By J.D. Dresner
Nocturne for the Night
(The Night Sky Is…)
The night sky is a liar, a dishonest December tree hiding dead bulbs behind young ones that still shine. It is a time machine, laced with lambent echoes of fledgling suns, reminding us that our now is not so now. It is an assemblage of epitaphs, jumbled and overlapping like letters in a word search, a discordant mourning for those consumed. The night sky is a graveyard of canines, centaurs, and crabs. Yet to us they are alive, and watching.
We meander toward deeper dreams, cradling one another, our dog demands the space between us, despite wrapped arms. Your head resting in the crook of my neck, your honey scented hair tickling my cheek. Sunlight lingers behind pulled drapes, beyond the shade of this plum sanctum we made, warm in our trappings of a beautiful life. Lie here with me, free from the day’s depleting drudgery, awake, barely awake, scarcely concerned with tomorrow, as long as it begins with you.
O Little Snail
Though ballads often tell a tale of legendary folk, This one sings of a little snail, a very tiny bloke. No deeds of virtue did he make of which you might applaud, Not fame, nor fortune was the fate of this shy gastropod. Yet somehow still, he made the page within a modest book. This poet felt his life was good enough to take a look. O little snail, O little snail, how do you rasp and file the coloured paper, leaving but a matching, coloured bile? It seems to me a special trait one never would have guessed a not-so-special pulmonate would generally possess. Yet is that worth a simple song, or is there more to tell? Well, I say no . . . that’s all there is, besides his shiny shell.
Poet poiētēs poiein to make maker God
Scattered spots cirrhosa tops a cheetah’s tawny fur, I spied a speck beneath her arch my favourite one on her. A slide of cells ladybug’s shells each pip a kiss of sun, I like to stop along the way and count them one by one. Damascus steel banana peel my leopard gecko’s back, I count each blip, one kiss by kiss to form the zodiac. Look at the sun dalmatian’s bum I see spots everywhere, but up against my freckled love nature cannot compare.
Under the penname, J.D. Dresner, Jared Reid’s journey began with his four-book epic fantasy, Talisman Series. Like with his wildly illustrative poems, such as For the Robots (published in Polar Starlight issue #8), his short stories often follow an unusual and unpredictable format, such as his published tale, Sword & Witchhazel, a two-perspective fantasy narrative in Romeo and Juliet style that can be read in any order, depending on which side of the book the reader chooses to begin with. When Dresner isn’t developing new spells within his poetry sanctum, he’s brewing up new fiction from his cauldron of lies. A lot of Dresner’s free time goes into developing his fantasy world through his website, his drawings, and his writing. He lives in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, where he provides professional layout, design, and editorial work for small book publishers.