Untitled, 28th Dec ‘18 by Phen Weston

I once ate the world!

Wrapped around its roots

And bled upon dead forest floors.

For what?

In words I am the limited,

Devoid of empathy. Standing

Rage that carves through rock

Wind, rain and hours

To be ignited like marsh gas.

Burned out.

There were days

When I was limb and night.

Aches and cause,

The blistering unity

Of sinful contented beauty.

But now the world burns out.

I watch.

I watch rage and greed

Simmer within the houses of men.

I watch with such regularity

Strings pulled

And played with unflinching depravity

That I wish, sometimes,

The world would burn a little faster.

I watch oceans fill with artificial fallacies

And habitats drown in steal

And anger,

and I scream

With wild unbroken power…

Her heart beats

Like forest fire,

And in our ashes renews without us.

In our deaths, lives in harmonious stolen

Moments

Outside the pages of our lies.

Renew, rebirth, rekindle.

From death, she is born to feral

Lullabies that echoed before

And will again.

Earthling children.

Mother holds.

We drown in our own kind

And in blissful knowledge

Know

Mother’s time is coming around

Once more

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When Cain Chained Himself To Daisies by Julian Langer

It’s the end of the world so gotta find a lover to make babies 

If I kill my brother to fuck my mother would you call me Cain, maybe

If I’m Able to turn it into a fable would you read it today please 

If I’m a prick and get out my dick, would you shave me

But if I’m not and you forgot, maybe we’ll chain ourselves to daisies 

But those daisy chains won’t remain, to say they would would be crazy 

These prejudicial rituals are starting to get hazy

I’m starting to hate Me because I ain’t Me

But I don’t really care because you weren’t there and I’m watching graves bleed

But if a grave bleeds black I hope you’ll appreciate that the attack didn’t phase me

But I’m starting to itch because there’s supposedly a glitch and it’s yesterday and tomorrow is today see

Perhaps it’s tragic that this magic is just a cover for hate screams

It’s sad that I’m kind of glad that this is done 

Update On Journal 

Living in this space is weird. 

Caught between the machine and the forest, falling into a schism whose abyss is deafeningly silent – here we are. 

The words we have received for the journal are beautiful and we are thankful for those who have sought to be part of the Night Forest Cell Of Radical Poets for joining this project.

That the internet exists is ugly and not something we celebrate – but through this weapon of our enemy we have reached further than we ever expected. Across winds, oceans and land, the journal has entries from 5 continents. 

There are still decisions to be made and work to be before the collection will be published, but we are now no longer accepting entries for the journal – all submissions sent now will only be considered for the site. 
Love, rage 

And fire

Feral desire

In this iconoclastic space 

Fingers of Paradise by Brendon Crook

Upon a flowers petal I sensed the Universe,
As she fluttered to the breezes beckoning.

I saw the forests,
The oceans,
The most distant star and furthest galaxy.
I saw slivers of light escaping the clouds in a broken sunset,
As night devours the final vestiges of daylight.

As creation poured forth in fitful waves from the pretty crimson petal,
I heard a baying as the wolf to the moon,
I heard it in the cries of newborn chicks high in the canopies of the world,
And the ghostly whistle of the winds aimless searching through needles of pine,
Piercing my vigilance,
And felt the soothing resolve of a Magpies chortle in early morn.

Earths bouquet a meadow of spring flowers and the powerful and sacred scent,
Of a deep forest’s way,
Soils aroma after a deluge.

For ’tis she that is the star clad skies,
And the vast oceans where our prayers soar to the yonder shores of,
Heaven reflecting humanities myriad of moods,
From a motionless calm,
To a violent dissipation in foam flecked waves.

O’small petal,
Borne of a crimson flower,
Thou are the embodiment of sanctity,
And the holy reflections of all creation.

Thou hath touched my soul,
With thy wondrous fingers of paradise.

The Glorious Fall of Something Dear to Authority by GW

O! Starving cracking skeletons whom had built which land domain of reaching, unnatural vines

You have crossed all that has ever been and ever will be for the last time! Your petty groups of barbarian ransackers who stink in your already filthy streets know not what a “civilized” manner is

Your emperors have killed and built and killed and O! Destroyed sacred tall trees in untouched “chaotic” woods! All that is chaotic is not the wood which lay beyond and inside your domain but that which lies inward

O! Child and man die alike, your armies suppress and suppress and your cities suppress and suppress! Yet you hide within foul palaces made from all that is rightful

What code of religion should your force upon us? The ever changing destruction of green?

By GW

DUDUK DI BEBATUAN / SITTING ON THE ROCKS BY OKTY BUDIATI

DUDUK DI BEBATUAN

Simponi berlekuk legenda silam
di serambi, langit melintas menjauh
sehabis berjalan, malam direbahkan
lampu-lampu taman bersinar derma
recik-recik hidup mewarna riak

Seekor laba-laba menjalin sutra
perak kehitaman bagai prisma
pelita mengerti bagaimana
merambah menyimpang

“jika malam terhisap dalam-dalam
aku, gagap menghapus kenangan”

Namun di sudut ruangan
senyum mengayak ungu
menggeliat retak jantung
berkemas kekosongan
sebelum melengkap abadi

~
SITTING ON THE ROCKS

Symphony broken, notched into past legend
on this porch, the sky passed away
after walking, and night lay down
the lights shining like charity on the garden
the sparkles of life coloring its ripples

A spider weaves its silk
the blackish silver is like a prism
the lantern understands how
to penetrate, to deviate

“If the night breathes deeply
I, stutter to delete the memories”

But in the corner of the room
this purple smile sieved
writhing this cracked heart
packing emptiness
before complete eternity

***

Okty Budiati
Jakarta, 07-10-2018

Tyler Dixon

Last night we received the sad news of the passing of Tyler Dixon, and we are heartbroken!

Tyler was an early supporter of and contributor to this project. We are proud to have him as an eternal part of the Night Forest. When Julian (Our founder) discussed with Tyler the shape of things to come (the journal ahead) he graciously offered us ‘Dying in a Sea of Smiles: Selected Poetry 2015-2018’, telling us we can use anything we wanted with his blessing. On top of this, he provided us with new work too. We will always be honoured that he chose to share this all with us.

In his memory, we would like to share these with you. His last submission to us will hold a place of honour in our journal. However, right now, we are grateful we can share with you ‘Dying in a Sea of Smiles: Selected Poetry 2015-2018’ by Tyler Dixon. Click here to download: Dying in a Sea of Smiles by Tyler Dixon

Tyler was an outstanding poet, a beautiful thinker and a good friend. But most importantly he was the Night Forest, our family, our kin; like each of you that join us here. The Forest will hold him to its roots and every creature within will mourn. We howl with you now, Tyler; the forest speaks your words.

 

All our love and respect,

The Night Forest Cell of Radical Poets

 

Dying in a Sea of Smiles by Tyler Dixon