LindaAnn LoSchiavo and David Davies,
Messengers of the Macabre

excerpt

Messengers of the Macabre Authors: LindaAnn LoSchiavo and David Davies Retailer: Amazon Date: October 18, 2022 Length: 54 pages ISBN: 979-8841254102 ASIN: B0BJ7WX5PG

Spirits

Book summary: All Hallows’ Eve, Samhain, Day of the Dead... during this interval, the barriers between the two realms are thinnest. Normal turns paranormal; what’s natural becomes the supernatural. That’s when the messengers of the macabre are in their rightful element. Step inside this collaborative chapbook and embrace a haunted harvest of verses embracing bewitchment, boneyards, and all things that go boo.

Contents: David Davies and LindaAnn LoSchiavo, both members of the Science Fiction Poetry Association, have divided the chapbook into six spooky sections: Samhain - Hallowe’en, Bewitchment, Graveyard, Day if the Dead, Haunting, and a Lighter Shade of Ghosts, each writer contributing a dozen poems for a total of 24.

There are seven illustrations. Original illustrations were created by Benyamin Agum.

YouTube link (family friendly)

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Night of the Succubus Although I’ve dragged you from the arms of sleep, You’re pleased to entertain a drop-in guest, Delighted to undress, observing me Restoring you from time’s ungainly sag Of age, elated to be young again, No longer ill but virile, hot, aroused. Caressed by you, my nipples perked. “I’m wet,” I sigh. You’re willing — if it’s true or lies. This nice surprise instead of trick or treat. Your first, I came like moonlight, white as glue, Tenacious, wedding vows held in my mouth, Forgiving your infidelities, Loud snores, your fist tripwired by cheap booze, The young assistant given raises. Why? Don’t worry. She’s asleep and can’t hear this — Erotic moans as you succumb, my mouth Adept, deep-throating, sly, experienced. Enjoy new weightlessness, dear. Take my hand. His corridor is dark. Don’t be afraid. You’ll get what you deserve, eternally — Perpetual excitement, I promise.

Santa Muerte: Our Lady of Holy Death

Maybe in this version you’re a black-winged grackle, Quiscalus mexicanus, and I built your shrine in the air. Maybe you’ve become bilingual. Maybe you need an entourage, since your believers are doubling in number and tripling in diversity. It’s hard to worship a folkloric figure from Mexico, who always feels “socially distanced,” but I can arrange access to an Airbnb in East Harlem, refuge of hundreds of your compatriotas. Thanks to Doña Queta, devotional pioneer, safely spirited away from lung cancer, I’m raring to establish a stateside tchotchke shop, una tienda de chucherías, to hawk Holy Death memento mori: inky votive candles, Bony Lady figurines, toothsome chocolate skulls for your feast days. For you, I vow to sling borderlands Spanish slang. I’ll disport myself clad in a rebozo, a huipil, or a traditional gala Tehuana dress during balls and quinceañeras. Full-frontal Frida Kahlo. On August 15, I’ll call your name over and over and over until grackles descend upon my shoulders, shrouding my eyes with stygian wings. I’ll collect those feathers for fans, fluttering these in parades on tu día de fiesta. In the end, you’ll welcome me as death’s daughter, Milady of the Shadows. Meanwhile, I pay tribute, my fists filled with miniature icons, melted wax, molten magma, the moan of a mystical derecho, a sword lily, and a clutch of shiny, obsidian feathers.

Clouds shrouded dusk, gracing me, I felt, with your gelid shadow.

Nubes envueltas en el crepúsculo honrándome, sentí, con tu sombra gélida.

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Messengers of the Macabre has been nominated for CLMP’s Firecracker Award.

Copyright © 2022 by LindaAnn LoSchiavo and David Davies