Immortal Enemy

Immortal Enemy

You have heard of me

I like to drink the blood

Of the temporary

Hush! Before I feed

A wing-ed abyss

The taste of you

Is pleasuring



You think I’m what you need

Soft of the flesh

Your supple neck

Will feel me breathe

At the edge of a dream

My-distant-voice trance-like

Alters your reality



A moment of bliss

Followed by grief

Too late, regret,

Immortal enemy


I’m an evil machine

My kiss of death

Gave you life eternally

Queen without any peace

You’ll walk the earth

Hungry always with

The Need

(You’re freed…)


All Rights Reserved (c) October 2018 John J Vinacci

Throwing Roses

Throwing Roses

I’ll meet you at the wedding

All dressed in black

By the seaside

For what our friends have,

Unlike our ride

Before the swell crashed

They’re guided by something

In the stars we never had.


This is their time;

We’ll never find a way, so,


Let’s throw our roses

Into the ocean

Into every drop of water

That surprised us,

Let’s throw all of our roses

Into the ocean

And one of us can

Swim for the horizon.


Do you hear their

Undying love be cast?

Stronger than the waves

That crush the sand,

Unlike their vows

Our undertow lasts

To pull us out unexpectedly

Far from the land.


This is their time;

We never could find the way…


We never could swim

Against the facts

But right now it’s still

Polite to raise a glass,

We’ll wait until the

Winds are holding fast

To throw our roses and

Toast the never-will-haves.


This is their time;

We’ll never find a way, so,


Let’s throw our roses

Into the ocean

Into every teardrop of water

That surprised us,

Let’s throw all of our roses

Into the ocean

I promise I’ll wave to you

From the horizon.


All Rights Reserved (c) Sept. 2019 John J Vinacci

The Desert

The Desert

Welcome to

The desert of the unreal

Stretching for miles

Lands of distant feelings

Where nothing grows

But bitterness and loneliness

Where salvation’s out of reach

For this miscreant


The scorched earth

Barren and a wasteland

Nothing like the time before

Castles never made of sand

Welcome to

A world without a blue sky

Just a muted dome

With a specter floating by


Bye, bye, into the

Night, night, promises

Die, die, sweet lullabye

Bye, bye, into the fire


A conspiracy

Nothing more and nothing less

Against a human soul

Torn apart strewn out a wreck

The sands are spreading out

As far as the horizon

Feeling you get

When you accept what’s denied you


On convections

Of heat you think you’re flying

Like Icarus

Of another time before when

You were more than

Abandoned to this toil

Withered in the sun

And nothing more than older.


All Rights Reserved (c) March 2019 John J Vinacci

Heavy Weight

Heavy Weight

The air is smoky thick and

The hour’s growing late

The blacksmith’s hand is restless

And beginning to feel the strain

Of the hammer, on the anvil

No reward but outrage

The contract is expiring

Comeuppance doesn’t wait


It’s so heavy, it’s so heavy

Observe the circling crows

It’s so heavy, it’s so heavy

The interest on what he borrowed

It’s so heavy, it’s so heavy

The devil takes what is owed

It’s so heavy, it’s so heavy

Is written on his tombstone


Cancer in his bones

He is looking for a way

A way to reforge a clock running out on a deal

He shouldn’t have made

He can make no headway

‘Gainst karma, ‘gainst fate

Gravitas will see that he breaks


One final smote

He accepts the refrain

He knows it’s all over

When nothing new can be made

Enveloped by the dark

He looks back and he feigns

Returning to the forge

But there isn’t an ember that remains.


All Rights Reserved (C) Feb. 2019 John J Vinacci

52: An Anthology Of Strangeness

52: An Anthology Of Strangeness

My new book, 52: An Anthology Of Strangeness is out on Smashwords right now. I’ve taken most of my short stories and poetry from my blog, cleaned them up, edited them, and in some cases reworked them for your enjoyment. It like my Christmas present to you. Have a very merry – and strange – new year.

side of the cycle

Where Do You Get Your Story Ideas?

Where Do You Get Your Story Ideas?

“Where do you get your story ideas?”

Writers get this question a lot in relation to their fiction. The answer, of course, varies though I do think most of the time story ideas come from something a writer wants to say. (Well, at least until they learn to write what is marketable seeing how the two usually do not coincide.)

Story ideas come from many places. Myself, I get story ideas from other stories. I often get that “Wouldn’t it be cool if…” line breeze through my mind while I’m reading or watching something else. For me, I enjoy writing stories with a twist or try to turn convention on its head as I absolutely hate tropes. On the other hand, an idea often just pops into my head. It’s kind of sad to say I don’t have a muse to inspire me, at least not one I’m aware of.

I’ve heard other writers say it but I do not get any of my ideas from my dreams. As bizarre as they may be sometimes, my dreams aren’t usually compelling enough or coherent enough to tell a good story. Besides, life can be bizarre enough on its own if you let it. Nor do writing prompts usually work for me, I guess because I don’t like being told what to do. But, that’s me.

Where do you get your story ideas from? I’d like to know.


Do You Know What the Stars Mean / Moonlight On a Spire

Do You Know What the Stars Mean / Moonlight On a Spire

[Note: I have edited these poems for someone I knew once upon a time.]

Do You Know What the Stars Mean?

Do you ever wonder

Wonder why

Why the stars

Kiss the sky?


Where do clouds go

On clear days,

Why do the flowers bloom

In different ways?


Do you ever wonder

Wonder why

Why the stars

Trust the night?


How does time move

While you stand still,

Where do children run

To get their fill?


Do you ever wonder

Wonder why

Why the stars

Hide come first light?

~ R.S.

Moonlight On a Spire

As I crept through the cold, velvet dark

Of the cave I call home, rust creeps over

The drain and down the pipe of its chambers.


Moonlight climbs through the window

Down the hall and shifts fast enough

To crouch in silence upon my bed

Before I’m through the door.


I inch my way forward

I rest my head

Seep tears against that

Which have laid hard hands

Around my heart before.

~ R.S.