Hall of Trees

Hall of Trees

One breath and in a blink

I’m underneath the grieving


A tapestry of greenery

Breaks the sun into such little



Carved from the wood she read

A history of the


Firestorms in the forestry

Charcoaled her heart sealed in the



She said –

This is my hall of trees

And in a storm it’s dizzying

The strongest roots are only inches deep

But on my own I think it will



One step and I’m splintering

Soft against the axe falling into the


I heard her say go now please

Into your own light and grow your own



All Rights Reserved (c) June 2018 John J Vinacci



Clawing at the broken, soiled earth

Dirt beneath the serrated nails

Howls bleak a wicked spine of wind

Blood is demanded out blackening lips


Moonbeam, catalyst, caster of spell

Makeshifted hand into paw, teeth, coarse hair

Running long, wild, naked, free

Something dormant unhinges, releases


From the bondage of being human

Civilized and mannered, courteous and heeled

But animal in nature (nature always wins)

Breaks out of containment to realize a kill.


All Rights Reserved (C) March 2018 John J Vinacci

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.




We are all angels outside

Light hearts and laughter

Prepared to be kind


We are all monsters inside

Gnashing behind smiles

Gorging on fire


Reality and disguise

Charades are the price

Of merchants civilized.


All Rights Reserved © May 2017 John J Vinacci

Poison And The Cure (Lyrics/Poetry)

Poison And The Cure (Lyrics/Poetry)

[Author’s Note: Another one from the archives!]


You scream for me

Madman in the dark

Fueled up on evil

Fury in your heart,

You beg me to release you

From suffering and hurting

Sign right here and I’ll

Keep it from returning;

You’ve got the poison

I’ve got the cure.


Accept the invitation and

I’ll release you from your prison

Or you can agonize forever

And never have your vengeance,

Your tortured soul betrays you

I can grant you some salvation

If you want your darkness sated

Here’s a contract, pen and date here;

You’ve got the poison

I’ve got the cure.


Now hear me

You have needs

So don’t resist me,

You’ll love me

(Then you’ll hate me)

You’ll justify me.


I am the temptation that enslaves

That makes promises agreed to out of hate

You’ll make choices you’ll take to the grave

You have something that nothing will sedate.


You scream for me

Madman in the dark

Empty of the evil

No more rage inside your heart,

You begged me to release you

From suffering and hurting

You made a deal with me

Mistakes result in burning;

You had the poison

I lied to you, there is no cure.


All Rights Reserved © May 2017 John J Vinacci



The angels fought like hell

To save themselves

When God fell;

We heard heaven crash

It came to be

At last –


You can’t erase history

They couldn’t cure that disease;


So when love’s labored truth

Fulfills destiny of the doomed

There’ll be no hands to hold

For selling out on our souls.


The angels finally gave

Their halos away

That hallowed day;

We saw their bridges burn

And how their conscious spurred

A sentence deserved –


They’ll never touch us again

Not even on our last breath;


So when our kingdom comes

No strength will be enough

To cool that place on fire

We thought would be denied for us.


All Rights Reserved (c) April 2017 John J Vinacci

Voiceless (Poetry)

Voiceless (Poetry)

The dying oceans of her voiceless eyes

Every look comes to a standstill in time

She’s searching for some words adrift at sea

Searching for some words that bring her peace

Adrift at sea.


Proteus’ spell cast by her voiceless smile

Choirs of mermaids contemplate suicide

She’s diving for the words in liquid dreams

Diving for the words for as long she can’t breathe

In liquid dreams.


A broken oar steers her voiceless life

A slow, watery drowning, oxygen dying

She journeys for the words that will redeem

Voyaging for words, she sails on belief

She can be redeemed.


Adrift at sea

In liquid dreams

Words will redeem her

If she can catch them and release.


All Rights Reserved © April 2017 John J Vinacci