blackmail press 16
Emanuel E. Garcia
new zealand
Emanuel Garcia is a physician and writer. His most recent work, a
novella, is entitled "Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery of Hamlet."


Hardly myself – until the midnight hour
Of reckoning, when scales of ill and praise
Are husked away and to the inward glower
Alone can there be judgment of my days.

Unfettered from the swell and weight of lust,
The claims of ire, ambition’s siren prize –
Such peace!  Only in darkness can I trust
The testimony of my self-surmise.

Darkling I shape and press what is most best
In service to a goal beyond our ken,
And boldly set my mettle to a test
Of freedom that would harrow slavish men.

Most true and most in rhyme with love’s achieve
Will bring us happiness astride the grave.


An open door
A note
A vacant room
She wrote:

"I'm tired now.
A glance away
No cry

A dinner cold
A beer
No washing up
No cheer

But in the night
A sound
Of humming things
All round

And in the night
A smell
Of warming earth
Not hell

A passing girl
A voice
It's Spring again
No choice!


Nearing the frost that age confers on skill --
Our suppleness in handiwork constrained,
Our wits imagining more readily ill
Where there is none, honor too quickly stained,
Revenge on all the world a burgeoning aim
Until the impotence of flesh arrests
Such wantonness, its wake a lightless flame
Of bleak-born brain-undoing tinsel quests --
Why is it difficult to see that love
Depends not on alacrity but most
On kindness' depth and the compounding trove
Of stored affection to renew its host?

Our age's weakness is our weakness' myth:
Passion's ripe tender freshens passion's pith.

Winter Lullaby

Come with me a little while
In the lightly falling snow
Show me your unfrozen smile
As we go

Show me your determined mien
As the wind begins to blow
Let me take your arm unseen
In the snow

Tell me that you love me, dear
Even if it isn’t so
Breathe a word to banish fear
As we slow

Kiss me in a quiet spot
There is no one who can know
Whether love is true or not