN
Digging desperately for answers only I had no clue of, Just to get a load of one last confession from you, Say it,leaving me hurts you, as much as it left me soullessly screaming in tears, I am drowning here without you
When dreams are buried among the decays, Hopelessly disappearing in to thin air, and the perpetual silence keep on haunting these inner issues, I remain awaiting to your awakening from those strangling radioactive soils,
Surrendering to the voice of guilt that burns my fears, Cautiously walking around these minefields, Buried with explosive anxiety and depression, Banging on deaths door and deforming these claws every time I weep,
,
WOW MAG | PAGE 35
Call upon all the archangels to strip my wrecked heart, Throw me on to a vessel to your sinless feet, For I shall write the words of cruel goodbyes with fluent forgiveness, Until we meet again to find closure through your skin.
WRITTEN BY: INK MISTRESS
WRITTEN BY: SILENT ONE
Graveyard of Poets There's an obscurity on the threads of darkness dare I peer beneath the starless shroud of midnight's veil as I walk through the misty breath that beclouds my vision in hopes it leads me to the temple of your soul? My dearest my comfort is there, yet I feel a quivering in the flames beneath these gusts that prevail through inaudible voices falling winded in the distance where these shadows walk between us I feel discernment in memories as these bony fingers reach out my heart shudders beneath the orchestra of night as it beckons a samba from the angel of death as it spans its wings before me I shiver breathless in its cold as the flames grow dimmer yet this time love, I fear for you as dissolution ascends above me Muddled mind ventures through vivid vales of scepticism. Slowly subsiding to my knees under the shadow of moonlight, crows gather as helpless hand clench decomposing soil. Sapless lips gasp for oxygen, shivering in illusory mistiness. Death's harbinger Sapless lips gasp for oxygen, shivering in illusory mistiness. Death's harbinger stands before me, an uninvited hooded eclipse, holding me prisoner, strangling my soul with naked tree tendrils. In silent steps he walks towards me, I have no will left to fight. He has no mercy, content on me kissing the mouth of the earth. Words hidden behind metaphors, surface upon shores of regret, flashbacks are like daggers, reminders of unspoken, unwritten words. My love mourn for me not, as I fall into the graveyards of poets, in death we still connect, as my words will always live through you.
WOW MAG | PAGE 36
HAREBELL
Blue
By Grace Reynolds A moonlit harebell droops in Scottish blue Under glimmering beams where there’s a shimmer Of dark fairy wings encrusted in pink tourmaline So enchanting, she giggles and wiggles its stem To watch droplets gleam like starlight gems WOW MAG | PAGE 37
When a thrash in the brush startles her tiny heart She peers through a sea of green out there in the dark Only to find a sweet bumpy toad With lumpy warts all over his back A sigh of relief Then a squeal of glee Could this be her prince, finally? A peck to the lips With no wish to come true And her neck suddenly Turns to shades of purple hues But what was the toad supposed to do When presented with such a feast? He had never had a midnight snack So enticing; never one so tantalizing!
ALL THAT WE'RE All that we're - blobs of wants, desires, emotions Fiery flames (seeking to accomplish more, evermore) Feverishly aflame deep inside mortal frames Little more than clods of mass of DNA, blood Contained in a body that would be no more one day! All that we're - nothing that we think we're, Yet, everything that we may plausibly conjure Capable of achieving in our humble lives Inching towards negation every moment, (Although, our actions ne'er aim at annihilation!) All that we're - reverberations of reminiscences Unforgettable, remnants of memories Unlikeliest to be confined to realms of oblivion ever, Anticipation of spells of existence, joyful Fortuitously about to dawn! All that we're - a sum total of experiences Been through; palpitations of anxieties Bugbears, felt, real or imagined; beacons Bright of hope shining aglow happily Thawing to gradual warming of chambers innermost. All that we're - embodiments of divinity Scintillating in every deed noble, honorific Shards of vile evil personified in ignoble Shameless acts, perversely performed, Amidst paradoxical feelings consistent.
WOW MAG | PAGE 38
By: Rohit Singh Bedi
A Short Story
Death's Whisper Once upon a time in a city made of sin there was a little girl who's name was unknown, she walked down the street underneath the dim light with a white doll like dress and silky, blonde hair that almost touched the wet concrete; no socks or shoes on her tiny feet yet it didn't seem to bother her at all, she kept walking her path as if she knew where she was going. Everybody kept walking by not even glancing at the little soul, perhaps they were tired, or maybe late, some of them might just have been minding their own business. Now let's rewind the story back to 1885, when a little girl without any shoes on her feet was walking down the street, the rain started pouring and the girl started leaving a trail, like a snail, just this trail was red, her white doll like dress soaked in it and her blonde curls were not blonde anymore, she had a doll in one hand and a knife in the other, in a blink of an eye the street was empty and every living soul was gone except the little girl and a lady that went by the name of Margaret, a pure soul with good intentions, but let me tell you she should have minded her own business too.
WRITTEN BY
Dead_Poet
"Oh little girl what is your name?" Margaret questioned her in a soothing tone. The girl looked up into her eyes and started to laugh, maniacally so, every bit of innocence gone from her cute face, she came up to Margaret with a smile on her face leaned forward and whispered something in her ear and to this day everybody wonders what might have that been because our friendly Margaret was soaked in her own cold sweat and before the wind could even make a sound the little girl stabbed Margaret in her chest, blood splattering all over, the girl kept going, ripping her apart with a superhuman strength untill all her insides were out, she took her heart and held it in her hand untill it stopped beating then ate it in front of the crowd that gathered a few yards away, a disturbing smile plastered over her face, she took her doll and her knife and started walking down the same path. Nobody ever understood where might have she came from nor why but from that day every evening she walks down the street, her tiny feet against the strong concrete, nobody dares to look her in the eyes, because everyone who had tried followed Margaret's fate. Her name still unknown, her curls still stained red, a doll in one hand and her cursed knife in the other, to these day the most curious of people wonder what did she whisper to Margaret and everyone after since nobody lived long enough to say.
WOW MAG | PAGE 39
TIS DEATH'S OWL WRITTEN BY ENOCH BLACK
One moonless night, I wander aimless through
Finally, I come across a clearing and that
the forest and am filled with frigid fright.
infernal owl appears to be cheering.
An enormous owl follows from tree to tree
I stumble over something rotten, a lonely
sending a shudder straight through me.
corpse quietly forgotten.
Tis Death's owl, that blackened fowl.
I look on the broken face and realize I've been
Hypnotic eyes chase me across the cursed path
running a dying race.
as I flee from my despair and that winged wrath.
There I am, a murder victim. The owl
Hours pass in that forlorn forest on the run from
screeches, my final dictum.
that lust for blood on avian tongue.
WOW MAG | PAGE 40
THE
&
A
By Nur Rhymes
WOW Magazine Q&A guest is Orkidedatter. She is a multitalented writer and painter, who has authored a book called "Beautiful & Battered" 1. Where are you from and what’s the best thing about your country/city that you love? I'm from Norway, and the best part is nature and our four seasons
2. What did you want to be when you were younger and is it in line with what you are doing now or different? I always wanted to be an author and artist, and it is in line with what I’m doing now.
3. What does your ideal day look like? Sitting by the river under the mountains in the sunset writing or drawing with a cup of coffee.
6. What would be your dream holiday destination? I love Greece
4. What do you wish you did more of?
7. What qualities do you admire in others?
To be an advocate for endangered animal species,I was for a while but needed a break, cause it tears me apart.
Love, respect, honesty, caring and being authentic. Craziness, humor, trust, and someone that can bear with all of me...
5. Where do you draw your inspiration for your writing and art?
8. How do you like to relax?
From everywhere, but I use the nature much for my art. Often when I am painting a story begins to create itself in my mind, characters, scenes and I go from there in my writings. All writers have their own source of inspiration, but some secrets, we need to have.
I meditate a lot, read, do my art, write or I just be in the moment in the nature beside a lake, listening to the birds and the wilderness.
WOW MAG | PAGE 41
ORKIDEDATTER
9. If you could make one change in the world what would it be?
10. Who would you love to meet and what would you ask?
Oh well, this is not a small question, but I guess it will have something with animals in it, the cruelness we humans are doing to all the animals in the world, our pets or in the wilderness.
My friend from the US, and take this country girl out we are going to rock this town tonight.
11. Tell me about yourself, something you wish others knew about you. I like to be as anonymous as possible, but I'm not social by myself, but if I chooses to open my heart to let you in you have a friend for life, unfortunately I have been burned too many times so it is not easy for me to do. Well, it is one thing I never have told in this platform IG, well, it is one thing I never have told in this platform IG and it is I'm a medium... I'm working sometimes with healing and to clean houses from ghosts... (In Norway, this is much debated and little accepted). All artwork is by Orkidedatter
EDITOR'S TABLE By Nur Rhymes Editor-in-Chief Hello! Welcome to February's issue of WOW Magazine.
I thank all who has contributed to the magazine, in all forms of support, it could not have come together without you.
This month's edition presents, a delightful medley of artists and writers spanning the spectrum of the globe.
I would encourage everyone to spead the word about WOW Magazine, so that more writers and artists will have a digital platform to showcase their extraordinary work.
With exclusive interviews, short stories and poems, we aim to highlight the vast talent that is within the creative community. Take a journey with us this month, as we explore, the many facets and perspectives of writers and their schools of thought. WOW MAG | PAGE 43
Looking forward to interact with everyone on our Instagram page @wow,wordsofwriter. Follow and share to take part in our montly activities.
“Words of Writers”
CONTRIBUTIONS Rosanna Marcucciki Ruby Jane Gavith Chawla Dark Fulcrum Fatima Misa Tay Reem Jacob Marley S.M Klees Joanna Barker B.Whitfield Mystic Love Subhadra Dark Ish Ink L.R Sterling S.K Mustafa Anu Deep Rohit Singh Bedi Enoch Black Grace Reynolds Ink Mistress Thoughts all night Dead Poet
@rossana_poetry @the_curious_poetess @wordsofbizarre @darkfulcrum @mermaid_ballads @iamtayreem @jacobmarleypres @s.mklees_poetry @authorjoannabarker @authorstephanebwhit @mysticlovepoetry @thepoeticcolloguy @dark_ish_ink @thetasteofmypen @skmustafa @prosaic.verses @lovewordsbyrohit @stormdragonpoetry @spillinggrace @bleedingink_mistress @thoughts_all_night @dead_poet
R.F.Poetry Zach Birch Cleopatra Fernhill Jaimeboey Lindokuhle Mathenjwa Visalakshi Siva Sarfraz Rebecca Lange Esther Bird Hatch Elain T.Stockdale Walt Oz Monty Hall Ijthesonnet Frituan Poetry in Dark Ravven White Silent One Melissa Anderson Elysian Tales Poets Island Orkidedatter Nur Rhymes
@wow.wordsofwriters © All rights reserved Disclaimer Images and graphics in this magazine are all free to use otherwise indicated. Credit due to the rightful owners All poems/words/articles used with express permission
@theclockworkwriter @zackbirchrre @cleopatrafernhill1 @jaimeboey @lpoetry_rm77 @pinnacle_of_poetry @safarkaraaz_writes @author.rebeccalange @authorestherhatch @e.tstockdale_ @walygator_oz @montyhallstl @ijthesonnet @frituan1 @poetry.in.dark @ravven_white @poeticgardener1 @melissa.anderson.writes @elysian._tales @poets_island @orkidedatter @nur_rhymes
