Submission Policy

Mel BrakE Press acquires first serial rights to all work published. Mel BrakE Press also reserves the right to electronically archive any content published.

All other rights revert to author upon publication.

Mel BrakE Press has a liberal submission policy, and will accept poetry manuscripts (not books) for its next publication cycle, the Spring of 2018.

We do not charge a reading fee. We DO NOT PAY TO PUBLISH YOUR WORK.

We only accept submissions via email for collection of poems. Please send no more than 3-5 pages of poetry as an email attachment using standard MS format. We do not accept epic manuscripts:10 pages or more will be rejected.

Please note in subject line: "Submission".

Manuscripts that do not follow our guidelines
will be subject to rejection. We do not publish books.

Direct submissions or questions to:

Thank you

Saturday, August 22, 2015

The Poetry of Jason Constantine Ford

We are proud to published the poetry of Jason Constantine Ford

Jason Constantine Ford is from Perth in Australia. He works as an employee at a book shop. He has over ninety publications of poetry and fiction in various poetry and literary magazines, ezines and journals from around the world such as the Cortland Review, the Criterion: an International Journal in English, the Muse: an International Journal of Poetry, Bewildering Stories, and the Horror Zine. The major influences on his style of poetry are Edgar Alan Poe and William Blake. Jason’s main influences for short stories are Bram Stroker and Phillip K. Dick. For correspondence, contact Jason at .

The Testament of Darkness

The leader of the undead is guiding her flock
Along a shore as she is holding a clock
Which reaches the strike of the midnight hour
When the powers of Darkness obtain full power.
A veil is removed as she exposes her face
Radiating both beauty and youth immense.
She opens a book that the demons of hell embrace
As the highest testament of Darkness dense.
She reads out a passage imploring the need
For the living to die and be subject to her creed.

“City of sleeping prey persist in your ignorance
As the powers of Darkness seek to lock you in a trance.
May every kind of germ be released into the air
And shrivel up the fields of grain which you endear.
Among you feeble minds who are not willing to repair
The broken gates of a city which is set to disappear.
May the ancient curse arise from the arid ground
And spread itself out with power most profound.
May the hands of Darkness surround you like a horde
Of vipers who are ready to kill you with the sword.”


The Composition of a Curse

Inside a room where a curse is abiding,
The priestess of Darkness is presiding
Over the composition of a song.

Using a pen filled with blood from her prey,
She writes the words of a canticle which convey
The need for a curse to rise up to status strong.

The ink of each victim’s blood seals every word
With the power that Darkness’ hand has inferred
Upon a priestess who ends lives with a single gaze.

After the song is completed with a dot of ink,
A curse causing people’s fortunes to sink
Into the ground is reaching another phase.

The names the priestess strikes through with a pen
Are the ones destined to become poor when
The canticle shall be sung at the midnight hour.

The priestess and her flock leave the cellar to sing
A canticle of misfortune that shall bring
People to their knees when their lives turn sour.

The Canticle of Misfortune

A piece of paper for a song accursed is held up in the air
By a priestess who desires her foes to fall into despair.

The priestess of Darkness anoints a song with a wand
Filled with magic charms reaching down to hell and beyond.

After she begins to sing her song, a vapour is spreading
Over a city where the feet of Misfortune are treading.

Upon direct contact with the vapour, the crops are dying
Helplessly against a curse the Darkness is supplying.

The destructive power inherent within a single curse
Is squeezing the city of its’ vigour as deadly vapours disperse.

As fruits and vegetables are shrivelling to status dry,
Producers of food cannot explain why their crops must die.

The priestess continues her song with the rising wrath of a voice
Penetrating a sleeping city as the hounds of hell rejoice.

Feast of the Undead

In an abandoned kitchen renowned for its disgrace
Of being home to wicked souls already dead,
Utensils reflect a lady’s beauty trace by trace
As she collects the flesh of prey which must be fed
To fellow vampires inside a dining room
Eager to enjoy the meat they shall consume.
The meat is chopped in pieces small upon a plate
And brought to guests with appetites which salivate.
The waitress serving spoon divides each piece with haste
As food is fed to fangs immune to status grey.
Vampires complete the meal without a hint of waste
As they enjoy the flesh the waitress chose to slay.
After a meal of meat and blood has reached its’ end,
Appetites for taste of living flesh extend.

A Field of Former Lovers

The scent of beauty infused with lies is spread into the air
As a lady walks across a field accursed with bones defiled.
She treads upon the unburied bones of former lovers who had a share
In a type of love which killed the bodies of men who were beguiled.

The memories of the unworthy men who failed to satisfy
Her desire for a commitment cemented into the ground
Are regularly remembered as the prey she chose to deny
Any chance of obtaining an immortal bond most profound.

As she patiently awaits the scent of the next man’s arrival,
The wolves begin howling wildly upon a mountain peak.
Their cries are a message of doubt regarding the survival
Of the men ready to kiss the seductive lips they seek.