The Alien Buddha Contracts Covid-19 Act 4: The Great Plague of 2121

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Homage To Azrael, The Angel Of Death

by Theresa C. Gaynord

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Theresa likes to write about matters of self-inflection and personal experiences. She likes to write about matters of an out-of body, out-of-mind state, as well as subjects of an idyllic, pagan nature and the occult. Theresa writes horror, as well as concrete gritty and realistic dramas. Theresa is said to be a witch and a poet. (within the horror writing community).

 

Warm was the nightingale in boasting intimacy,

black was the sky, carcased in a tomb amid the

graves of spiry buildings dwarfed by circumjacent

lands.

 

Mindful of his dread command, vindicated, un adieu’d

Azrael enjailed in a pitiless wire of reflective

beams snatched from Hell, blasts through the eternal

night.

 

On his tempest four thousand wings, four faces pen

whatever Fate records as harmonies ricochet, leaving

no intimate word or personal trace behind ail-stricken

mankind.

 

Flesh perishes, the hour itself ruled from birth time.

Linen sheets are spread down draped around white

beginnings so small, self wrapped beyond Earth’s bounds;

silent.

 

Flocks and herds chilled numb with consuming fear,

lipped through rhymes of psalms, “What doest thou here?”

Shivering footsteps follow his melodic tune as human orbits,

pilgrimage.

 

All musick breathes its last. All magick is an enraptured soul,

and the heart holds sweet remembrances, a prophetic song,

As Azrael’s oracle beats, holding your life’s blood at His

call.

 

 

 

Covid Poems by Carrie Magness Radna

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Born in Norman, Oklahoma, Carrie Magness Radna is an archival audiovisual cataloger at the New York Public Library, a singer, a lyricist-songwriter, and a poet who loves to travel. Her poems have previously appeared in the Oracular Tree, Tuck Magazine, Muddy River Poetry Review, First Literary Review-East, Mediterranean Poetry, Shot Glass Journal, Walt’s Corner, Polarity e-Magazine, The Poetic Bond (VIII &IX), and The spirit, it travels: an anthology of transcendent poetry (Cosmographia: published August 3, 2019) and will be published in Nomad’s Choir, Jerry Jazz Musician and Cajun Mutt Press. Her first chapbook, Conversations with dead composers at Carnegie Hall (Flutter Press) was published on January 18, 2019, and Remembering you as I go walking(Boxwood Star Press) was published on August 23, 2019.  Her upcoming poetry collection, Hurricanes never apologize, will be published by Luchador Press. She won third prize for “The tunnel” (Category: Words on the Wall: All-Genre Prompt) at the 69th annual Philadelphia Writers’ Conference (2017). She also won 12th place “Lily (no. 48 of Women’s names sensual series)” by the 2018 Writer’s Digest Poetry Awards. She is a member of the Greater New York Music Library Association (GNYMLA), and is a member of the New York Poetry Forum, Parkside Poets, Riverside Poets, Brownstone Poets and Nomad’s Choir. When she’s not performing classical choral works with Riverside Choral Society or New Year’s Eve performances with the New York Festival Singers, or writing art song lyrics with her choir buddies, or traveling, she lives with her husband Rudolf in Manhattan.

 

PAPER

My man doesn’t get

that we might not

have any toilet paper

very soon; our

worm moon

may be made of paper—

maybe it’s only make-believe,

but will he believe in me?

 

There’s pictures in the paper

of empty shelves

everywhere

(Whole Foods is full

of fools; the paper

is running out; the paper

shopping bags now cost

5 cents each (NYC standard

pricing, bitches!))

 

but he doesn’t get it.

I’m stranded at home

(but still well)

at home for 2 weeks;

all NYC libraries are closed;

the paperbacks

need to be protected

as well as the

younger & elderly patrons

 

no positive victims

in Denison, Texas

(yet)

according to my mother

(what about Oklahoma, OK?!),

but everyday

she goes to Wal-Mart

& obsessively checks out

the toilet paper aisle,

to see the damage

 

“We have two rolls left,”

my man says,

confident we will be all right.

Will that be enough

to ride the proverbial

storm out?

 

 

Starbucks social isolation

 

All the chairs have been cleared away.

No visitors are welcome at Starbucks.

 

Virus no. 19

(not named after a popular Mexican beer)

had partied too hard in China & Italy,

now have stuck its head stateside

& ROTW (rest of the world), troubling

the waters darkly. Now, the still sober ones

are dealing with medical, political &

economical storms; many are grounded

at home after closings of airports, arenas,

auditoriums, offices, schools, & public parks.

 

All public gatherings are prohibited & discouraged—

we now practice social isolation,

protecting ourselves with soap & water

& standing 3+ feet away from the nearest stranger.

Do face marks really work at all?

 

At least we can get our drinks

at Starbucks still,

but only on the go.

 

 

 

Covid Poetry by Mike Zone

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Mike Zone resides beyond the pines…the author of Void Beneath the Skin and A Farewell to Big Ideas, a frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl, his work has been featured in: Horror Sleaze Trash, Piker Press, Synchronized Chaos and  Cult Culture magazine.  He wears  ridiculous sunglasses to hide his insomnia stricken eyes.

 

 

The Exhibit

There’s pennies on the floor

bones in the ceiling

a black veil all around

An original manuscript

dead romance

in a virus ridden world

 

 

“love” in the time of Corona

all we have

lust

the false conception of enchantment

they call it romance

if you can believe there was once in love in the time of cholera

when humanity had not quite outgrown its cosmic infancy

perhaps you can sit down on this here barstool

and consider the simulation

before you take a drink

there’s this number’s game we’re all forced to participate in that pervades our thinking

the conception of being

it’s all about the metrics

the social life you believe you have

dating to find someone “real”

with the friends you congregate to meet

at just the right places

all become distraction

a mere distraction of simulation

forced into metrics

distraction

like a bit of shock therapy

and we all wonder why things fall apart…

romance in the age of Corona you know it’s true i

n those deepest  remotest moments when in bed

(dead)

with a stranger

or the one you think you love

who may as well be a stranger

in the dismal inauthentic living of it all

give us your fear and your power

we’ll give you a new form of social security to abide by

and if ya’ can’t hit them metrics

maybe you just weren’t meant to be

but don’t worry

we’ve all got a lot more of you to burn away

with perception and pills

 

 

 

 

Bacteriophobia by Christopher T. Dabrowski

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Note about the author: BOOKS in USA: “Escape” (2019 – Royal Hawaiian Press), “Anomaly” (2020 – Royal Hawaiian Press)  BOOKS in Spain:”La fuga” (2019 – Royal Hawaiian Press), “Anomalia” (2019 – Royal Hawaiian Press) BOOKS in Poland: “Deathbirth” (2008 – Armoryka publishing house), “Anima vilis” (2010 – Initium publishing house), “Grobbing” (2012 – Novae Res publishing house), “Deathbirth and other stories” (2012 & 2017 – Agharta & Armoryka publishing house), “Z życia Dr Abble” (2013 – Agharta publishing house), “Orgazmokalipsa” (2016 – Alternatywne  publishing house), “Anomalia” (2016 – Forma publishing house), “Ucieczka” (2017 – Dom Horroru publishing house) & “Nie w inność” (2019 – Waspos publishing house) ANTHOLOGY in: USA, Poland, Russia, Germany. And he published his stories in the following magazines: PLAYBOY (Slovak edition), USA, England, Czech Republic, Russia, Brasil, Spain, Argentina, Germany, Italy, Hungary, Mexico

 

Jedrek was terribly afraid of bacteria.

Although he couldn’t see it he could imagine it.

Terrible beasts with bumps, fumbles and cilia! invisible threat lurking in wait.

He always scrubbed his hands thoroughly.

For half an hour or longer.

Then he wiped them off carefully.

He had nightmares that he couldn’t get clean, that he scrubs his hands to the blood, meat and bones.

When he woke up today, the whole world was drowning in soap.

A giant paw came from the sky and started scrubbing.

It scrubbed and cleaned civilization, removed human bacteria from the epidermis of the Earth.

 

 

Art by Ann Privateer

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 Ann Privateer is a poet, artist, and photographer. Some of her poems have appeared in Poetry Now, Sacramento Anthology: 100 Poems, and some of her photography has appeared in Third Wednesday to name a few.

 

 

 

 

 

Wrapped up in White Coats with a Smile

by Scott Thomas Outlar

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Scott Thomas Outlar lives and writes in the suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia, USA. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Selections of his poetry have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Bengali, Dutch, French, Italian, Kurdish, Persian, and Serbian. His sixth book, Of Sand and Sugar, was released in 2019 through Cyberwit Press. He hosts a podcast, Songs of Selah, that airs weekly on 17Numa Radio and features interviews with contemporary poets, novelists, artists, musicians, and health enthusiasts. More about the show and Outlar’s work can be found at 17Numa.com.

 

 

A cold medicine fog in the head

served over the counter with a kiss

still pales in comparison to the tryst

enjoyed while dancing with drugs

during our roaring twenties

when prescriptions were never sought

because they could be filled

by friends without degrees

to alleviate the suffering and agony

temporarily one dose at a time.

 

It’s not the same game being played any longer

in these middle-aged years of wisdom

when detached peace has been achieved within

even while tragedies befall the world at large.

Double-edged crosses and encoded helixes

scratch the surface of DNA with a scalpel

to trigger the gene reflex of renunciation in cells

as sanctioned programs drift across television screens.

 

Woe be to the harbinger of chaos

who arrives on the scene and discovers

that the prophecy he’d been tasked to announce

already came to pass without much effort.

Fallen cities mirror the burning blood

sloshing with designer chemicals concocted in labs

that are pushed to birth a placated future

where pretty neon lights pulse us all to sleep.

 

 

 

 

Quarantini Porcupine by Red Focks

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Red Focks is an American author, publisher, and folk artist. The 30-year-old lives in Phoenix Arizona with his wife, where he operates Alien Buddha Press. Red enjoys art with undertones of absurdism, cheerful nihilism, and rebellion. In addition to his contributions to Alien Buddha Press, Red has been featured by 17 Numa, Fishbowl Press, Ramingo’s Porch, Horror Sleaze Trash, Winedrunk Press, Transcendent Zero Press, Nixes Mate Pub, Rust Belt Press, Madness Muse Press, The Raw Art Review; his novel ‘Haight’ was published in 2018 by Cajun Mutt Press, and his short story collection ‘The Abandon’ was released in 2019 via Concrete Mist Press, whew his 2020 novella “The Bloody Waste” was also published. Red is one half of the art team ‘Pseudonym Lastname’ and is the head writer of the graphic novel ‘American Antihero”. Red’s other books include ‘Duffy Street & Other Dubious Incidents’, ‘The Philanthropist’s Suicide’, ’36 Haikus and a Horror Story’ and ‘Dead Celebrities’,

 

 

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