Dear Editor
I am aspiring to become established as a poet and a short story writer. I have written 101 books of poetry over the past several years and 17 novels: I have been submitting my work for the past two years. I am thrilled by acceptance. I am always looking for an audience. I have published 491 poems, 343 short stories, and 86 pieces of art in over 155 periodicals, books and anthologies as well as in radio broadcasts. I have been published in The Storyteller, Ceremony, Write On!!! (Poetry Magazette), Writing Raw and Necrology Shorts. Also I recently won the People’s Choice Award for poetry In The Storyteller for a poem titled Secret Sash. I have been accepted in England, Australia, Canada, Thailand and India. I love to write and offer an experience to the reader. I am a member of The American Poet’s Society as well as The Isles Poetry Association and The Dark Fiction Guild. (My art is viewable at face book, will806095@bellsouth.net)
*Website-SwampLit (RonnieWK.weebly.com)
* Website-Shadows at Night-Tide (Shadowsatnighttide.weebly.com)
* Website-WolfFray.Blogspot.com
* Website- Ravenswont.blogspot.com
* E-Magazine/Website- FarthermostDream.Blogspot.Com
* Website- Marageinblame.blogspot.com
*E-Magazine/website-Ethrealsouls.blogspot.com

Sincerely,

Ron Koppelberger


Scarlet Fang

Carnal carriage caught in embraces of scarlet fang

And found divisions of day and night-tide blossom,

By dark suns and brilliant nights of fire, the beauty bearing the

Pain of a wonting dream, done in hues of shaded remembrance

And needing kisses shushed by the silence

Of an unbidden desire.


Dark Passages

Genuine bond, restless souls and night-time seasons

Of damp moss, between the cracks of a stone path,

Leading to hedgerows and secret forests of swollen smiles

And pointy ears in black boodle and tender blush,

The lure of long gone beauties in dark passages
Of Eden.


Old Tears

Another in space, time and relative age, given the luster

Of old tears and silhouettes done in Halloween

Cardboard, by dusty old candy lost

In the corners of a gray slated porch, from time gone on

And nights of passionate fervor, the wont for a savored sweet

In realms of empty illusion and vistas passing
In revolution.


The Last Island

Unlike the vast seas of blood borne dark violet and

Perfumed by the veils of a distant horizon,

A barren bewilderment gone to chill winters

North of the last island and south of perditions

Hold, a name wrought unto inky darkness

Left alone in the midst of delivered

Isolations and lost loves.


Ancient Shadow

Bitter coffee, dark hues of velvet and moted sunshine

Dust, by the latticework of an ancient shadow, burnt umber

And polished in adornments of wooden construct,

A silent breath of mist given the spirit of a passing

Ghost, begun in tendrils of spider weave

And tethered old flesh bought by

The dust of old bones and forgotten
Cups of coffee.


Savage Season

In the midst of an echoing whisper,

Caught scarlet in silent ease,

unheard and given the shade of fear wrought real

By the hunting raven and the suns rays at night,

A call unanswered except for the years gone to the
Eternity of a savage season.

Ron Koppelberger