WHAT PERSISTS: A GLOSA
Dylan Webster
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
-“The Moon and the Yew Tree” by Sylvia Plath
Permanence is that which persists, sometimes
It does so without knowing; it is a being
Beyond comprehension, something that transcends,
Like gazing up from the depths of your plight;
The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
And what does it say, as it levitates, watchful?
Listen, moon-whispers waft through tree limbs.
Subaudible, they rattle through your empty veins,
They wrack your mind violently like a puppet,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
Permanence is that which hangs on,
Wisps ghostly arms around your neck
And squeezes until your air is hers; like moonlight
Spilling blood into water, a deep violet;
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet,
Oh, it is too quiet, suffusing every space.
What persists are your words, little gods,
Free, outside time, but free. I dwell with them—
Or they dwell with us, terrible with such fear,
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
SPRITE CATCHING
Dylan Webster
Beneath his feet the moist earth sinks deeper, groaning lightly,
And he gazes through the mist intently, searching for spirits.
What would he have to do with a lilting sprite? Once found, she’d
Flit away in streaking mist, descending trails: sapphire dust.
As always, mortals seek us, knowing less with each new batch
Of petulant, wailing children. Ephemeral, their eyes
So full of wonder and fear. They slip between their desire
To worship us, and then destroy us; they are transient.
Like this crouching man here, nosing through moistened, dark forest
For merely a glance at a spiritual being. Look!
He gropes about, his eyes waxing fearful, yet hopeful. Shall
We sate his curiosity and reach out? Seek a muse,
But do so with caution, for we have left your kind; hatred
Fills your fleshy, filthy hearts with desires to destroy all.
You have decimated our lands, our homes and haunts. Perhaps
In the depths of your prideful soul you long for old comfort.
But we left you, cursed you with nothingness: what you wanted.
Gaze at this lost little child, beseeching us, a glimpse—
A glimpse! He longs to see goddesses, beauty, woodland sprites
Like those he read when a new mortal. Does he not know us?
Hear him now, only steps away; the branches, wet faces
Of spirits as he mindlessly flings them. Yes, he shall see.
We will let him come down into our realm, below water,
Below his earth, the ravished deity on her deathbed.
He longs for muses, for goddesses white, radiating
Wisdom and love to bestow on him what his fathers lost—
He shall see why we were feared, what drove men into madness;
Wrapt, spellbound, the wandering wodewose; minds uncaged from skulls—
Thralls ever bound to sing, our bards until their dying breath.
For to see spirits is to lose your own world, submission
To us, and to render what is our due: your mindful soul—
Prophets pay exacting prices, and you, lost boy, will, too.
Javier Soqui is a Phoenician born from Mexican immigrants in the year 2000. Creativity has always been at the center of his life, whether or not he knew it. He wouldn’t dedicate himself to art and music until late middle school and early high school. While music remains his primary passion, he draws just as much as he composes. He’s recently delved into the world of digital art after filling up multiple notebooks with his creations. He likes to draw everything, from the impossibly cute to the sinfully grotesque, often combining the 2 aesthetics in a single piece. He likes to describe his art as simply “Well Placed Lines.” He focuses on drawing characters, whether they be human or something else entirely.
Dylan Webster lives and writes in the sweltering heat of Phoenix, AZ. He is the author of the poetry collection Dislocated (Quillkeepers Press, 2022), and his poetry and fiction have appeared, and are forthcoming in, anthologies by Quillkeepers Press and Neon Sunrise Publishing, as well as the journals Ballast Journal, Wild Roof Journal, Ghost City Review, Resurrection Mag, 5enses Magazine, The Dillydoun Review, Last Leaves, The Cannons Mouth by Cannon Poets Quarterly, Amethyst Review, and The Chamber Magazine. Dylan has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize as well as the Best of The Net.
RISE 