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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-10 01:38:52 EDT

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@rock-rex.bsky.socialOct 1, 2026, 7:09 PM

"Flag Fen, Cambridgeshire".

From "Contact Light" (2025, Alien Buddha Press)

#poem #poetry #skypoets #blueskypoets #poetsofbluesky #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #contactlight #alienbuddhapress
@alienbuddhapress.bsky.social
@markknight63.bsky.social
@cambridgearch.bsky.social

first the leap into the pool beside the wooden causeway surface like a polished shield, shattered, shock of winter though the month was August and the air was hot darkness like a raven’s breast then light welled faintly from below from deeper down flickering like a rushlight by the door the flames grew brighter nearer, flames from unfamiliar hearths flaring like a brand flung high and shedding sparks and suddenly I fell among them, sprawling staring like a frightened child, life essence whirling out among the swirling scintillations glowing like a spray of bloodstones spreading out into the water from my soft throat where the sacrificial blade had sliced fading like a fallen doe’s eyes fading like a cooling ember fading like a plucked flower
@rock-rex.bsky.socialSep 28, 2026, 12:52 PM

"The Zombie Apocalypse"

from "Contact Light" (Alien Buddha Books, 2025)

#poem #poetry #skypoets #blueskypoets #poetsofbluesky #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #contactlight #alienbuddhapress #promptcombo #apocalypse
@rfsmith.bsky.social
@alienbuddhapress.bsky.social
@markknight63.bsky.social

All of Earth’s surfaces are rough and dry, with unhealed wounds that fester and degrade; her once-bright seas are yellow-brown and still beneath the scum of plastic, sunlight-bleached. Even her skies are scarred by streaks of high and soiled-white clouds that drift and give no shade, that never rain upon her grassless hills, that hold their acid moisture out of reach. Somehow the planet staggers on her course around the sun, long dead, decayed, but kept in motion by a dark, unvital force.
@rock-rex.bsky.socialSep 20, 2026, 9:25 AM

"Through the Looking Glass".

From "Contact Light" (2025, Alien Buddha Press)

#poem #poetry #skypoets #blueskypoets #poetsofbluesky #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #concretepoem #fantasypoem #contactlight #alienbuddhapress
@alienbuddhapress.bsky.social
@markknight63.bsky.social

@rock-rex.bsky.socialSep 14, 2026, 7:55 PM

"One in Three"

From "Contact Light" (2025, Alien Buddha Press)

#poem #poetry #skypoets #blueskypoets #poetsofbluesky #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity #horrorpoem #horrorpoetry #contactlight #alienbuddhapress
@alienbuddhapress.bsky.social
@markknight63.bsky.social

Stop! Listen! I was on my way (It doesn’t matter where); The stars were fading into day, & in the East a bloody flare. The wheel was heavy in my hands, The traffic fast though sparse; My eyes were swollen, gritty, & I needed food & coffee, fast. A sign for services appeared, Blue through the windscreen’s blur, & taking extra care I steered Into a car park vast & bare. Alone & stranded on a coast Of tables stacked with chairs, I ploughed through mushrooms, eggs, & toast, & finished two cafetières. The gents was clean enough, & yet Beneath a piney scent There was a whiff of winding sheet; I quickly splashed my face & went. Refreshed, replete, yet ill at ease, Brain squirming like a toad, I drove towards a stand of trees That stood beside the exit road. A sense of dread broke on my soul, I sped up ̕til the car Was barely under my control — & then it came, as black as tar, A cat that streaked across my bow. I wrenched the wheel in vain; The car was still, I don’t know how, & I sat shaking from the strain. At last I found the strength to stir & got out of my seat, & found the body — matted fur & bloody face, no more than meat. The corpse was tangled up inside The radiator grille; I stared at it — my eyes were wide, My breath was short, my stomach ill. I couldn’t bring myself to touch This thing of bone & hair, To pull it from the metal’s clutch; Reluctantly I left it there. I got back in, & as I left The rear-view mirror showed No sign of car park, Little Chef — Only a long & empty road. Since then I’ve driven up & down, The cat a badge of shame, But found no village, found no town, No exit back from where I came. Only the service stations drear That dot the motorway, In which I sometimes find an ear Prepared to listen to my tale. But now I see your friends are back & with them you must go — & I’ll continue on the track Of one who’ll hear me & not lack Compassion for me, & will hack From off my car that carcase black, & loose me from these bonds of woe.