Who Am I?


[Originally published in the Somerville Times & Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self]

if you peel layer 
                  upon layer
                           upon layer
maybe then and only then
you will find me...
for i am a multilayered entity...
a building block of heterogeneity 
i can be fierce and unflinching
              apathetic and also doting
                    docile and also volatile
                            lovable and also irritable
                                      compulsive and also discernible
I am a man
I am a “black” man
I am an American
I am a “black” American
I am a DNA test from
Ancestry dot com’s family tree
And twenty-three and me
I am African ancestry
I am Afro Haitian ancestry
I am European ancestry
I am the legacy of a middle class family in Haiti
I am the legacy of America’s social and economic disparity
I am the story of Horatio Alger’s characters thriving over adversity

I am a malady
I am a remedy
i am a rainbow
i am a shadow
I am a son
I am a brother
I am an uncle
I am an author
I am an educator
And pervasive human valor coconspirator
           I am in attrition
             I am in progression
               I am an amalgamation
I am perfectly imperfect
And imperfect perfectly
I am a thesis of social injustice
I am a vision of personal apotheosis
                  I am all this and more...

I am            ME!

Jacques Fleury is a Haitian-American poet, author, educator and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His book “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  & other titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc…

Spock! Spock!

It’s clearly the wrong Spock.

The whole point of the right Spock

was that he was right,

Nimoy slightly stooped, the long face

impassive not with lack of emotion

but with the contained quiet of competence.

You could trust him to jettison the fuel,

to identify the imposter and brave the radiation,

to boldly go with raised eyebrow and without fuss

into the plot holes and out of them,

like a tricorder tracking the moral law.

He said, “it is logical,” but he meant, “It is good.”

And then along comes Ethan Peck

with a beard and a tragic backstory

babbling about child development

as if the only character worth having is trauma.

If you want a character defined by trauma

why make him Spock?

If you want a character who is Spock

why define him by trauma?

What is the logic of an identity

that is not an identity?

Maybe there is no logic to identity.

There is no Spock. Spock is just an image

you watch because you are you.

He is behind you like a tragic backstory

and before you like a tragic backstory.

You cannot escape him

as you cannot escape your own beard

which grows like narrative out in space

a rough fuzz on the viewscreen.

It makes a brittle sound like the teeth of a comb

which says, “Spock! Spock!”

Both of them turn.

The Adventures of Zippy the Sparrow

In a vibrant forest where the trees stretched toward the heavens and the rivers sang songs of ancient times, there lived a little sparrow named Zippy. Zippy was no ordinary bird—she was filled with a boundless curiosity and an insatiable love for adventure.

While most of the other birds were content to stay within the safety of the forest, Zippy dreamed of exploring the world beyond. She would often sit on the highest branch of the tallest tree, gazing at the horizon, wondering what lay beyond the mountains, rivers, and valleys she had never seen.

One day, Zippy decided it was time to follow her dreams. With a flutter of excitement, she spread her wings and set off on her first grand adventure. The forest quickly became a patchwork of green beneath her as she soared higher and higher, her heart racing with anticipation.

Zippy's first stop was a sparkling lake that shimmered like a jewel in the sunlight. As she swooped down to take a drink, she met a wise old turtle basking on a rock.

"Hello, little bird," the turtle said with a warm smile. "What brings you to this part of the world?"

"I'm on an adventure!" Zippy chirped, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I want to see everything there is to see!"

The turtle chuckled softly. "The world is vast and full of wonders, young one. But remember, the greatest adventures are often found in the smallest places."

Zippy thanked the turtle and continued on her journey, flying over hills and valleys, across rivers and meadows. She met all sorts of creatures—a family of playful otters, a wise old owl, and a friendly fox who shared stories of faraway lands.

One day, as Zippy was flying over a dense forest, she noticed a strange and mysterious fog. The trees below seemed to whisper secrets, and the air was thick with mystery. Undeterred, Zippy dove into the fog, eager to uncover its secrets.

Inside the fog, Zippy found herself in an enchanted grove, where the trees were adorned with sparkling lights, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of flowers. At the center of the grove was a beautiful, glowing crystal that pulsed with a gentle light.

As Zippy approached the crystal, she felt a warm, comforting presence. "Welcome, brave sparrow," a voice whispered. "You have shown great courage and a true love for adventure. This crystal holds the heart of the forest, and it is said that those who find it are granted a special gift."

Zippy felt a surge of joy as the crystal's light enveloped her. In that moment, she realized that her love for adventure had led her to something truly magical—a deeper connection with the world around her.

With a heart full of wonder, Zippy flew back to her forest home, where her fellow birds greeted her with awe and admiration. She shared her stories with them, telling of the sparkling lake, the wise turtle, and the enchanted grove.

From that day on, Zippy was known as the bravest bird in the forest, and her adventures became legendary. But no matter how far she traveled or how many wonders she discovered, she always remembered the turtle's words—that the greatest adventures are often found in the smallest places.

And so, Zippy continued to explore the world with an open heart, always ready for the next adventure, no matter how big or small.

Tursunboyeva Nigora Abdumannob qizi was born on February 23, 2009, in Uzbekistan. She is currently a 10th-grade student at the Is'hoqxon Ibrat Creative School. She is fluent in English, Russian, German, and Uzbek. Due to her interest in literature, she writes poems, stories, and articles. Her creative works have been published in numerous renowned international journals, such as The Mount Kenya Times, The Diaspora Times, Classico Opine, The Seoul Times, Raven Cage, Synchronized Chaos, Kavya Kishor, Orfeu.al, Elisa mascia and many other magazines and newspapers. This year, she won literary competitions and was awarded two medals. She is interested not only in creativity but also in volunteering, and she is currently continuing her volunteer activities. And she is an active member of the World Writers and Artists  Working Group Juntos Por Las Letras.

Summer Snips

hot land
cities and small towns
summer fried walls

clothes on and shoes off
soaking in the bathtub
heat stroke

birds in the fountain
sipping cool water
splashing wings

moon tunes
lovers humming songs
owls joining in

doves cooing
in the dark of early dawn
windows opening



Shadow Moods

combing her long hair
in the dark bedroom
sighing alone

light on
in front of the mirror
touch of shadows

old wooden porch
sitting in his rocking chair
sway of memories

Heavenward

children play
even as the world shakes
the unknowing


Stephen Jarrell Williams can be found on (X) Twitter @papapoet

Prayer of a Sinner


This is not everything,
Not the end of everything. 
I have to go another world,
Which is real but mysterious.
Death is the media to enter the world
That world will be endless
And death will never be a visitor there. 
Death will be a dead stranger there.

The ferry is ready to carry
The earth is waiting
Nature will adorn everything beautifully
I have to lay down in the fixed room
With a new dress of white cloth
The dress will be without pocket and stich
I shall have no chance to take anything.
The room will be closed forever 
It will not have any door or window
Bed will never be there
Nobody will give company or anything
I will be detoched from this world  
I will be attached with another world. 
My bones will not make sound
My heart will not beat
All the organs will be separated 
Only good deeds will be friend in the darkness
And bad deeds will be snake
I must be rewarded for my good deeds 
And disgraced for my bad deeds. 
The creator is the best justice
Who will judge everything on the great day.
Finally, I will get my permanent address
Oh God, my Creator, You are great
You are very kind
I am a sinner 
I have done wrong things
I have walked on the wrong track 
But I love you
You are always in my beliefs 
Please forget my sin and forgive me
I want your forgiveness.

FIT

A cocktail party cruiser,
a broker working the room, 
cornered me and asked,
“What do you do to keep fit?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m active
but not for the sake of fitness.
I hunt and fish.”
“Oh,” he replied, “I run.”
He looked at his watch,
touched his wrist as if
to check his standing heart rate,
already looking for another prospect.
“For What?” I asked.
“To keep fit, of course.”
“For what?” I repeated.
He paused, smiled nervously
and cleared his throat.
“So I’ll live longer.”
He was ready to bolt.
“For what?” I asked again.
He drifted off, shaking his head.
He only had wrong answers


Gregg Norman lives and writes in a lakeside cottage in Manitoba, Canada, with his wife and a small dog who runs the joint. His poetry has been placed in journals and literary magazines in Canada, USA, UK, Australia and India.