———————————————————————

old heaters in the winter

listening to the

sounds of old

heaters holding

on for life

i guess all the

money in these

places go to the

doctors and

insurance companies

—————————————————————–

snow in the forecast

the grocery store was a madhouse today

there must be snow in the forecast

why do all the white cashiers have

bag boys but none of the black

cashiers do

of course, i chose a black cashier

i’m not one of these closet racist

fucks

and she’s pregnant as well, that’s

doubly racist

i was tempted to help her but i

gave in to my evil urge that hopes

we as humans cease to fucking exist

this experiment has gone on long enough

i thanked her as she handed me the receipt

she did a really good job

the arthritis in my left hip kicked in

about 45 minutes earlier

the cold wind did me no fucking favors

soon, i’ll be an old man too damn stubborn

to ask for help loading these bags in the

back of some shitty vehicle begging for

a young soul to come put me out of

my misery

though, there’s enough alcohol in these bags

i just might find the courage to do it myself

——————————————————————

so this is my reality

sometimes the pain is

a constant companion

then, the fucking guest

that will never leave

i have given up on the

chance to ever be pain

free

so this is my reality

how do i get through

each day without getting

derailed by the pain

sure, the drugs help

but they don’t work

all the time

it is a game of chess

in a world of checkers

cheating death every

second of every day

———————————————————-

wholesome

’tis the season

of dysfunction

the myth of

family and

whatever the

fuck else is

wholesome

playing nice

to appease

aging mothers

or the old

grandmothers

that won’t give

in

eventually

we all die alone

it gets easier if

you live that way

as well

or so i am told

——————————————————————–

the kids that never grow up

a blitz of neon

fuck, halloween

isn’t here yet

christmas never

comes too early

for the greedy

kids, of course,

but the fucking

adults

the kids that

never grow

up

consumers

that know

no end

soon the bells

will be ringing

for the poor

the homeless

selling flowers

on the interstate

a hint of snow

in the air

eventually, frozen

bodies on the street…

the holidays

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is biding his time for god knows what. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, Lotherian Poetry Journal, Yellow Mama and The Rye Whiskey Review. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

I WANT TO BE MY LADY

I want to be my grandmother’s wife.

Let me dream with you, let me talk with silk wires.

Your thread is thin from my wire,

If you never fall from my tongue.

I can’t give you away from my hand,

Let me be your silk-wired voice.

If you are good, by all means, difficult things will be resolved quickly.

I come from Shirvan, from Shaki, I am silk wired.

Everyone who is a stranger to our history does not know their worth.

If you don’t want a memory, let me speak with silk wires.

Come, I will cover you with my head,

Give your secret to your confidant.

I’m looking forward to being a hundred years old,

I’m going to have silky hair.

In 1962, she was born from the Sadanağac-Guney family of the Basarkeçer district of the Goycha district of Azerbaijan. Five books of the poetess have come to light so far. Over time, she worked as a branch manager in several newspapers and journals in the press. Its operation continues today. At the same time, her poems have been translated into many languages ​​and appeared in Almanaxes, which is a member of the Azerbaijan Journalists Union and operates specially in the field of Medicine. She is the co-vice president of the Women’s Council of the Social Union “The Development of Relationships among Turkish Women”. She is the owner of many awards for her activities.

Andrea Ceccomori, the flutist who is conquering the world

Andrea Ceccomori, flutist and founder of Assisi Suono Sacro, is now the most acclaimed flutist in the world, an eclectic artist with an always generous invention. Assisi, where Saint Francis was born, is twinned with San Francisco, founded by the Franciscan missions. This Franciscan imprint of SF is expressed through cultural and religious dialogue and in care for animals and nature. An aspect of Saint Francis that should be remembered is that he was the first to create a religious bridge between Christians and Muslims through the king of Egypt Kamel. Ceccomori, who has concerts scheduled also in Egypt, has just had two recent successes: one at the beginning of October in SF on the occasion of the celebration of the St. Francis feast day at the SF Shrine church and Porziuncola Nuova and the other in China, where Ceccomori is popular. Ceccomori’s tour with pianist Sebastiano Brusco ended on November 2nd at the Art Oriental Theatre in Shanghai.

Ceccomori played a program of classical pieces such as Bach, Donizetti, Franck, Briccialdi, Rossini, Massenet, and Debussy, along with pieces composed by him including his hymn to peace and other Chinese pieces very popular in China such as Butterfly Lovers and My Motherland.

In the first part of the tour also participated the soprano Chiara Giudice who sang pieces by Puccini and Verdi. Shanghai Media Group curated the events and “Guiyahui” by Emma Wang Qin promoted the mega tour with concerts at the UCAS University in Beijing, the most important university in China and at the University of Hangzhou and at the International Festival Encuentros Art in Uangshang, with lectures by Ceccomori in a climate of exchanges with Chinese artists who often travel to SF where 35% of the city’s population is Chinese. Ceccomori is very attached to poetry and especially to that of Saint Francis. The flutist wrote the music for the famous “Canticle of the Creatures” by Saint Francis with a concert in Rome in 2022 and in Vienna in 2023 and has a project where the recitation of the “Canticle” of Saint Francis in the original language and in English will be part of his homonymous concert. 

From the Louvre in Paris to the Lincoln Center in NYC, Ceccomori, also artistic director of the Assisi Suono Sacro festival, is intensifying his relations with the city of SF to consolidate splendid artistic and cultural bridges.

Christina Chin / Kimberly Olmtak 

a graceful hand

whips the tea

I sip the aroma

the pulled heart on 

matcha latte

spring garden

my small balcony

adorned with sweet alyssum

an enchantress bouquet

bees and butterflies 

sweet pea

a sunseeker

climbs up the trellis

sea breeze and coffee

on the patio

Turkoglu

The smell of victory comes from the footsteps of the Turk

Listen, talent grows from every word of the Turk

One nation, two states are crying out with your breath,

Burn and destroy those who fought against your homeland,

Türkoğlu! For thirty years, Karabakh has been groaning underfoot,

Our heart is in ruins, our land is in ruins, it cries for help,

Lands full of martyr blood look shorter than you,

Ildirim, go to your troubles,

Turkoglu! Say thank you to the land and give your blood to the land

He who puts on his homeland’s clothes and gives his life to his homeland, Rising willingly to the summit of martyrdom,

Get into the enemy’s chest, indelible mountain,

Türkoğlu! God shared his unshakable power,

You declared your bravery and courage to the world,

Fight for summer history with your blood

Tax the flag to the victory summit,

Türkoğlu! He stands straight like a lion, a Turk’s head does not bend.

It fights to destroy its oil, it knows no fear,

Know that the country is indivisible, know that martyrs do not die

Feel sorry for the court of justice, Türkoğlu!

Poet-publisher, author of five books. AYB and AJB, Iraq Turkmen Writers Union, Central Asia, Yeni Avaz, Historians and Writers Member of the union, from 2018 to 2022, editor of the “Azad qələm” newspaper, from 2023 to 2023 “Literary pearls” journal from the province installer and chief editor. 2020-ci year KĪVIHÍ’s Rəyasət Committee “Poet of the Year” media award by decision, In the 2021 year, Central Asia, Yeni Avaz, Writers and Historians Union’s Əmir-Teymur fund The “Turan Unity” medal he established, In the year 2023, she was awarded the “Heydar Summit” honorary diploma and many other honorary diplomas.

Scribbles

[Written at a Boston-based writing group and included in Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self]

La vie

Ah, la douleur de la vie;
So sorrowful this life can be,
We live in a constant that is uncertainty,
Waiting to awaken each morning can be tiresome,
Waking from a nightmare can be winsome,
‘Til we see the dreadful daylight of reality!
Yearning to sleep;
Daring to wake;
What comes next?
Life is but a haste!

Bird Bath

The mockingbird emerged from its bath,
Singing while in sat on a raft,
Looking into the distant path,
And poised with some sass,
Swiftly flew off in a fit of wrath!

Insomnia

I dreamed I had insomnia
And birds of prey roamed
‘Round my sphere
My heart rhythm’s tachycardia
Abided in a bed of fear…
I dreamt I slept with insomnia
echoes of children
Resounded like nostalgia
My senses somewhat forlorn
Yearning for the years bygone
Wishing to wish away my melancholia
I dream of sleep
Awake I weep
I dreamt i prayed
My soul to keep
I fell asleep
Or so it seems
Wishing to weep
For my esteem
Alas to sleep
Perchance to dream…

What Place is This?

Surrounded by a shadowy grey environ,
Sitting cross legged on some ground,
Looking up in a circular motion,
I wondered why there was no one else around…
Yearning to hear a sound;
Something has blurred my vision,
Suddenly I hear a pound,
Could thunder be a thing I found?!
Alas…The dawning of my wakening,
I am living in a cloud!!!

Jacques Stanley Fleury is a Haitian-American Poet, Author and Educator. He holds an undergraduate degree in Liberal Arts and is currently pursuing graduate studies in the literary arts at Harvard University online. Once on the editing staff of The Watermark, a literary magazine at the University of Massachusetts, his first book Sparks in the Dark: A Lighter Shade of Blue, A Poetic Memoir was featured in and endorsed by the Boston Globe. His second book: It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories is a collection of short fictional stories dealing with the human condition as the characters navigate life’s foibles and was featured on Good Reads. His current book and hitherto magnum opus Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism, A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism explores social justice in America and his latest book, “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  along with all other previously mentioned titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, Porter Square Books, The Grolier Bookshop, Goodreads, bookshop, Amazon etc…  His CD A Lighter Shade of Blue as a lyrics writer in collaboration with the neo-folk musical group Sweet Wednesday is available on Amazon, iTunes & Spotify to benefit Haitian charity St. Boniface.

Waves ripple

The dark and the sea

spray surrounds us

as a salt water

sky burst would

We can hear

the rocks below

breaking open

the energy of tides

exhaled from within

plosive as the wind

Iridescent

eyes of wild animals

amid the rain forest

trees

the real ones

and the imagined

carved from wood

or hewed from stone

All the paths forward

are overgrown with

mutating plants

stinging weeds

and poison ivy

pointed stalks

glow-in-the-dark

earthworms are trail

markers showing us

the way

Overcome by weariness

while walking without

a clear sense of purpose

or direction

we sit where the deer

lie down

feel our dreams

become an invasive species

inhabiting all

the exposed places

in our bodies

Lying still is

impossible

Our skin moves

without us

The transition from

sleeping to waking

is inseparable

are two indistinguishable

states

while walking

we enter a maze

of feeling

that seems to be

a physical one

where paths intersect

and lead nowhere

We wonder if there

is a center

if the center will hold

Feral

Other than the argot

infused standing

water

we have had nothing

to eat or drink

for days

Now we know

how it is to be

feral

unsure of what

or when we will

eat next

or if we will be

eaten in turn

We are reluctant

to gorge on wild

fruits and berries

having heard stories

of those who ate them

went mad

and died

We wonder now if any

of the stories

we have heard are true