jack henry is a california based writer/editor whose work has recently seen the light of day at pink litter, rye whiskey review, horror sleaze trash, museum of poetry, alien buddha press, vext magazine and others. jack has a new collection coming in fall 2020, "driving w/crazy" from punk hostage press. other collections include "crunked" (epic rites press) and "with the patience of monuments" (neoPoesis) behind bars we didn’t know existed there used to be magic in the air, the sky; swimming through trees; across long painted valleys; deep in a desert few will touch or see; up on the peaks of mountains; in the crest of a canyon; in an afterhours glow of light beaming down from high rise buildings; in the sound of cars shuffling through and across thick rivers of black asphalt; as a child i saw magic in everything; and as grew older magic remained, and now that i am gray, my mind slowing, fog thickens with every day, i wonder… where has the magic gone? magic in nature remains, it’s just a little harder to find, but the magic in daily life feels fragile, weak, a slow gasping death; i am sure it remains in fragments of humanity, but i struggle to see it, to touch or taste it; magic has become the enemy of the state; the fascists in high towers no longer hide in shadows; is the pen really mightier than the sword? i dunno, but i’m going to try and find out… an unsuspecting sky locked in my cage drinking coffee tinged w/whiskey trying to read reports respond to email shake off desire wanton lust & need i remain a criminal a littérateur of no repute devoid of any compass capable to guide processed, packaged, now shelved for consumption on the cold aisle next to pizza & ice cream i'm distracted by all the naked shiny things sweet things littered across my screen filled with temptations strange offerings paid in Bitcoin or cocaine his words are simple direct there is no potential for misinterpretation when i respond i know i have other things to do on the respectable side the side of the cage locked tight but i have a key & as long as i have a key i will dance naked around the fire & watch flames lick up toward an unsuspecting sky - first snow of winter (2006) a first snow of winter drifts across the empty road just outside my window beat cop pulls his coat close nods toward me as I stare out into the night a radiator coughs it’s a cranky bitch rattling lungs of emphysema i wrap a tattered blanket around my bones in a vain attempt at warmth & salvation last Tuesday i found matching shoes at a local thrift w/good soles & strong laces a little journal in the Northeast some university just bought five poems ten cents a line i pace in circles keep time w/the thump thump in my chest a yellow moon glows off glass a picture of someone else’s lover sits on the dresser i pick up a revolver snub-nose .38 the one i found loaded in a dumpster the one missing one round & put in back in a drawer i pull on my new shoes & head to the Jewish deli on the corner for a beer and pastrami & a chance to stretch the bones awhile cat hair in my coffee |
Ivan Jenson is a fine artist, novelist and a popular contemporary American poet. Ivan’s poetry is widely published in the US, the UK and throughout Europe. Jenson has numerous novels and a collection of poems published. Ivan’s fictional memoir, Gypsies of New Rochelle, has been released by Michelkin Publishing. https://www.ivanjenson.com. |
Crass Reunion
My how your face
has changed
the blush of youth
is now the sallow
tone of truths
told like an old wives' tale
over a witch's brew
of something borrowed
and nothing new
yet you retain that certain glow
of those who are in the know
and you dress with the
fabulous flamboyance
of somebody who is rarely told no
as if this were a welcoming party
instead of time's going away seance
scented by intense incense
which kills flies
and attracts ghosts
of those who once
wore lampshades
rather than headstones
anyhow, it is good to see you again
even if you are now just
a fraction of a friend
has changed
the blush of youth
is now the sallow
tone of truths
told like an old wives' tale
over a witch's brew
of something borrowed
and nothing new
yet you retain that certain glow
of those who are in the know
and you dress with the
fabulous flamboyance
of somebody who is rarely told no
as if this were a welcoming party
instead of time's going away seance
scented by intense incense
which kills flies
and attracts ghosts
of those who once
wore lampshades
rather than headstones
anyhow, it is good to see you again
even if you are now just
a fraction of a friend
Disappearing Act
Every day I escape
the knowledge
that you know
everything about me
by basking
in the presence of
strangers who hide
their judgements
by quickly looking away
but I know damn well
that I am neither social reject
or famous public figure
instead I live in the dimension
of those we fail to mention
because I am not
the perpetrator or the defender
but rather the unpaid extra
or that person people can't
seem to place
or put their finger on
and I guess I do not
make an impression
on the veil of Veronica
because I refuse to join
the great group think
and so maybe all I write
is written with invisible ink
the knowledge
that you know
everything about me
by basking
in the presence of
strangers who hide
their judgements
by quickly looking away
but I know damn well
that I am neither social reject
or famous public figure
instead I live in the dimension
of those we fail to mention
because I am not
the perpetrator or the defender
but rather the unpaid extra
or that person people can't
seem to place
or put their finger on
and I guess I do not
make an impression
on the veil of Veronica
because I refuse to join
the great group think
and so maybe all I write
is written with invisible ink
Already Saved
I sped past
a billboard
which stated in big bold letters
exactly what I should do
and I still could not take
that highway advice
mostly because
I don't believe Jesus
has an 800 number
and I'd rather leave
certain things
in a state of perpetual wonder
so I drove to your place
where you greeted me
with a forced smile
and your freshly washed hair
and that is when I felt
a tinge of jealousy
because I was sure
you weren't alone
and God was there
a billboard
which stated in big bold letters
exactly what I should do
and I still could not take
that highway advice
mostly because
I don't believe Jesus
has an 800 number
and I'd rather leave
certain things
in a state of perpetual wonder
so I drove to your place
where you greeted me
with a forced smile
and your freshly washed hair
and that is when I felt
a tinge of jealousy
because I was sure
you weren't alone
and God was there
Momentary Lapse
the sunshine
was the perfect
storm of light
and its rays
were like breakfast
in bed served
on reflecting
silver trays
and her shoulder
as she turned away
was any photographer's
dream shot
and the afternoon
waited to arrive
like a tourist wearing
loud shorts
on their way
to the Florida Keys
anyway, that was
the morning he
never asked
her not to leave him
pretty please
was the perfect
storm of light
and its rays
were like breakfast
in bed served
on reflecting
silver trays
and her shoulder
as she turned away
was any photographer's
dream shot
and the afternoon
waited to arrive
like a tourist wearing
loud shorts
on their way
to the Florida Keys
anyway, that was
the morning he
never asked
her not to leave him
pretty please
NGOZI OLIVIA OSUOHA is a Nigerian poet/writer/thinker. A graduate of Estate Management with experience in Banking and Broadcasting. She has published over one hundred poems/articles in over ten countries. Her first two longest poems of 355 and 560 verses titled THE TRANSFORMATION TRAIN and LETTER TO MY UNBORN published in Kenya and Canada respectively are available on Amazon. She has also featured in over ten international anthologies/books/blogs. She is a passionate African ink. |
RELIGION
Wondrous game of high magnitude
Amazing draft of concrete confusion
Bewilderment of wonderment,
Overhauling the human race.
See, religion is speeding
On a flight of light
Advancing in amazement
Chasing humanity far away.
Religion, religiosity
Bondage of unfathomable force
Grip of incomprehensible might
Tunnel of abysmal depth.
Blind, blinded, blindfold, blindfolded
Dark light of darkness
Thick clouds of poisonous smoke,
Choking the world.
Amazing draft of concrete confusion
Bewilderment of wonderment,
Overhauling the human race.
See, religion is speeding
On a flight of light
Advancing in amazement
Chasing humanity far away.
Religion, religiosity
Bondage of unfathomable force
Grip of incomprehensible might
Tunnel of abysmal depth.
Blind, blinded, blindfold, blindfolded
Dark light of darkness
Thick clouds of poisonous smoke,
Choking the world.
WAR
Business of few
Gain of a handful
Maze of complicated plan,
Trade by barter.
Weapons and ammunitions
Experiments and launchings
Technical lies and diplomatic deceits
Political competitions and religious manoeuvres.
Wars, warring women and children
Wars, killing soldiers
Wars, destroying nations
Wars, wiping generations
Wars, feeding the rich.
The subterfuge, the camouflage, the sabotage
Green snake on a green grass
Red carpets, green chambers, white houses
Pinnacles and miracles,
Diamond heads, golden chests, silver knights
Gems of rareness, fleets of blue blood
Diminishing the unborn.
Global warming
Climate change
Wearing out men,
Changing women
Bruising children
Burning mankind.
Gain of a handful
Maze of complicated plan,
Trade by barter.
Weapons and ammunitions
Experiments and launchings
Technical lies and diplomatic deceits
Political competitions and religious manoeuvres.
Wars, warring women and children
Wars, killing soldiers
Wars, destroying nations
Wars, wiping generations
Wars, feeding the rich.
The subterfuge, the camouflage, the sabotage
Green snake on a green grass
Red carpets, green chambers, white houses
Pinnacles and miracles,
Diamond heads, golden chests, silver knights
Gems of rareness, fleets of blue blood
Diminishing the unborn.
Global warming
Climate change
Wearing out men,
Changing women
Bruising children
Burning mankind.
Keith Burkholder has been published in Creative Juices, Sol Magazine, Trellis Magazine, Foliate Oak Literary Journal, New Delta Review, Poetry Quarterly, Scarlet Leaf Review, and Birmingham Arts Journal. He has a bachelor's degree in statistics with a minor in mathematics from SUNY at Buffalo (UB).
Now it's the coronavirus
First it was polio,
Then AIDS,
Now, it is the coronavirus,
Humanity loves to make life for one another,
If you think about it,
The world loves turmoil and destruction,
Something like this was about to happen,
If you look at this logically,
Humans only tolerate one another,
Something like this makes humans aware of mortality,
Will there be a cure or vaccine for this virus?
It is a powerful and deadly virus,
Time will continue forward,
Humans need to be more aware of life,
This virus should bring this about,
Take care,
Be safe,
Be good,
And may this virus be taken care of quickly as time carries forward.
Then AIDS,
Now, it is the coronavirus,
Humanity loves to make life for one another,
If you think about it,
The world loves turmoil and destruction,
Something like this was about to happen,
If you look at this logically,
Humans only tolerate one another,
Something like this makes humans aware of mortality,
Will there be a cure or vaccine for this virus?
It is a powerful and deadly virus,
Time will continue forward,
Humans need to be more aware of life,
This virus should bring this about,
Take care,
Be safe,
Be good,
And may this virus be taken care of quickly as time carries forward.
Can you imagine if God and Jesus were realities on our planet?
I don't believe in God or Jesus,
But, could you imagine if they were realistic?
No need for a military or law enforcement,
The concepts for Creationism would make sense,
Science would not fit into our world,
But, of course science is our reality,
We need the military and law enforcement,
This is because evolution is a reality,
Religion gives us a false sense of hope and life,
Fantasies, fantasies, and more fantasies,
People like to kill one another,
They love to bully,
They love to backstab as well,
People are devious in nature,
Religion never, ever talks about human behavior,
This is because human behavior is science driven,
If you think about what I am saying, it makes sense,
More people need to be good,
Forget about the religious mumbo, jumbo and try to be good,
Religion is full of stories that make no sense to many,
Take this all in,
Try to be good,
Have a better tomorrow,
And again, carpe diem.
But, could you imagine if they were realistic?
No need for a military or law enforcement,
The concepts for Creationism would make sense,
Science would not fit into our world,
But, of course science is our reality,
We need the military and law enforcement,
This is because evolution is a reality,
Religion gives us a false sense of hope and life,
Fantasies, fantasies, and more fantasies,
People like to kill one another,
They love to bully,
They love to backstab as well,
People are devious in nature,
Religion never, ever talks about human behavior,
This is because human behavior is science driven,
If you think about what I am saying, it makes sense,
More people need to be good,
Forget about the religious mumbo, jumbo and try to be good,
Religion is full of stories that make no sense to many,
Take this all in,
Try to be good,
Have a better tomorrow,
And again, carpe diem.
I read books
by myself
on the sofa. in the kitchen
she makes dinner
for us both. noodles roll her pan
like letters
bound in cursive. make sentences
she doesn't bother to read. adds pepper
instead, and sliced carrots. adds spices,
sausages
and examines
her new
combinations.
I'm forbidden
from entering
her kitchen;
struggling
to get through a paragraph.
she turns pages
and serves them
with bread.
on the sofa. in the kitchen
she makes dinner
for us both. noodles roll her pan
like letters
bound in cursive. make sentences
she doesn't bother to read. adds pepper
instead, and sliced carrots. adds spices,
sausages
and examines
her new
combinations.
I'm forbidden
from entering
her kitchen;
struggling
to get through a paragraph.
she turns pages
and serves them
with bread.
The wine shop.
we worked
standing still
for 6 hours at a time
and made a new cup of tea once
each 15 minutes. it was monotonous, tiring work,
though very easy -
we stacked up shelves
and took money for winebottles,
waiting each night for the 9pm rush,
continuing our conversations as we counted the check-out
while various people
paid us and left.
the backlight of the shelves
hung livid
in contrast against the sunset,
white against red
and brilliant soft yellow, curling
as it came out and landed,
moving through brown whiskey bottles,
through blue and green gin bottles,
and bottles of off-white
white wine.
standing still
for 6 hours at a time
and made a new cup of tea once
each 15 minutes. it was monotonous, tiring work,
though very easy -
we stacked up shelves
and took money for winebottles,
waiting each night for the 9pm rush,
continuing our conversations as we counted the check-out
while various people
paid us and left.
the backlight of the shelves
hung livid
in contrast against the sunset,
white against red
and brilliant soft yellow, curling
as it came out and landed,
moving through brown whiskey bottles,
through blue and green gin bottles,
and bottles of off-white
white wine.
On average
like finally eating a jar of olives
which has stood in your cupboard for months,
calling a friend
and suggesting
that after work
you should maybe get a beer together.
the trouble with my friends
is we don't talk
while we’re sober - hell
on any average
we barely talk while drunk.
mostly
when I'm drunk
I'm at home
and writing poems -
why is it
that outside
I get paralysed for things to say.
like stepping off a platform
onto the rail tracks - too final.
drunk and passionate
with friends present
and no chance
for revision.
which has stood in your cupboard for months,
calling a friend
and suggesting
that after work
you should maybe get a beer together.
the trouble with my friends
is we don't talk
while we’re sober - hell
on any average
we barely talk while drunk.
mostly
when I'm drunk
I'm at home
and writing poems -
why is it
that outside
I get paralysed for things to say.
like stepping off a platform
onto the rail tracks - too final.
drunk and passionate
with friends present
and no chance
for revision.
Some farmer in spare time.
driving
or being driven
toward leitrim,
and newtownforbes somehow
still stands as a landmark,
though the last time we really visited
must have been 2002.
we used to get sandwiches
and coffee
in this one little shop - the village tea room -
they also sold paintings. I was a child;
I liked it
because there were danish pastries
and wooden toys, carved
by some farmer
in spare time between fieldwork. these towns,
everywhere
made of concrete and wet metal,
where people live
80 years
and don't go anywhere. like mold
on tiles in a bathroom, or a japanese
fighting fish
in a glass on a high
kitchen shelf.
or being driven
toward leitrim,
and newtownforbes somehow
still stands as a landmark,
though the last time we really visited
must have been 2002.
we used to get sandwiches
and coffee
in this one little shop - the village tea room -
they also sold paintings. I was a child;
I liked it
because there were danish pastries
and wooden toys, carved
by some farmer
in spare time between fieldwork. these towns,
everywhere
made of concrete and wet metal,
where people live
80 years
and don't go anywhere. like mold
on tiles in a bathroom, or a japanese
fighting fish
in a glass on a high
kitchen shelf.
Ghosts.
this evening
is a quiet evening.
in the garden, the dog
is barking at ghosts.
I go outside,
look at what
she's looking at. it's nothing;
a tree
with nothing in it. the dog
is old
and somewhat deaf;
she jumps
when I touch her back. together
we stand
and watch the tree. leaves move
and perhaps
something else does.
is a quiet evening.
in the garden, the dog
is barking at ghosts.
I go outside,
look at what
she's looking at. it's nothing;
a tree
with nothing in it. the dog
is old
and somewhat deaf;
she jumps
when I touch her back. together
we stand
and watch the tree. leaves move
and perhaps
something else does.
Januário Esteves was born in Coruche (1960) and was raised near Costa da Caparica, Portugal. He graduated in electromechanical installations, uses the pseudonym Januanto and writes poetry since the age of 16. In 1987 he published poems in the Jornal de Letras, and participated over the years in some collective publications. Recently published in the Brazilian magazine Musa Rara, in the American magazine EIGHTEENSEVENTY.POETRY.BLOG, in the Brazilian Revista LiteraLivre, in the Romanian magazine Poesis , in the australian review Otoliths, in the american review BlazeVox, in the american magazine Harbinger Asylum, in the american Ducor Review... |
VENTOZELO
It was on thunderstorm nights, when the lightning
To the south it was unloaded in the skeleton of the trees
And in trance we hang the glans of the mystery
Animals came to strip the belief of our sacrifice
And soon we would reflect the possession of the surrounding atmosphere
Of timeless solemnity, of prosaic pragmatism
Converting relationships into family dependencies
In the consanguinity of gestures and sharing
Bites in the same flesh that sustains us
Cultivating the Emancipation of Customs
In the light of death that enlightened us.
(Zeal)
To the south it was unloaded in the skeleton of the trees
And in trance we hang the glans of the mystery
Animals came to strip the belief of our sacrifice
And soon we would reflect the possession of the surrounding atmosphere
Of timeless solemnity, of prosaic pragmatism
Converting relationships into family dependencies
In the consanguinity of gestures and sharing
Bites in the same flesh that sustains us
Cultivating the Emancipation of Customs
In the light of death that enlightened us.
(Zeal)
Mogadouro
Night and abandonment
Slack Time
Ownerless dog
In the womb of delay
Desire embraces
The elusive escarpment
And the dream ties
The fever of the day
It's another will
And judge the torment
By jus to obey
From the inside.
Slack Time
Ownerless dog
In the womb of delay
Desire embraces
The elusive escarpment
And the dream ties
The fever of the day
It's another will
And judge the torment
By jus to obey
From the inside.
𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐨
𝟏𝟒
𝐀 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫-𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫-𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐚-𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭. 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.
22nd Hour
Leave anxiously
As in the Chirico locomotives
Briefly recap
That which makes us richer
The empty horizons
Of the tired afternoons
The Dilettante Fragor of Challenges
Naked and Empty Practices
Of beings in hidden conflict
Wanting to transform existence
In a bold and mysterious maze
Of nonsense and incontinence
Pray light joys
By the wind that rules
And sad euphoria comes
In bloodthirsty adrenaline.
As in the Chirico locomotives
Briefly recap
That which makes us richer
The empty horizons
Of the tired afternoons
The Dilettante Fragor of Challenges
Naked and Empty Practices
Of beings in hidden conflict
Wanting to transform existence
In a bold and mysterious maze
Of nonsense and incontinence
Pray light joys
By the wind that rules
And sad euphoria comes
In bloodthirsty adrenaline.
Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in a state of desperation engineered by late capitalism, within which his mind is a mere subset of a much larger hallucination wherein men are machines, machines are men, and the world and everything in it are mere dreams whose eddies and currents poets can channel briefly but cannot control. |
the drink should when it
the drink should when it
or bend the thick
the strumming hit
my own
the bend it dips
below the lip
the bone
the aged bone who draws the line
around the magic kind of mine
the areolas and the serpents
tragedies and curtains
falling from the sky
the palpable curse
battering the house the house the house
each one wintering
in kind
the red and rouge and reddening keep
beneath the sky
the basket of the lancets
are they flowers?
lancets?
what kind of magic would you demand
for the story, child:
which kind of thing is it your body
nails and heart
teeth and scarf
what kind of lips
and tongue
strung over the harpsichord and drums
what kind of chord is it
when we are standing
before the rock
what kind of thing is it that you want
to see and shape
magicians are only potters
wheeling in the birds
pirouetting over the steppe
pageantry!
these fastenings for the tents:
clouds and rain
how many dances does it take
to rain
how many does it to take to run
the ravages into my heart
the drink should when it
or bend the thick
the strumming hit
my own
the bend it dips
below the lip
the bone
the aged bone who draws the line
around the magic kind of mine
the areolas and the serpents
tragedies and curtains
falling from the sky
the palpable curse
battering the house the house the house
each one wintering
in kind
the red and rouge and reddening keep
beneath the sky
the basket of the lancets
are they flowers?
lancets?
what kind of magic would you demand
for the story, child:
which kind of thing is it your body
nails and heart
teeth and scarf
what kind of lips
and tongue
strung over the harpsichord and drums
what kind of chord is it
when we are standing
before the rock
what kind of thing is it that you want
to see and shape
magicians are only potters
wheeling in the birds
pirouetting over the steppe
pageantry!
these fastenings for the tents:
clouds and rain
how many dances does it take
to rain
how many does it to take to run
the ravages into my heart
Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & softcover book anthologies. Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian. The Smithsonian selected her photo to represent all teens from a specific decade.
Autumn Captured
Patch of pumpkins seemed
too large as my son waddled
through orange spheres. His
sweater gathered flakes of fallen
leaves. Propped atop, with tiny
legs dangling, a print-photo was
snapped. Giggling, grandson
ran as if the area were a maze.
He wore the saved cardigan.
A ribbed autumn fruit held this
seated child while a digital picture
was processed. Great-grandson’s
tiny sneakers squished moist grass
as he patted pumpkins. Climbing,
one, he smiled. My smartphone
clicked, and I instantly
sent images to family.
too large as my son waddled
through orange spheres. His
sweater gathered flakes of fallen
leaves. Propped atop, with tiny
legs dangling, a print-photo was
snapped. Giggling, grandson
ran as if the area were a maze.
He wore the saved cardigan.
A ribbed autumn fruit held this
seated child while a digital picture
was processed. Great-grandson’s
tiny sneakers squished moist grass
as he patted pumpkins. Climbing,
one, he smiled. My smartphone
clicked, and I instantly
sent images to family.
“'tis nobler in the mind to suffer”
I was leery about teaching “King Lear”
wondering what my students
might understand about dynamics
of family life. Young faces found
dreams and fairy dust appealing but
“Midsummer Night’s Dream”
seemed silly as a Puck, to them,
is a hockey item. And Hero
definitely would be “Much Ado
About Nothing” since comedy
has four-letter words spouted by
jeans-clad entertainers. “Hamlet”
tragedy isn’t as terrible as a broken
cell-phone or wondering where is
a wi-fi hookup. 1603. Sounds like
a zip code with missing numbers.
“O, blood, blood, blood!”, “Othello”
more suited to students television
preferences. “To be or not to be”
teaching Shakespeare, “that is
the question.”
published May 2016 The Lake
wondering what my students
might understand about dynamics
of family life. Young faces found
dreams and fairy dust appealing but
“Midsummer Night’s Dream”
seemed silly as a Puck, to them,
is a hockey item. And Hero
definitely would be “Much Ado
About Nothing” since comedy
has four-letter words spouted by
jeans-clad entertainers. “Hamlet”
tragedy isn’t as terrible as a broken
cell-phone or wondering where is
a wi-fi hookup. 1603. Sounds like
a zip code with missing numbers.
“O, blood, blood, blood!”, “Othello”
more suited to students television
preferences. “To be or not to be”
teaching Shakespeare, “that is
the question.”
published May 2016 The Lake
Gerard Sarnat won San Francisco Poetry’s 2020 Contest, the Poetry in the Arts First Place Award plus the Dorfman Prize, and has been nominated for a handful of recent Pushcarts plus Best of the Net Awards. Gerry is widely published in academic-related journals (e.g., Universities of Chicago/ Maine/ San Francisco/Toronto, Stanford, Oberlin, Brown, Columbia, Harvard, Pomona, Johns Hopkins, Wesleyan, Penn, Dartmouth, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Baltimore) plus national (e.g., Gargoyle, Main Street Rag, New Delta Review, Northampton Poetry Review, Peauxdunque Review, MiPOesias, American Journal Of Poetry, Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library Literary Journal, South Broadway Press, Parhelion, Clementine, pamplemousse, Red Wheelbarrow, Deluge, Poetry Quarterly, poetica, Tipton Journal, Hypnopomp, Free State Review, Poetry Circle, Buddhist Poetry Review, Poets And War, Thank You For Your Service Anthology, Wordpeace, Lowestoft Chronicle, 2020 International Human Rights Art Festival, Cliterature, Qommunicate, Indolent Books, Snapdragon, Pandemonium Press, Boston Literary Magazine, Montana Mouthful, Arkansas Review, Texas Review, San Antonio Review, Open: Journal of Arts & Letters, Brooklyn Review, pacificREVIEW, San Francisco Magazine, The Los Angeles Review, Fiction Southeast and The New York Times) and international publications (e.g., Review Berlin, London Reader, Voices Israel, Foreign Lit, New Ulster, Oslo Griffel, Transnational, Southbank, Wellington Street Review, Rome Lotus-Eaters). He’s authored the collections Homeless Chronicles: From Abraham to Burning Man (2010), Disputes (2012), 17s (2014), Melting the Ice King (2016). Gerry is a physician who’s built and staffed clinics for the marginalized as well as a Stanford professor and healthcare CEO. Currently he is devoting energy/ resources to deal with climate change justice. Gerry’s been married since 1969 with three kids plus six grandsons, and is looking forward to future granddaughters. gerardsarnat.com |
FREAK FLAGS AT HALF MAST
Zilch Guarantees haiku
You’ve been traveling
lots but still have found nada
true enlightenment.
lots but still have found nada
true enlightenment.
Up & Down
Or Cutting
Across Chess
Boards Which Aren’t Best Metaphors, Hear Songs Of Our Earth While You Can.
Just as Technology
has shifted from
being a vertical --
organizationally
in a stack above or
below other usual
equal silos such as
HR, Finance, Ops,
Sales & Marketing
all reporting up
most likely to big
picture CEOs --
to worming into a more powerful horizontal fundamental throughout entire enterprises,
so has Climate
Change moved
out of its recent
confined box
now to clearly
affect almost
anything that we
have named as
highest priorities*
ranging from
Jobs/ Economy,
to Health Care,
to Education
to Terrorism, SSI, Inequality, Immigration so has become a second controlling horizontal.
Food-system
collapse, sea
level rise, sick
our good Earth
ruined, we few
drop in on Mars
then a couple of
Jovian moons
before set out
to roam stellar
prairies trapped in
dead-end tin cans:
Flailing memory, once stars of our past now at half-glimmer soon fade to total darkness.
*https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2019/02/04/state-of-the-union-2019-how-americans-see-major- national-issues/pp_
2019-01-24_political
-priorities_0-02/
has shifted from
being a vertical --
organizationally
in a stack above or
below other usual
equal silos such as
HR, Finance, Ops,
Sales & Marketing
all reporting up
most likely to big
picture CEOs --
to worming into a more powerful horizontal fundamental throughout entire enterprises,
so has Climate
Change moved
out of its recent
confined box
now to clearly
affect almost
anything that we
have named as
highest priorities*
ranging from
Jobs/ Economy,
to Health Care,
to Education
to Terrorism, SSI, Inequality, Immigration so has become a second controlling horizontal.
Food-system
collapse, sea
level rise, sick
our good Earth
ruined, we few
drop in on Mars
then a couple of
Jovian moons
before set out
to roam stellar
prairies trapped in
dead-end tin cans:
Flailing memory, once stars of our past now at half-glimmer soon fade to total darkness.
*https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2019/02/04/state-of-the-union-2019-how-americans-see-major- national-issues/pp_
2019-01-24_political
-priorities_0-02/
Topnotch Peat Smoke haiku
We met long ago
but just now bond over my
good Scotch, her writing.
but just now bond over my
good Scotch, her writing.
Small Business Exterminates Family Self-Esteem
For Passover renewal next week
all our extended clan has agreed
to make climate change the underlying theme.
On another quasi-Jewish jag, can our A-team
figure out how we
could glean
or buy/ build/ blaspheme
devastating ant bait dropper devices downstream
from their colonies
that could be used chronically so every few days I don’t have to re-hydrate/fresh/deem
cotton balls soaked in sugar water plus boric acid which Spring sunbeams
dry out -- instead of Dixie cups, sorta like my hummingbird feeder?
all our extended clan has agreed
to make climate change the underlying theme.
On another quasi-Jewish jag, can our A-team
figure out how we
could glean
or buy/ build/ blaspheme
devastating ant bait dropper devices downstream
from their colonies
that could be used chronically so every few days I don’t have to re-hydrate/fresh/deem
cotton balls soaked in sugar water plus boric acid which Spring sunbeams
dry out -- instead of Dixie cups, sorta like my hummingbird feeder?
Hongri Yuan, born in China in 1962, is a poet and philosopher interested particularly in creation. Representative works include Platinum City, The City of Gold , Golden Paradise , Gold Sun and Golden Giant. His poetry has been more widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria. TRANSLATOR: Yuanbing Zhang (b. 1974), who is a Chinese poet and translator, works in a Middle School, Yanzhou District , Jining City, Shandong Province, China. He can be contacted through his email- 3112362909@qq.com. |
There's A Much Larger World in The Body
There's a much larger world in the body
this is the secret that the ancient sages has told you.
Listening to the light pass through your body and play the piano in your bones,
noticed an old man,who is 30000 years old ,sitting in a palace on the top of the mountains.
There is an island in the depths of the ocean,
the goddess was so brilliant before the world had been born.
Her eyes will make you to forget the sadness,
for an instant, take you through those free and unfettered days outside.
this is the secret that the ancient sages has told you.
Listening to the light pass through your body and play the piano in your bones,
noticed an old man,who is 30000 years old ,sitting in a palace on the top of the mountains.
There is an island in the depths of the ocean,
the goddess was so brilliant before the world had been born.
Her eyes will make you to forget the sadness,
for an instant, take you through those free and unfettered days outside.
The World is just A Lie
The world is just a lie,
truth is on the other side of the world.
We can neither see the light of time
nor know that everything is a shadow on the running water.
There is another me on another planet,
you have never been born or died.
When the maze becomes transparent, the door of time-space opens,
you will shake hands and smile with the giant in the heavens.
The words are both music and the epic of the soul,
Telling you that the palaces of outer space are incomparably lofty,
as if they are as endless as the mountains of gold.
truth is on the other side of the world.
We can neither see the light of time
nor know that everything is a shadow on the running water.
There is another me on another planet,
you have never been born or died.
When the maze becomes transparent, the door of time-space opens,
you will shake hands and smile with the giant in the heavens.
The words are both music and the epic of the soul,
Telling you that the palaces of outer space are incomparably lofty,
as if they are as endless as the mountains of gold.
Categories
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ALEXIS OGUNMOKUN
ANANYA S GUHA
BOBBY Z
DS MAOLALAI
GEORGE GAD ECONOMOU
GERARD SARNAT
GRANT ARMSTRONG
HONGRI YUAN
IVAN JENSON
JACK HENRY
JACQUELYN TUCK
JAMES SWAFFORD
JANUARIO ESTEVES
JEAN FINEBERG
JOE OPPENHEIMER
KATHRYN STEWART MCDONALD
KEITH BURKHOLDER
K SHESHU BABU
LEWIS HUMPHRIES
LOIS GREENE STONE
MARC CARVER
MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON
NDABA SIBANDA
NGOZI OLIVIA OSUOHA
ROBIN WYATT DUNN
SERJEVAH DAVIS
STEPHEN HOUSE
STEVE & JOHN MARA