POETRY BY JONATHAN FRAZE LESSARD

Jonathan Frazer Lessard is a writer from Kittery, Maine. He enjoys creating short horror stories and poetry. His recent works have appeared in Ghostwatch Zine and The Portland Dirt. When he isn't writing, he helps run the last great American junk shop, Lost Coast, with his lovely wife Tiffany.

Feel free to contact him through Instagram @lessardwrites or by email lessardwrites@gmail.com.

A GHOST PERHAPS

Lady in white stands by the water
Red painted lips held dark by wine
She walks along the edge of ocean
The sun, the sand and she does shine

A ghost perhaps, at least unearthly
Elemental, not of this place
Seashore, seaspray, seafoam and sand
Her form is lost in nature’s grace

ANITA

Maiden shroud in darkness, nests a raven in her hair
Veiled behind, curling vines, and spiderwebs a thorny stare
Midnight blue feathers rustle, invisible to human eye
For this pair of fae, fair, creatures, only rove the earth at night
Floating over cinder tracks, fallen forlorn, out towards the sea
As great serpents flail their tentacles, thrashing squalls and frigid breeze
Flailing fast to try and catch her, try and bind her as they please
But this lovely, lofty, lichess, would never bend to such as these
Her betrothed, wing’d sire, pulls her forth, into the sky
As she screams her banshee bellows, killing kraken, leviathi
Screaming of such horrid visions, screaming forth from high above
Screaming rage of how death took her, how she lost her life for love
So if back of neck should sense her, sending shivers by the shore
Shut your mouth and turn your trousers, if you wish to live much more

THROUGH THE CRACK

I got into his car
And immediately smelled death

The sour smell
Of the overwhelmed
My friend, my brother turned instantly
Raging of revenge
And how his family would suffer
As soon as his father was dead

All I could do was sit and listen
And place my hand upon his back
And hope to God he would open a window
So The Devil could exit
Through the crack

ONES AND ZEROS

Some metal skeletal invades
Clawing at fellow fallen graves
Buried bodies and what’s left, remains
Piled high towards the sun

And once the carrions occurred
Flesh fallen, stolen, by bitter birds
A silence left unspoken words
The buzz of ones and zeros heard

These electrical snapping beasts
Exhume the passed, not for to feast
But bind the bones to their machines
As large as cities soiled dreams

Femurs fetched to forearms bolted
Gnawed jawbones weld to scalps half molted
Skeletal ribs sewn into cages
While prisoners, alive, out-rages

When these massed graves are piled high
Attached to lasers, drills and wires
Blades and bombs and whistles cry
Creak down the street toward you at night

They care not where intentions lie
The progress thought they’d bring and bide
Your rooftop crackles, nails pulled, deep sigh
With countless limbs limping through

To pick you from your soft warm bed
And pluck pieces off from you.