Home | A YEAR OF SUNDAYS

top of page

A YEAR OF SUNDAYS

June 2025

The Official Poetry Journal

of AAPC

https://www.facebook.com/groups/184972343500393

ARTWORK: Monsters and the Beast by Trinity-memyandi L. Venter

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

Post poems on our Facebook page: "The Official AAPC (alt.arts.poetry.comments) Poetry Group: //www.facebook.com/groups/184972343500393

Poems should be original works, and can be on any topic, and in any style. Previously published poems are accepted. If you simultaneously submit your poems elsewhere, you will be responsible for removing them from our Facebook page. Poems removed from the Facebook page prior to our monthly online publication will no longer be considered for inclusion.

ARTWORK is also welcomed.

RULES:

"A Year of Sundays" does not accept poems that use obscene language, graphic depictions of sex, or negative depictions of/attacks on any groups of people, races, religions, sexes, gender identities, etc.

YEARLY ANTHOLOGY:

Poems accepted for our monthly online publication will be eligible for inclusion in our annual "Year's Best" print issue. Poems for the annual anthology are selected by our editorial staff.

ABOUT US:

"A Year of Sundays" is an interactive new poetry magazine combining four different media platforms: Usenet, Facebook, Website, and Print. It is part discussion group, part poetry workshop, part monthly online periodical and part annual print anthology.

Alt.arts.poetry.comments is a Usenet group of poets who share their work for comments or critiques. Some poets use the group as a sounding board before submitting their poem(s) to literary magazines. Most are looking for advice or help in fine-tuning their writing, developing better images, improving their use of language, and making sure their writing is clear and enjoyable to the reader. Poetry can also be posted there under the “A Year of Sundays” Submissions thread.

Poems can be discussed/workshopped in the Usenet group, or simply posted in the Facebook group (although comments are welcome there as well).

EDITORIAL STAFF:

Michael Pendragon

Editor & Publisher

NancyGene

Assistant Editor

J.D. Senetto

Founding Editor

CONTACT INFORMATION:

Email Michael Pendragon with questions at: michaelmaleficapendragon@gmail.com

Monsters

and the Beast

How did I survive

you want to know

amongst these monsters

with their hollow eyes and

vitriol spitting mouths

forked tongues

destroying my sanity

my last belief in humanity

monsters, all of them

always in my peripheral

shadows in familiar rooms

wearing faces I once loved

they knew not these

abominations of my blood

the venom coursing in their veins

I was spawned

from the same dark well

they hadn't seen the

beast that I'd become

the three headed reflection

twisted in the broken

hallway mirror

sharp edges cutting deep

into the flesh

of my new found memory

I learned their language of betrayal

their voices reverberating

in my mind

they missed the

quiet violence

behind my smile

that hid a snarl

I wear retribution like armor

their cutting words to me

a battle cry

I survived by becoming

what they feared most

the beast they cannot tame

the spawn who knew their secrets

ultimately we’re similar

monsters in human skin suits

razor teeth

and burning eyes

a family forged in the fires

of our shared hatred

how did I survive?

I became what they made me

the feral thing howling

through the deserted halls

of our haunted home

a three headed beast

filled with vengeance

fueled by rage

how did I survive you ask?

who said I did

the million dollar question is

will they…

-- Trinity-memyandi L. Venter

*****

Why End

the Flowers

Who says the growth must stop?

We will only be

lying in our beds, so why

why must they be plucked to sit

by our stones?

-- Richard Oakley

*****

Penta-Gram

I met my honey on a Penta plant

The petals were red and she was brown

I was a recent rose transplant

And she was a bee just blown into town

The flowers and leaves had a raindrop sheen

The nectar was sweet as I drank her in

I was a male who loved my Queen

But this new bee gave my wings a spin

We worked each morning to pollinate

And danced on the blooms one petal apart

Antennae began to undulate

My body pulsed from my dorsal heart

We’d fly as a pair to her cell in the hive

Just 28 days we had together

We buzzed and waxed and I was alive

Until the bear and raging weather

Destroyed the hive and so my sweet

And I were forced to find new homes

As solitary bees you’ll meet

Alone in just a brush and comb

-- NancyGene

*****

Untitled

(Unending Faith)

With unending faith, Hope will always pray
for crippled spirits and broken dreams
sooth their tears, stifle their screams
and take to her chest, till a better day

That fateful day, her Escaped Kin will pay
for from her fathomless well will upswell
a flood to wash away their blighted Hell
so finally her children can safely play

-- Ash Wurthing

*Dedicated in memories of Jocelynn Rojo Carranza, an 11 year old angel now lost to us, and Mikayla Raines, founder of Save A Fox wild animal rescue.

*****

When You Shoot Dice with the Devil, You Always End Up

Throwing Craps

Too many seven-come-eleven nights

Washed down with bonded booze and bottle blondes;

Too many barroom brawls and backstreet fights

Green fairies wielding anise-scented wands

Who lure me back to go another round.

Too many tattooed tramps and tramp-stamped hos

Holed up in rat-hole dives till break of dawn,

Too many mornings passed in unwashed clothes

A malcontented, lean and hungry pawn

Lost in the cross-patched streets and traffic sounds

That strive to fill the night-black void within.

Too many scrapes with fate, too many scars

Too many parted lips, too many sins

Too many miles racked up in suped up cars

Down empty highways paved with blood and bone.

The dice are tossed, boxcars collide and burn

My head is pounding like a freight train's rod,

I close my eyes and wait my final turn

Pick up the dice, mutter a curse to God

Stare into snake eyes till I turn to stone.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

Mechanical Noise

She's selfish and spoiled

And always well oiled;

Daddy's little golden girl,

Brought up in a Godless world.

She's always racing, shifting her gears;

A pretty face with the space

Between her ears.

Cold, emotionless,

She couldn't care less;

A cruiser and a user,

A conscience would confuse her.

She says she's lonely, her only friends,

Are the men with the money

To meet her ends.

So face it, boy,

You're just a toy

Along for the ride till she decides.

Don't listen to what she's saying,

She's only faking and making

More of that mechanical noise;

Separating the men from the boys,

Making her men into mechanical toys.

-- Joseph Danoski

*****

The Curves

on Purpose

We took out time --

sent the clock careening

off course --

bit a speck of dust, was

flung up from the curbside

mandible.

-- Richard Oakley

*****

The Observer

I can hear the fizz and sizzle

Of the waves as they slide down the beach

I feel the foamy wetness

Of salt water at my feet

As I walk along the sand

Breakers create a watery din

The undertow tugs at my heart and soul

Drawing my body in

But I won’t swim today

Although the ocean calls

Instead I will observe

The wildness of it all

-- Louise Charlton Webster

*****

Faultline

Don’t talk to me about balance

I am built on a subduction zone

one layer of me

shoving the other

under

There’s no symmetry here

only compression

crustal buckling

a body folding into itself

under pressure I never asked for

calm is a lie

a locked fault waiting to rupture

beneath my smile

stored energy

elastic strain building

with nowhere to go but OUT

when it hits

Oh, you'll feel it

I am the primary wave

The P-wave

the first to strike

fast

brutal

a rumble before I break

Then comes the S-wave

slower

sideways

shaking everything sideways

until my world tilts into chaos

I don’t crash

I liquefy

soil turns to sludge underfoot

I sink into me

lost archeology

no one will excavate

They say I’m unstable

I need fault mitigation

where the fuck do you bolt down

a shifting soul?

This is no mood swing

It’s plate tectonics

This is me

ripping at the mantle

grinding through metamorphic pressure

until thought becomes magma

I don’t rupture

I erupt

I pyroclast

I ash-cloud every relationship

until all they breathe

is fallout

still they ask me to calm down

To “ride it out.”

be less intense.

I was born

along a transform boundary

and I have split every map

they’ve ever tried

to draw of me

I am not a crack in the surface

I am the goddamn continental divide

-- Trinity-memyandi L. Venter

*****

Untitled

It's amazing, faith wasn't my saving grace

when my hopes were trampled in the rat race

and you may think I'm lost, but I have found

that now blind to that which beguiles

I may be free from their lusty wiles

but not their siren's song lurid sound

-- Ash Wurthing

*****

The Prison

of Your Skin

You've the patience of a saint,

But your faith is wearing thin.

Living in the middle of a desert existence,

With any attempt at living met with resistance.

You've been declared dangerous and insane;

A strange blend of anger and regression --

An outcast and a leper

That everyone must shun.

Banished to the wilderness

Beyond the land of the living;

Outside the cities of man

And the company of women.

Your life a world of locked doors

And fortress walls without an entrance,

Where prayers fall upon deaf ears

Of the gods who stand in indifference.

You've no home nor hearth, no farm with fields

In which to sow your wild and restless oats.

No green island oasis

With sweet waters of forgetful rest.

No daughters of lost shepherds

With warm offers of bed and breakfast.

Only the cold stars, or an old barn

To lie down with the dogs,

The pigs and goats.

You're a patient in the pit,

In the prison of your skin.

Living like a sinner dying for his religion;

Suffering under the judgement of their decision.

You've been declared unsafe and unclean,

With no hope nor cure for your condition --

A scapegoat and a martyr

Awaiting your redemption.

-- Joseph Danoski

*****

After the Rain

After it rains

The trees cry

The leaves weep

Until they dry

Puddles create

Waterfront views

The grass is slick

With heaven sent dew

The air is fresh

Washed and clean

The pavement releases

A misty steam

After the rain

Rivers side sweep streets

The drought is over

To the town’s relief

-- Louise Charlton Webster

*****

Emigration

Now comes the season

When sister and brother

Must leave the safe nest

Of father and mother.

Nature must ease in

A new generation

Of bluebirds and redbreasts

For God’s admiration.

Man sees the reason

Why Earth sings with feathers,

When fledglings in full dress

No longer are tethered.

-- NancyGene

*****

The Patient Lime

Below the sense is time

below lemon is lime

One note hits, one punches

one night stands, in bunches.

Richard Oakley

*****

Where

Nothing Grows

Down in the valley where nothing grows,

There are no more bluebirds, only crows.

Down in the village, the river slows,

And as cold as death

The north wind blows.

Now it never rains, but always snows,

Down in the valley where nothing grows.

Out on the wastelands where no-one goes,

Except for the loner, all his woes;

Counting his blessings on fingers, toes,

Out on the wastelands

Where no-one goes.

Now it never rains, but always snows,

Down in the valley where nothing grows.

Top of the mountain, an eerie glow

To the little village down below;

No signs of springtime begin to show,

Nor hope that something

Will ever grow.

-- Joseph Danoski

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsE8oCGj8T4

*****

The Body Electric

I sing the body electric...

-- Walt Whitman

I spring to life when you walk in the room

Like wildflowers opening to the sun,

I spread my eager petals out in bloom

Their vibrant hues too deep to be outdone

By reddest rose, viola penny blue.

I burst to life, filled with electric power

The atmosphere takes fire, air cracks and sparks,

Galvanic currents, nuclear ions shower

Transforming thoughts, erecting radiant arcs

Span time and space, uniting me with you.

Drawn face-to-face, eyes locked in mirrored stare,

Reflected smiles and echoed laughter fuse

And in that fusion gladly unaware

Of any world beyond our pinpoint views

Too tightly knit for one to break the gaze.

I come to life, with new life pulsing through

My tired veins, controlled atomic force

Runs through me, and through me flows into you

I tremble as we trace time to its source

Embracing you alone for all my days.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

Wrecking Ball

I am the hurricane

that destroys every

safe harbor I seek

my lighthouse

only leads to jagged rocks

salt in your wounds

poison in your cup

bitter wind that gnaws

on the bleached bones

of every soul I touch

You come with hope in your eyes

I see the end

I do not trust

my hands pull apart

closed wounds

stitch by stitch

until there’s nothing left

but the cold kiss

of regret

I press against

your lips

I die in every love story

doubt that grows louder

until it drowns out

all the sweetness

you thought you saw in me

I am not comfort

no one’s salvation

just a howl in the silence

of your peace

I’ll strangle

murder

the fragile love

in your beautiful heart

I stand in rubble

see the truth

deep in the scars

I leave behind

never was I meant to heal

bring warmth

only cold

hurt

I'm inevitable destruction

you should have seen

coming

the moment I crashed

into your life

a human wrecking ball...

-- Trinity-memyandi L. Venter

*****

Shrimp and Grits

Shrimp and grits and bacon bits

Feel really good in your tummy

They melt in you mouth a gift from the south

They taste so incredibly yummy

They're easy to make after you wake and bake

It won't put much strain on your brain

Main course or a side you'll burst with pride

At the deliciousness you were able to obtain

-- Keith Mansfield

*****

THE ULTIMATE HUNGER

Once, I was like you,

Eating only what's true and sweet;

But once I tasted of the grave,

I came to crave its gruesome treat.

It was a growing compulsion,

So unnatural and unclean;

Always hungry like a vulture

For something more obscene.

Now I raid boneyards and blue morgues

For that human meat;

The sum-total of the number of souls

Of what and who I eat.

-- Joseph Danoski

*****

Kingdom's Queen

I found the silver key

To a golden book;

And watched the spirit world

By a sylvan brook.

I caught the sweet woodnymph

That first captured my heart,

That midsummer night's day

When she played me my part.

I saw a black rainbow

That gave me the blues;

The moon and stars rising

That inspired the muse.

The goddess of springtime

With her golden hair green,

Who wore the flowered crown

Of a kingdom's queen.

-- Joseph Danoski

*****

Midsummer Night

The forest trembles, breathless on the brink

Enchantment fills the air like tiny bells

The devil moon sends down a wicked wink

While blinking stars, like brilliant asphodels

Trick wayward wanderers across the brake

To search for asses' faces in the lake

Or listen to the faerie songs that tell

Of love-in-idleness whose purple dye

When sprinkled in a sleeping lover's eye

Purports to fashion Heaven out of Hell

While casting moonspun spells on patchwork fools.

Come Moth, Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Mustardseed

The night is young, and starlight flecks the trees,

The Puck sets out upon a darksome deed

As love's laugh ripples on the Junenight breeze

To drive men mad, and maidens madder still.

I close my eyes and bide my time until

Night's dragons slash the sleeping clouds to shreds

And scattered moonbeams gleam like fireflies,

Then raise my head to scan the midnight skies

Or search the grove for faeries' woodbine beds

For goblins, faeries, changelings, imps, and ghouls.

This night's for lovers and love's wounds run deep

When green eyes pierced me like a faerie dart,

Proved Robin's spell too delicate to keep

And gossamer bands too frail to bind the heart

I bend my head and watch the flowers weep.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

Surely

A sweet summer evening

The moon is out

Sterling stars shimmer

All about

The cool earth is moist

Flowers have closed

The garden asleep

But tomorrow it grows

Lovers together

Gaze at the sky

Sure of a heaven

For above them it lies

-- Louise Charlton Webster

*****

The End of the Line

Having visions of fire from worlds unseen

Deep in the afterglow of a life well lived

The transition is swift but the visibility poor

A pleasant feeling from the warm sun or a brutal beckoning?

Sitting in on the new frontier waiting for the final chapter

The gulf separates the conscious mind from the blackness

of tomorrow

As you slip into the sea, the sea of possibility

Where you land we'll soon see

-- Keith Mansfield

*****

Band-Aids

and Bullet Holes

i entered this world

straight into a bloody warzone

my childhood riddled with landmines

with the very first step i took

something blew

by five

i knew how to duck before the strike

at ten

i was stitching myself up

twenty

i was fluent in pretending

owned an arsenal of masks

knew how to play any part

thirty

i was propped up on pills

so i started to quill

the pain away

i’ve been shot

again

and again

wounds deep as time itself

black holes tunneled through me

where stars used to live

all they ever handed me

bandaids

not even the kind that pretend

to blend in

they slapped on

mickey mouse and cinderella

as if cartoon magic

could stop a soul from bleeding

a smiling princess

could compensate

for the love they never gave me

care was something

you could buy in a box

love made in china

peel and press

over shrapnel

no one saw me

stapling my soul back together in the dark

or heard

how loud the silence

the violence

was inside my skull

i kept walking

bullet-riddled

shaking

with a smile duct-taped to my face

tell me

how do you patch a childhood?

how do you tourniquet a life

that started bleeding

before it even began?

every label they gave me

was just another way to say

“here’s a wound we don’t know how to treat,

but let’s stick something over it

so we don’t have to see.”

i am still standing

still bleeding, yes

but goddamn it

i’m still here

if i bleed out

let it be a masterpiece

not just another chalk outline

on the pavement

let it be

red as rage

raw in it’s truth

more honest than any mask

i’ve ever worn

you don’t survive

all these years of hell

by being soft

you live it

by bleeding bright

turning every bullet hole

into a light bulb

let them hand me

their cartoon band-aids

i’ll wear them as armor

smiling back at the world

with blood on my teeth

a blazing fire

no diagnosis

can ever name or tame…

-- Trinity-memyandi L. Venter

*****

Letters to Shorty

He was just a mere boy

when he marched off to war,

leaving behind his one true love.

She was as pretty as the most beautiful rose,

and as innocent and pure

as a dove.

He was handsome and young

with a heart full of love

for his beautiful maiden so fair.

They promised their love would always be true

and love letters everyday they would share.

Each day, she ran to open her mail

and she smiled at the words that she read.

"My Dearest Shorty," it said.

How is my sweet love today?

I dream of the day we will wed."

The years went by,

and the letters piled high.

Each one was its own special treasure.

"Dear Shorty," he said,

"My love never dies,

but grows deeper each day

without measure."

"When this war ends,

a beautiful life we will spend

and together our lives we will blend.

Dear Shorty, I promise to cherish your love

until the day my life

comes to its end."

Then came the day

to Shorty's dismay,

no letter from her lover was there.

And as the days went by

and no letters arrived,

her heart was overcome

with great fear.

Everyday she prayed.,

"God please keep him safe

and bring my love home to me."

Then, at last came the news

of a great calamity.

So severe were her love's injuries.

They said he was frail, and only time would tell,

if he could survive the long weeks ahead.

It was the thoughts of Shorty's love,

that gave a much needed shove

to get him up out of his bed.

Alas, one last letter arrived.

"My Dearest Shorty," it said.

"My heart has been faithful and true.

The war has been long,

but my love is still strong."

"Shorty....I am on my way

home to you."

-- Patti Thomas Woosley

*****

The Devil

in My Soul

He pricks my mind with barbéd pitchfork prongs

Embroils my thoughts with dastard's darksome deeds,

Sows bastard seeds with sultry siren songs

Sets fire to coals that turn my black-goat needs

To blazing starbursts brighter than the sun.

He stirs the ragged rabble of my loins

Rouses the rebel youth that dwells within,

Bids me to kill my God for thirty coins

To nail my conscience to the cross of sin

And wield my verses like a loaded gun.

He goads me, bending me until I snap

Pours bonded bourbon, sparks a cigarette,

Enflames my senses like a thunderclap

Then prods me on, a prancing marionette

To lose myself in perfume-scented arms.

I've walked this path a thousand times before

Cut blood-red smiles on the face of night,

Kissed eyes that sparkled like a painted whore

Plunged headlong in the winecasks of delight

And pledged my soul to sample siren charms

That fill my senses like a beldam's spell --

Forsaking Heaven for the thrills of Hell.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

Untitled

(A Hex)

A hex is upon this existence!

A bad moon of ominous dissonance

over this sea of seething Humanity

their curses clamor of mass calamity

the undertow's abysmal persistence

Yet so sweetly the sirens sing songs

of desires sealed away in sunken lungs

-- Ash Wurthing

*****

The Son of Armageddon

You're the convicted victim of indecision;

That's what began the reduction and division.

Cast out to inhabit alien lands

And places without sun;

Those hypocrites all washed their hands

And thought the battle won.

But your private war,

Your secret storm

Had only just begun.

Your life the battlefield between good and evil,

A balance between life and death, God and Devil.

Your life a symbol and sign of the times,

A test of flesh and steel;

You wore the stripes and double binds

Of wounds that never heal.

And the fools were warned

That you were born

To break the seventh seal.

It's time to gather up this legion of feelings

Like the leaves of fallen seasons,

And arise in a whirlwind like the warrior demon.

It's time to release your forces like wild horses

In a fiery eruption,

And bring them darkness and death

From the brink of destruction.

It's time for retribution and your due season,

When false gods and prophets

Speak the truth of treason.

You've envisioned the strange new promised land,

Your will to power done;

The birth from death and desert sands

Of Armageddon's son.

The Hell of war

In human form,

The house divided -- One.

-- Joseph Danoski

*****

The Valley of Death

It’s cold and desolate

as I walk through this valley of eternal night

even shadows here

hold their breath

unnamed

only known by those who

wandered

lost

got to close to the edge

the promise of first light

broken each morning

again and again

Sand in the hourglass has forgotten time

sun has no idea how to rise

leaving night to reign supreme

the black kingdom

without a name

If tomorrow never comes

would you mourn the lost hours

you did not spend with me

or find comfort in the

stillness

of me not being there?

It's too dark here to dream

they are buried with the forsaken

in an unmarked

grave

In this place

the wind speaks an

ancient language

I think I knew it when I was young

truth

have you ever heard of it?

Most here speak lies

the river styx runs backwards

carrying those who dared

to hope

that there will be a new dawn

one day

There is no future here

only the present

stretched thin

by the hands

of those who cannot let go

what never was

The valley holds its secrets

close to its chest

this is the

graveyard of the forgotten

the only certainty

darkness will never yield its grip

if you could

would you help me to

break free

or leave me lingering in

the dark

waiting for a sunrise

that will never be

a world that will only end

with the fading of my breath

ultimately ending

in death...?

-- Trinity-memyandi L. Venter

*****

A SCINTILLATING

SUCCESSON OF

SYBILLANTS

Word Experiment Number Two

Sibylline starbursts stir insensate shades

Venusian asteroids, symphonic strains

Crescendoed siren cries as suppliant maids

Whose sybaritic serenade sustains

Intoxicating chants, satanic charms;

Prospero's insubstantial sprites, desires

Unshackled, pierce night's skies like shooting stars

Embrace celestial sonarscapes, suspire

Succumb to Abyssinian scimitars;

Transcendent in the alabaster arms

Of seraphim or succubus outspread

(Astarte's treasures or Cassandra's curse)

Excite salacious souls, express unsaid

Licentious lusts in whispers, interspersed

Seditious screeds, seductive sarabandes.

Explosive silences slash spheroid sounds

Split city monoliths that scrape the sky,

Spills Stygian streams whose crested wave astounds

Phoenician ships set sail for Circassy --

Cerulean seas whose breezes scent the sands.

Sequential semiphores sign silver spells

Singing, seducing, Cinderella smiles

Chrysanthemums and starbright asphodels

Supernal crescent moons, seraglian wiles

Conspire, suspending disbelief, disarm

Remorseless sinners to night's savage charms.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

Hot Air Balloons

Colorful hot air balloons

Fire-fed are rising

Higher in the western sky

Air bubbles here are flying

People in wicker baskets

Taking wind harnessed rides

The ground below a puzzle

Kaleidoscopic glides

-- Louise Charlton Webster

*****

Some Would

Some would seek

the open grail

below the sudden water --

oh Christ! When you bend

you bend for me!

-- Richard Oakley

*****

Untitled

(Pride and Desire)

With pride and desires all entangled

raptly wrapped in the rat king's snare --

how can any soul truly be free

in a viper's nest of ambitions strangled

suffocating in the odious air

of infectious mob rule mentality

of a writhing pandemonium of humanity

seething in futility against its insanity

-- Ash Wurthing

*****

CARPATHIA

(THE LAST RESORT)

Lately, while daydreaming heavily, and drinking in the sunset from my picture window, favorite woodland setting, or mountaintop stomping ground; I enter the gates of a strange and crimson state of mind, and escape from the everyday world.

I revisit old memories, flesh out their skeletons, and rebuild the childhood ruins of a place I used to run to, in those happy woods beyond the wastes. That lofty estate and magic castle of imagination I call Carpathia -- the last resort.

Carpathia (or whatever my fellow seekers call it) is the last resort on the lost horizon; refuge to all us mad artists of misunderstood genius, where the journey on the hard road ends for all troubled minds and tortured souls.

It's the deliverance from the desperate emptiness, doubt and despair of all-too-real lives, with the unconditional love of guardian spirits and unholy ghosts; the blessed acceptance from rejection by our real and imagined peers.

If not true salvation, perhaps a false security -- the saving grace of fantasy. If not real sanctuary, maybe the happiness of madness;

a safe sanitarium against the slings and arrows of our misfortunes.

Carpathia, (if indeed we can ever truly find it) is the dark dreamland rising with the setting sun; the haunted house on the hill, or horror hotel of Hollywood clichés in the middle distance, where we misfits and eccentrics can finally fit in and find the comforts of home.

A redemption for the fallen, a paradise to the lost, an oasis of calm;

a welcome and balm to the souls of all demigods and monsters -- Amen!

-- Joseph Danoski

*****