Self-AdulationIt’s clear that All that is happening In that predatory mind Is a miserable plan To curry favor, Establish dominance. The need to be loved, While overlooking the Unpleasant flaws of Reality, paramount, Only self-adulation Featured on the menu. Manipulating the limbs Of cold mannequins, Unfeeling eyes staring Blankly, no connection To actuality, only Temporary gratification. ConfirmedOne fine day, Seemingly out of Nowhere, He came into town and, With a few brief Words, reminded people Of what was really Important in life, And had every single Person running home To make amends or Hug a loved one, Help someone in need, Their better nature Confirmed. The stranger vanished As mysteriously as He had appeared, And the people Went back to doing What they had Always done. As Planned He was looking forward
To seeing her and, When he arrived at the function, Found her with someone else. He tried to put on a Brave face, inside, Everything was melting, Rapidly collapsing. Years later, the bruise Is still tender when he Thinks of the night that Didn’t go as planned.
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Expected Disappearance Still young, I learned that postures tended to come with inheritance, to dominate sway in my neighborhood, as unstated traditions. Generations would gather as if in a church, nonsectarian, from St. Louis and its environs assured that their own and prior family souls would guide our childhoods toward modesty. My dad wore dungarees, as did we three sons; kept us out of poverty; no dark suit, no fedora; pushed a bladed mower across our spiky grass we charitably (with minor posture) called “lawn.” Never in a holy sanctuary, I promised some deity (purely intuited without a formal metaphysics), but usual to my home at the Gateway to the West to make my first Atlantic Ocean trip adventurous rather than reverent, fun with no duty. But waves buffeted me, their constancy expected, but not my weak obedience to a dominant, unknown sea, their utter power hurtling a shark, dead yes, but not a lifeless corpse, rolled at me teeth first still intent to consume humanity by starting with me, ripping my gushing flesh, to bleed me pure white. These memories displaced posture. No longer 20, no longer 70, I prefer a peaceful demise, perhaps without chartreuse liqueur and flowers, but frisky kittens rolling across my fingers and nibbling my cold hands, my casket dignified by carpenter's eye. Perhaps friends would surround me, likely to enjoy the late summer sun rays as, ostensibly, I disappear. Go Somewhere without Saying I hoped to deflect an impertinent remark. The best rebuttal I thought of on the spot, a thing clever, yet decisive? Forensic fact admissible in court wraps us totally now, hooks our noses toward unsavory sniffs. And so I temporarily diverted the probe. Of course at issue was defense of poetry. Indefensible, I often hear it proclaimed. My work suffuses modern or recent history, but at only 71 my knowledge may be slight: finer points of understanding passed away with compromise, so decisive cleverness presupposes spin with foxes in their dens; I heard a poet proudly riddle about a truth, critical inexactitude, with fiendish pride: I asked him, remembering a phase, would he repudiate anarchy? He doubted my call. Then I doubted my call, retreated to details of fundamental earthiness, play in the dirt; play in snow; play in a stream sans salmon; play in surf fearing undertow. What more? Then I coined the word associational poem. Facing that question, I shook another week before regaining courage to challenge words. To the initiated, all this goes without saying, so with the rest of my poem I seek initiation. The pearl sits in dew on a lotus blossom. The chief eunuch stands guard over a harem. Which, at that place, would go without saying. Prerogatives I am sorry to tell you
that of all men here you are least privileged. This is a practical result of all men being equal. Of course, you ask why? You ask if this is my joke. I assure you this is history. No sir, resolution is not near. I do not presume revolution. Well, I write poetry. Privileged? Not in the way you may assume and perhaps even less than you. Yes, I have studied our history. Yes, there is an ugly consistency. Yes, do not look beyond greed, nor hatred of our fellow equals. No, there is no logic to hatred. No, greed is apparently unbounded. No, for some there is no restraint on freedom; government is feckless. Therefore, those who believe that superiority ought to rule, are privileged to assert prerogative.
Stormy Days And Sun Rays The movie angels said it couldn't rain all the time but Mother Nature seemed to have different thoughts as clouds still blanketed the sodden earth. Spring visions of blossoming apple and cherry trees were blotted out by breeze blown curtains; fresh raindrops were once again beginning. The tender green shoots of weeds in sidewalk cracks shook. Skirting worms who crawled along the cement I ran onward, my footfalls slapping puddles, soaking legs with sprays of dirty water. Forward I ran, accompanied by mists and deluge, until sweat was indistinguishable from droplets upon my saturated black running shirt. The movie angels said it couldn't rain all the time and Mother Nature seemed to have read their thoughts. Suddenly clouds split, revealing sun's rays upon sodden earth. Onward I ran, shirtless, smiling upon a steaming landscape. The Green Tree Waits A green tree stands in the corner with synthetic branches fluffed, waiting for lights and bulbs to be hung by a child's hand and plugged in by mom and dad. With synthetic branches fluffed, shaped, and bent, the illusion is complete. No Charlie Brown affair, but a living breathing testament; soon it will be Christmas day! Waiting for lights and bulbs, the old tree snoozes patiently. We slowly built a mountain, wrapped gifts at his feet; colorful boxes and bags. To be hung by a child's hand are golden stars and angels, mini sleighs and snowflakes, resting in soft tissue cocoons. They have slumbered all year. "And plugged in by mom and dad? Are you serious, I am almost 12!" How quick our precious little girl has grown over the few months the green tree waited in the corner. Silk Flowers Silk flowers last a lifetime, as do my many memories, as midnight's hour chimes. I wish childhood lasted forever, unfortunately we pack up youth. I will always remember you however. The cloth bouquet at my nose, makes me remember your beauty, fresh like the dew upon a rose. A Folder Of Love My love for you was left in a blue folder upon a coffee table next to your sofa-sick bed under two boxes of Oreo's and a carton of 2 percent milk that had ridden in the front seat of my car until just the right time, awaiting feet-sweeping and soul baring. I dance with my toes in the fire of emotion. I penned a sonnet or maybe open-ended and unrhymed heart-pained words in an outpouring of haphazard and confused emotions. I didn't know if you would read, or hear or feel, so I kissed your blanket-warmed brow and silently stole away. I dance with my toes in the fire of emotion. Would I live or love another day or forever hunger for your words and gentle kisses? I seem to have spent a lifetime, lifeless, and a smattering of love affairs, loveless. Am I to deny friends and end up friendless because I lust for yet another taboo? I dance with my toes in the fire of emotion. My heart is again broken yet seamless, a poem like bit of fluff torn from the sleeve of my existence where it continually resides. I wish the frost at your core would thaw, melting ice dripping, dripping dripping, a maddening sound of spring coming, destroying the hell of winter once and for all. I dance with my toes in the fire of emotion. I am waiting the crash of symbols or the tolling of a bell as the litmus test of your feelings; bearing a chad-edged and lined paper written with a number two pencil; I love you. Do you love me? Check yes or NO, and so it goes: My love for you was left in a blue folder upon a coffee table next to your sofa-sick bed. Another Battle Like a warrior home from his last battle,
I piled dented shield and dulled sword in an old dusty and locked room, where only memories and loneliness rattle. "I will fight no more, forever," upon my lips. To love no more was once my master plan. Scars upon my heart would heal in time. There were no more dragons to slay, no more maidens to steal across the land. I will love no more, forever," upon my lips. I lay alone in the dark shadow of a lover's moon destined to remain a lonely, unbeaten warrior . Oft offered heart slowly hardened, calcified, "Maybe it will stop beating, and none too soon. I will know pain no more, forever," upon my lips. One day into my life a young beauty wandered, peering, through the long unused keyhole that lead into my carefully secured soul. Slowly, as awakened from a dream, I pondered, "I wonder if this is the end of forever," upon my lips. I lifted door bars and disengaged rusted latches slowly, carefully widening the oak-hewn door that had been my heart's savior and salvation. Could this be one of Cupid's unexpected matches; "I will love you forever," upon our lips. 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). The SuicideNow dead to the world, He was not well-known, But it was a tragic way to end his life, He was only thirty-five years old, A true Samaritan in every sense of the word, What will happen next in life? Could he reincarnate from the dead? No one really knows about this, For now his life was ended in a lynching, He died a tragic way, This can happen to anyone, Of any age, One moment here, The next he is gone, For this is suicide, Let time pass and let your life be complete, For death is eternal and this is just the way life is for us all. The PastThink about this for a moment,
We are all forced into things, Education, Religion, Relatives, And other activities, Do you even care about high school? Ok, maybe if you earned awards, To be recognized for something, But in essence, do you care about you former classmates? Do you even care if they are alive? That is what Facebook is for, People go on there, They broadcast their lives, Do you even care? Most of us don't, That is more than okay, We have pasts, There is the present, Then the future, Be good to yourself, And try to be to others, Tomorrow is a new day, Let it be good to you as it arrives. Dawid Juraszek is a bilingual author and educator based in China. A published novelist in his native Poland, his fiction, non-fiction, and poetry have appeared in The Remembered Arts Journal, Amethyst Review, The Font, Amaryllis, The Esthetic Apostle, Artis Natura, and elsewhere. Visit https://amazon.com/author/dawidjuraszek Bijou Zhou grew up in China's Hunan province. Having first learned painting from a local artist, she went on to receive a degree in Fine Arts, before moving to the USA to study English. She now lives in Changsha, China. Her artwork has appeared in Mused Literary Review, Artis Natura, Soft Cartel, and on the cover of The Cabinet of Heed. CLINGING ArriaShrouded in leaves and bark its branches on the ground made her look up Against the concrete wall she remembered it stood still The lunch break all but over the metal would be back soon to finish the job She touched what was left raised her hand to her hair and with the vision of herself growing up as it grew tall she pulled at a strand just big enough winced groaned and held it up high 'It doesn't hurt,' she said as passers-by walked on XerxesMicroplastics and CO2 Desertification and smog Landfills and algal blooms Flooding and deforestation Mudslides and sand mining Fertiliser runoff and oil spills Fracking and feedback loops Coral bleaching and droughts Melting glaciers and tar sands Heat waves and degraded soils Toxic waste and failing harvests Biodiversity loss and oil pipelines Hurricanes and depleted aquifers Light pollution and rising sea levels Ocean acidification and tipping points Albedo effect and collapsing fish stocks Saltwater intrusion and extinction events Thawing permafrost and radiative forcing Methane clathrates and shrinking ice caps Resource depletion and urban heat islands Ecocide and anthropogenic climate change Power structures, short-termism, and greed This is why I'm weeping CatoSay they came and rescued you when you
had it all worked out thought through torn down all loose ends tied no leftovers and no one stood to suffer more than you would otherwise. Say they looked at you with that warm pity as if they knew better as if nothing was about to come crashing down and you knew they would do it again if you did it again. Say you wanted them to fail and never again stop you midway through or any one else for that matter. Take another shot at it for the pain they caused you sue them re- purpose yourself while there is time. What do you say? A ghost visits his birth hospital |
Aneek Chatterjee is an Indian poet, currently living in Kolkata. He has been published in literary magazines in the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Mauritius, Philippines, Bangladesh and India. His poems have been included in eight anthologies also; -- all published from the USA. Chatterjee has a ph.d. in International Relations; and has been teaching IR and Political Science in leading Indian universities. |
Manuscript
to all I loved, trampled
& killed
This manuscript is decorated
with flowers
died long ago
I write, scribble
thousand manuscripts
everyday, every week, month
But these comeback
to a secret chamber, to be read & loved
by the trampled & killed
Soccer Match
in torrential rains
I was fourteen, & the field
muddy, really muddy.
Mother searched me from
sidelines, and later
among known friends.
Mud covered me,
my friends’
This was not me mother had
known. The ball slipped
away from the goal keeper’s hand
& I got a goal,
& ecstasy, she
hardly knew.
Fourteen, I learned goals
were possible; dribble past
mother,
wait for slips
& muddy fields.
Dim Alleys
dimly lighted
Greater than dark
lesser than bright
I fear dark, the image of a
white sheet father was lying
covered with haunts me in dark;
he had ulcer in stomach
I am afraid of brightness
Reminds me of a dance floor
where the leading lady
was knifed by someone she loved
I walk in dimly lit alleys
Where I stored my innocence
Where I liberated my insanity
Where I feel safe to laugh at you,
myself
Vacuum
rendezvous, but
ubiquitous vacuum clapped
our presence.
We looked at each other
Brown leaves fell
from the tree I planted
in a misty morning.
East tried to shine, but West
was all cloudy
Hands were pasted to
our shoulders
Lest the scratches and pains
Remind they were
nothing but prickles
Address
& furniture.
This house is old & decaying
Here in the pale wall
a photo of my father,
serious looking, grazes.
I didn’t look at the photo
for the last three decades.
His eyes are too prying
In the book shelf there is a title,
‘How the battle was lost’. I read the book
everyday in the last three decades
Water drips in my bath,
drips in a rhythmic way.
I adore the music and sleep
Once there was a garden
in the backyard
It’s untidy and abandoned now
Last week I saw obstinate yellow flowers
in the bush, peeping through bright,
feel-good sunshine
which abandoned me
during the last three
decades, everyday.
I need a change of place
I need a new address, &
a new vision
that does not search
yellow flowers & a serious,
grazing father.
Ahmad Al-Khatat. He was born in Baghdad on May 8th. From Iraq, he came to Canada at the age of 10, the same age when he wrote his first poem back in the year 2000. He also has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world. His poems were translated into Farsi, Albanian, German, and Chinese. And he currently studies Political Sciences, at Concordia University in Montreal. He recently have published his two chapbooks “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline”. With Alien Buddha Press. It is available for sale on Amazon. Most of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook. |
In the Cemetery
reading verses of the holy book to the tombs
I was praying with tears on my cheeks
until the graveyard stopped me and asked me if
I was reading verses or reading sorrows
with an emotionless face, he asked to repeat
I started reading again and, his face was getting
red as his eyes were dropping my unrhymed tears
he stopped me with anger and screamed out
why more grieves, why more death, and less peace
I responded to him, why did hope sold us to traitors
why life is struggling with us, why did the wars rape us shamelessly
we cried together as he was saying that he’s listening to
spirits weeping with us, as the clouds will rain again
he asked me again, why our world is no longer bright
instead, it’s full of darkness and lots of bloody cuts
our grandparents were the farmers, who lift the sunshine
and brunt themselves to death, just to protect the seeds
our mothers stole the moon from the wall of the night
they hid in their coffins and the stars after our fathers
turned the rainbow into a solider in the zone of death
and made the snow into a drinkable water to survive
Inside of My Dream
there’s a bird flying
from one nest to an-
-other, without wings
Inside of my dream
there’s a man holding
a sign that says, I
have serious cancer
Inside of my dream
there’s one refugee
with tears of grief
because he lost hope
Inside of my dream
there’s a young lady
smoking, and waiting
for the train to suicide
Inside of my dream
there's a black cat
staring at me, and
waiting to the end of my dream
Adoption
I donated to a little orphan
since then I made a vow that
I would adopt her, and marry her
Days go by and nights come
I learned how to hurt myself
by doing bad habits that will
guide me to die below the bridge
I lost count of my harmful cuts
I lost all the joyful memories and
moments from weeping beneath
the lights of the miserable bar
My mother thought that I was well,
As my smile hid the tears that
damaged my physical therapist
within minutes after hearing me
I lost many chances and luck
until I met a broken heart,
she cried when she knew that I
found what was missing of me
I found her
between all of my poetry
between all of my cigarette smoke
I tried to lose her
as I saw my shadow following her
Ann you didn't adopted a regular girl
you have definitely raised one angel
that showed me life with colours
From your love and care for my princess
the grief inside of me has smiled when
your daughter kissed my salty lips and
wiped my tears, hopefully she will
close my eyes after my smiling face rests
Buddha Cat of Edsall Road
With the divine recently
Another Cosmic cat perhaps
Perhaps not
who knows what cats are
are they alien from another dimension
or was he channeling God ?
I call him the Buddha cat
For the cat loves
Sitting in a meditative pose
Not moving
Just starting at me
With his soulful deep eyes
Boring into my soul
exploring all my secret thoughts
the buddha cat
does not move
does not react
as he is so deep
into his interior mediation
truly in tune
with the cat universe
and the cosmos as well
the buddha cat
seems to be
one with God
one with Buddha
One with Allah
And all the other
Billion names of God
Known and unknown
The buddha cat
Can teach us all
About the art of meditation
As he zones inward
And loses his soul
Joining the cosmos
And becoming
The buddha cat
The buddha cat
Lives in a modest
Town house
In a modest suburb
Proving yet again
The divine spirit of God
Is everywhere all around us
The buddha cat
Reminds us all
To look for god
In the everyday
All around us
If we but have eyes
To see
President Trump Your Words Don’t Make Any Sense Anymore
Your words don’t make any sense
Any more
As they are increasingly
devoid of meaning
Often every word
out of your corrupted mouth
Is the exact opposite
of the accepted meaning
Of that word or phrase
Just one example
You were accused
Of trying to hide
the name Mc Caine
From the ship bearing that name
So that you would
not be confronted
With the hated name
Mc Cain
On your trip to Japan
If you had the chance
I am sure
You would engage
In the soviet era practice
Of removing people
from historical records
And Mc Caine
all references to the Senator
And his admiral father
Would be forbidden from being used
Seen or remembered
But you could not
even do that
As your evil foul deed
Came to light
In a memo
Written by an underling
Rather than admitting the truth
You gave us a world salad
Filled with unhinged words
Lumped together
President Donald Trump
insisted Thursday
he had nothing to do
with keeping the USS John S. McCain
hidden from the site of his weekend speech
He said whoever
had done so was
“well-meaning.”
“I wasn’t involved.
I would not have done that.
I was very angry
with John McCain
because
he killed health care,”
Trump said,
referring to the late senator’s
deciding vote
that killed a Senate GOP bill
to repeal
the Affordable Care Act.
“I was not a big fan
of John McCain
in any way, shape or form,”
Trump continued in comments
to reporters
“Now,
somebody did it
because they thought
I didn’t like him,
OK?
And they were
well-meaning.
I will say,
I didn’t know anything
about it.
I
would
never
have
done
that.”
Almost
every word
in your statement
Has been verified
to be a lie
And your statement
That whoever did it
Was well meaning
Contradicts
“Well meaning”
For no one “well meaning”
Could have even contemplated
Such an act of monstrous
profound disrespect
For three war heroes
Senator MC Caine
tortured in Vietnam
For five years
His Admiral father
And his admiral grandfather
In no way
could these actions
Be described as “well meaning”
As they were
profoundly mean spirited
And how pray tell
did John Mc Cain
Kill Health Care?
By voting to not repeal health care?
Without a replacement plan
Meaning 15 millions people
would lose health care
Overnight?
That is how he killed
heath care?
It seems to me that the only
Accurate word would be
That he saved health care
From being destroyed forever
And how did you not know
Anything about this?
Why did someone in your team
Come up with this bizaro plan
Straight out of the Soviet era playbook
Perhaps President Putin
advised you
How to disappear people
from official photos?
And official memory as well?
All these words
No longer mean
what they used to mean
Now they mean what they mean
in a Trumpian bizaro world
As our mad prophet King
Chases the rabbit
Down the rabbit hole
Into the land
of wonderland
Where he hopes to rule
us forever
Screaming off with their heads
As he cuts words up
Into meaningless drabble
Where all words
Become unhinged lost words
In a cosmic word salad
Where they lose their meaning
And their mooring to reality
Found Poem Version
President Donald Trump
insisted Thursday
he had nothing to do
with keeping the USS John S. McCain
hidden from the site of his weekend speech
in Japan.
He said whoever
had done so was “well-meaning.”
“I wasn’t involved.
I would not have done that.
I was very angry
with John McCain
because he killed health care,”
Trump said,
referring to the late senator’s deciding vote
that killed a Senate GOP bill
to repeal the Affordable Care Act.
“I was not a big fan of John McCain
in any way, shape or form,”
Trump continued in comments
to reporters
on the South Lawn
of the White House.
“Now,
somebody did it
because they thought
I didn’t like him, OK?
And they were
well-meaning.
I will say,
I didn’t know anything
about it.
I would never have done that.”
Trump’s second denial
came after
The Wall Street Journal reported
Wednesday
that the White House
wanted the Navy
to move the destroyer
“out of sight,”
citing an email
between military officials.
The ship is named for the late Arizona senator
and his father and grandfather,
who were admirals.
Trump initially
denied any knowledge
of the effort in a tweet Wednesday night.
But an email to Navy and Air Force officials,
obtained by CNBC,
had a number of directives,
including: “USS John McCain needs to be out of sight,”
and asking officials to “please confirm”
that directive “will be satisfied.”
A source with knowledge of the matter
confirmed to CNBC
the existence of that email.
said a tarp
was hung over
the ship’s name ahead
of Trump’s trip
and that sailors
were directed to remove coverings
from the destroyer
that bore the McCain name.
The newspaper also said sailors
assigned to the ship,
who generally wear caps bearing its name,
were given the day off
during Trump’s visit
to the nearby USS Wasp.
Defense Secretary Patrick Shanahan
later told reporters,
“I would never dishonor
the memory of a great American patriot
like Sen. John McCain”
by asking that the ship be kept out of sight.
“I’d never disrespect
the young men and women
that crew that ship.
I’ve asked my chief of staff
to look into the matter ...
and as soon
as I find out more about this
I’ll let you know,” he added.
Note: Please do so and let us know who gave the order
And whether this order was carried out
And if so, under who’s authority??
Inquiring minds want to know
https://www.cnbc.com/2019/05/30/trump-whoever-kept-uss-john-mccain-out-of-sight-was-well-meaning.html
Virginia Beach Massacre Never Again Ever
In a night of horrific scumbagery violence
Rarely seen in this jaded age of ours
Gone in one hour
In a spasm of horrific scumbagery violence
In just a few short minutes
Nothing more than that
In just a few moments
All 12 victims were murdered
By a disgruntled employee
Every one he knew was shot
And killed for no reason
Caused by the demons
His soul was so infected
Murderous demonic voices
All in his head
Screaming kill them all kill them all
Screaming none stop violence in his head
All the time
Causing him to start shooting everyone he saw
Regardless of who they were or where they were
Everyone must die screamed the demonic voices in his head
No one can be left alive
Everyone must die
Virtually all must die in his internal video game
Everyone must die
Regardless of who they were or where they were
Again just another day
Gone horribly wrong
All across America
In every town
No where is safe anymore
https://edition.cnn.com/2019/05/31/us/virginia-beach-shooting/index.html
Berkeley Life Scout
Experience as a life boy scout
Really great experiences
Kind of unique
Especially in Berkeley in the 60’s and 70’s
“Like wow man boy scouts are like fucking fascists training camps man, you are going to be a future FBI CIA DEA Narco undercover James Bond and shit, super bad assed motherfucking cop or something like that man.”
Everyone who was not a scout would tell me
Yet I persisted and loved being a boy scout
Life as a boy scout was weird yet totally awesome
In those weird and wacky days learning to play with guns in the woods
Filled with denunciation of incipient fascism by everyone I met
Everyone told me that I would become a FBI counter intel agent
Still I persisted in my boy scout folly
Can’t blame folks for thinking those thoughts
Of course the boy scouts were all male, mostly white, non-atheist friendly
Unfriendly to the LGBT community
This was against the boy scout oath to be morally pure
Categories
All
AHMAD AL-KHATAT
ANEEK CHATTERJEE
ANISHA YADAV
DAVID FAUNTLEROY
DAWID JURASZEK 7 BIJOU ZHOU
E. K. KRAFFT
GEORGE CASSIDY PAYNE
GUY FARMER
JAMES OWENS
JOHN HORVATH
JOHN ("JAKE") COSMOS ALLER
JONATHAN EVERITT
KEITH BURKHOLDER
KEITH MOUL
LEN KRISAK
LILLI REINE
LOIS GREENE STONE
LOU MARIN
LUIS CUAUTHEMOC BERRIOZABAL
MARC CARVER
MARGARITA SERAFIMOVA
NGOZI OLIVIA OSUOHA
PAT ASHINZE
R. GERRY FABIAN
ROBIN WYATT DUNN
SATVIKA MENON
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