Dear Beloved Eternal Reader
By Jacob Rowan
My beloved eternal reader: Hello, good day, a-ha, hey hey. I must start with this — I am glad you are here, with me in this journey through mystery.
You are like I, are you not? First steps in cemeteries: your favorite memories; the smell of spirits and ghosts, that sound behind you and one in common to share the exciting spiritual solitude of God’s Acre. You remember every bit because you are like I, my Modern Ghoul. The graveyard of death our favorite memories.
And yes, horror movies, haunted houses, Halloween please! In wrestling we like Undertaker and Bray Wyatt too. We listen to punk, rock, rap, folk, and silence played by the moon. We love white faces and black braids, nudity, tattoos, and abstract art. Naturally as Modern Ghouls we like to smoke, some of us even like to drink, and we love them because they drink and tell us their problems and it’s funny.
But yes, bats, bridges (and the monsters that lie beneath), the homeless, poor, downtrodden, and lonesome. We love skeletons and fogs, we love frogs and pogs. We love creativity and the Creator. We love Jack Black, Jack Daniels, and Jack O’lanterns too. We love Fear and Loathing, Edward Scissorhands, Nightmare Before Christ, and Nightmare on Elm Street. Fire flames, carnivals, wicked clowns, and ICP. We love black lights, snakes, Twilight Zone, and Stephen King. Love metal, HIM, spells, candles, skateboards, and Ouija nights. We love sharp objects, psychiatric illnesses, and mental homes. Frankenstein, blood, freedom, unity. We love holding our loved one. We love reading, escaping into different worlds — and that’s where I come into play, Gentle Reader. Beloved Ghoul, it’s how we can always be together. My spirit is right here; our spirits intertwined. For I will never leave you. My need for you is like my need for black roses, gothic gardens, chocolates, chains, change! Inner beauty, Moonlit Goddess, best friend! I love your eyes, I love your eyes upon me, and I love You.
For aye and ever more we are,
Your Modern Ghoul
Dressed in Black as Always the Ones Who Deem Different Skating Sadly Dressed
(a crate poem)
By Jacob Rowan
Dressed in black; as always dressed
In a churchyard cloth blue-penciled in
Black war ship on a strand sea-black
As light as menthol, as high as
Always, paramour is lung clouds always
The carnival’s breath who relieves the
Ones in the dark who read the ones
Who sleep in a fleetwood hearse, ones who
Deem dusk and twilight beauty to deem
Different doors yet our homes are no different
In Memory of Marvin Kaye
By Jacob Rowan
Born through —
A rosebud portal of romance
A cold blue light to dance
A man who gave everyone in life a chance
MARVIN KAYE
Dear Marv,
Tis here your beloved final letter
Since now you’re staging a better weather
No need for your author pic sweater
While rising up on an angel’s feather
The Creator has unlocked your bodies fetter
Banished your pains and given you treasure
Now you’ve been released from Earth’s tether
I hope to all you are feeling better
With you gone, our eyes permanently wetter
Your writings we embrace for better measure
Miss her? Man go fucking get her
Here’s to you, her, and all, it’s been a
Pleasure
leasur
easu
asu
s
To Assasore
By Jacob Rowen
Dear Assasore,
Oh! Undo your tie, spend an evening in Theosolore,
Or the morning mystique smiling happy with Swedenborg.
Toss your newspaper, please tell me you will read no more.
I’ve found it is reason why your ass is sore —
No doubt you sitzfleisch-face of heart unsure.
The Creator allows us to fly through a-many door;
Through indiv relation and intuition let us mysfisoar.
Toss away your dull subfuse face and smile before,
A chilling experience in parapsycholore —
Beautifully, it may re-alearn beliefs of thy spirit’s core.
Have you ever had the mental of Pelaginsore?
Ah yes! Does not matter your belief in which that is for,
Defender of goodness, nice guy penned in a tough world.
According to Hoyle, the Bang is the one thing sure,
Yet to explain the beginning of The Creator, it is poor.
Lyceums to gather and creatively philosopher,
May be greater than the church of yesteryore —
Yes! Let us plant God’s beauty by the watershore,
Dechain our minds, let our hearts a-roar.
Hum Ming Bird
By Jacob Rowan
…That’s when I saw the hummingbird. Went right on through the picture and all – wings vibrating rapidly.
I thought it was an illusion. A trick of the eye.
Ixnay. That bird jumped from the frame and disappeared inside the world of meadows and daisies. A world I wish I was a part of.
The world has driven me mad. Accursed. Batty. They say I see things…nope…I can still see the hummingbird. Every time I look.
It has escaped my reach and achieved something I have not. But it never leaves me lonely. I hear it. Every time I look.
Dear Al
By Jacob Rowan
Dear Alcohol,
I don’t mind
the way you’ve made me feel
I don’t regret
the way you’ve made me reel
I thank you for being there
whilst loved ones
have gone elsewhere
I thank you for giving me
temporary relief
from temporary despair
I will not go to AA
and curse your name
For all who talk shit
I know in my heart you are sane
For who else is there for us
Created by the Creator for all
And will never give up on us
Forgiving everything and all
A Poem For My Son
By Jacob Rowan
I love you more than Jack Dempsey loved hitting
I love you more than Marciano loved winning
I love you more than anything it seems
I don’t know why I left my dreams
To a morbid life as sad as a tomb
To the empty cell of an empty room
I smile in sadness derangely deep
I can’t write anymore
And I’m too sad to sleep
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