ROXANNE HOFFMAN, a former Wall Street banker, now answers a patient hotline for a New York home healthcare provider, and observes that most folks would rather be dead than broke.
A member of the Vampire Empire, the Bram Stoker Memorial Association and the International Society for the Study of Ghosts and Apparitions, she’s always had yen for Death and the unnatural.
Her poems and stories appear off and on the net in literary journals such as Champagne Shivers, Danse Macabre, Hospital Drive, House of Horror, Liquid Imagination, Lucid Rhythms, MOBIUS: The Poetry Magazine, Mirror Dance, and SNM Horror Magazine.
They also appear in several anthologies including The Bandana Republic: A Literary Anthology By Gang Members And Their Affiliates (Soft Skull Press), Love After 70 (Wising Up Press), and It All Changed in an Instant: More Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous & Obscure (Harper Perennial); as well as in the 2005 independent film, Love & The Vampire, directed by David Gold.
Her take on divorce, “Macabre! Macabre!,” was selected for inclusion in House of Horror Best of 2009 Anthology. Still trying to reconcile writing poetry and making money, she runs the small press, POETS WEAR PRADA, specializing in limited-edition poetry chapbooks. Visit her blog and her press site.
About my poetry: “Rick Poli’s recitation of Dare I was used as voice over for the independent film Love and the Vampire, directed by Poli and also co-starring co-producer Dave Gold. Dare I was developed independently of the film and modified by the producers for use in the film. This version was released in the CD Stolen Moments (Poetry Thin Air).”
Editor’s note: Roxanne’s poetry ventures deliciously into the realm of pure horror poetry in the vein of Lovecraft. We loved the blazing imagery in Dare I and I Scream at Dawn’s Break (a title that sounds very much like an old Roger Corman movie). Persephone’s Dream shows Hoffman can also write subdued, stealthy verse that sneaks up on you. ~ GVB
Dare I?
Dare I tell of demon spell?
of mirrors, I dare not pass,
for now, I face an empty glass,
where once, I graced
a splendid figure, now erased,
I peer, reflecting only space.
And yet, I see these haggard hands,
stretched out before me,
nails gnarled, bony knuckles cracked,
and their shadow cast,
when thumbs linked with long fingers waving
like a winged rat in flight.
Dare I tell of demon spell?
of window shades I dare not raise,
where once I sat sunning,
and praised countless, cloudless, blue-sky days,
from which now I shrink, shunning
the sun’s scorching hellish blaze!
And yet, I yearn for light,
but must settle for the fleeting flickers
of imitation sun by way of
brass candles sticks and whale oil wicks.
Dare I tell of demon spell?
of late night walk,
and stealth-like stalk;
of fangs flesh rip,
and blood-stained lip;
of faces left as white as chalk,
and heavy heads slumped over,
with limbs, limp and lifeless,
dumped in shallow graves.
Dare I tell of demon spell?
of home’s sweet haven,
now sunless, vaulted, choking cell.
of Life’s-So-Lonely hell.
Dare I?
For who would listen to my complaint?
some noble patient saint?
or some slayer laying in wait?
for me to make some mistake
and so tripped trap me.
Persephone’s Dream
A dream haunts me —
Silent, stealth-like, Winter enters.
Spine—frozen ice—I cannot flee!
Spying me helpless, he ventures!
His breath glazes lakes to mirrors,
Turning crystal each bare limbed tree.
My cries, a snowflake’s kiss censures
Till soft white blankets cover me.
Passion’s pyre dispels my terrors.
Nights linger, day’s glimmer slenders
Until love’s furnace melts me free,
Sweet sweated from ardor’s pleasures,
And with Spring’s thaw life renters,
And flaunts dream free.
I Scream at Dawn’s Break
what horror haunts me?
sleek and stealthlike he enters
as in a nightmare
and yet, I long his return
despairing if he does not.
I do not see him
and yet tremble at his touch
I do not hear him
and yet feel him penetrate
Each day wasted awaiting night.
till I waste away
withdrawing to sleep’s solace
Forgoing food, drink
the doorbell rings unanswered
unpaid bills accumulate.
I scream at dawn’s break
A friend has pulled back the drapes
the sunshine streaming
He holds a mirror to eyes
I see, scarcely recognize.
