POETRY BY J.C. MACEK III

J.C. Maçek III is the author of the hit true crime novel The Black Dahlia (2024) and the producer of the 2018 film Cargo, starring Ron Thompson of American Pop fame, as well as the author of the film’s tie-in novel. His other novels include The Antagonist and Seven Days to Die. He is the curator and editor of Symptom of the Universe: A Horror Tribute to Black Sabbath, an anthology of short stories and novellas inspired by the music and lyrics of every era of Black Sabbath. His short fiction and poetry has appeared in Weird Fiction Quarterly, Sleeve of Hearts, The Devil’s Playground, Morsus Vitae, The Beauty in Darkness and many more anthologies and periodicals.

He resides in Southern California with his wife and family and a veritable zoo of pets.

SCREAMS OF GRACE

She cries out into the night so loudly
The black pines tremble at her very voice.
Needles strike flesh as green rain abounds. She
Forces time’s arrow back homeward by choice.
Keepsakes of forgotten yesterdays and
Artifacts of tomorrows that will come
Only in her dreams, never quite in hand,
Peek from these boxes of useless spent sums.
What life has she led, tied to belongings
She once thought meant something? Now they’re just stuff.
Immobile, trapped by her own choice, longing
For freedom from life she’s desperate to slough.
Decisions, her own, led to this live stream.
Nevermore free now, she can only scream.

REVOLVING SORROW

Sorrow leaps from the shadows to surprise
Me on an otherwise quite joyful day.
Sorrow creeps from memories, I surmise,
To keep delusions of greatness at bay.
When the sky is blue and the sun is bright
I recall all the wrong that I have done.
Forgive myself? No. I haven’t the right.
I remember my sins, every one.
When I feel my best, so alive and free,
I recollect my debts and crash again.
The only one to blame at all is me.
My body fails me too, not if but when.
As each day shifts into cold tomorrow,
My heart shifts, turning from joy to sorrow.

DEAD HAVOC

Let the dead wreak fresh havoc in our lives.
Gone though they are, their memories remain
To draw upon like sharpened battle knives
For comparison and remembered pain.
Forefathers’ inheritance is judgement
Bequeathed to us in meddlesome decrees.
Memories of choices and what they meant
Flow through our very lives like poisoned seas.
Nature or nurture, genes or tradition,
The results are the same for the living.
We are constrained for who they were, we shun
But find ourselves always revisiting.
We become the dead till we die anew
And our offspring become what we were too.

HUMAN DEADLINE’S LIFELINE

I surrender to the human race,
I surrender to the human world,
I surrender to the human disgrace,
I surrender when their flag unfurls!
Make red white black!
Trapped in life’s cul-de-sac!
Want red wine back?
There’s no life hack!
And I swear…
I prefer it that way!
Yes, I swear…
Turbulent fire away!
I surrender to the wrong way,
I surrender to vivisection,
I surrender to the droll play,
I surrender to the human condition!
It’s red, white and black!
There’s no burning fact!
It’s deadline stacked!
I fall through cracks!
And I swear…
Yes, I swear!