Haiku by Maurizio Brancaleoni
bagno all'alba:
la scia del sole tra alluce e illice
bathing at dawn —
the sun glitter between hallux and index toe
*
mattino calmo:
un mosaico d'impronte di piccioni
quiet morning —
a mosaic of pigeon footprints
*
luna calante:
vespe e formiche su carcassa di pane
waning moon —
wasps and ants on bread carcass
*
mattina presto:
cammino nei solchi del SUV sulla sabbia
early morning —
I walk in the ruts of the SUV on the sand
*
rough sea —
the cat's lapping
in the plant saucer
mare agitato:
il lappare del gatto
nel sottovaso
*
luna di tre dì:
il pomfo della puntura interrotta
three-day moon —
wheal of the interrupted puncture
*
mare calmo di mattina:
le zampe rosse dei piccioni
calm morning sea —
red feet of the pigeons
*
malato al sole:
le zampe fredde della mosca
ill in the sun —
cold feet of the fly
*
cirrocumuli:
la chiave dell'auto
fa da cotton fioc
cirrocumuli —
the car key
serves as a cotton swab
*
ascelle al vento:
l'insetto non riesce
a rigirarsi
armpits to the wind —
the bug can't
flip back over
*
dopo il mare
anche sporche le mani
sembran pulite
after the seaside
even if dirty
hands feel clean
*
restless wasps —
the lonely old man
from person to person
vespe irrequiete:
il vecchio solo
di persona in persona
*
ora di pranzo:
condizionatore di
sopravvivenza
lunch time —
survival
conditioner
*
notte d'estate:
centro zanzare
mentre il sonno mi elude
summer night —
I hit mosquitoes squarely
while sleep eludes me
*
mese d'agosto:
anche le case rosse
si spelleranno?
August —
will even the red houses
start to peel?
*
niente acqua per
le labbra secche:
lamiere lucenti
no water for
dry lips —
shining floor plates
*
vento in spiaggia:
una mano sul cell
l’altra sull’ombrellone
wind at the seaside —
one hand on the phone
the other on the beach umbrella
*
Pronto soccorso:
la zanzara bruna
non trova l'orecchio
Emergency Room —
the brown mosquito
can't find the ear
*
bocca sdentata:
alcune case senza
tenda da sole
gap-toothed mouth —
some houses have
no awning
*
vespa vasaia:
una solitudine tranquilla
potter wasp —
a tranquil solitude
*
nascondendosi
nell'orto il gatto
svicola indisturbato
hiding
in the garden the cat
sneaks away undisturbed
*
primi rovesci:
sotto la giacca a vento
la canottiera
first downpours —
under the windbreaker
a tank top
Maurizio Brancaleoni lives near Rome, Italy.
He holds a master's degree in Language and Translation Studies from Sapienza University. His haiku and senryu have appeared in Dadakuku, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Under The Bashō, Horror Senryu Journal, Cold Moon Journal, Scarlet Dragonfly, Memorie di una geisha, Rakuen, Haiku Corner, Pure Haiku, Five Fleas, Shadow Pond Journal, Haikuniverse, Asahi Haikuist, Plum Tree Tavern and Wales Haiku Journal. In 2023 one of his micropoems was nominated for a Touchstone Award, while a horror ku originally featured in the Halloween-themed issue of Scarlet Dragonfly was re-published in this year's Dwarf Stars anthology.
Maurizio manages “Leisure Spot", a bilingual blog where he posts interviews, reviews and translations: https://leisurespotblog.blogspot.com/p/interviste-e-recensioni-interviews-and.html
Gastric Juice
What is a woman if not fluid
cursed and born bubbling up the esophagus
meeting fingers at the uvula and spewing
heated siren songs of stomach acid and
torn-up lemon slices and cucumber bile.
if not trapping and festering life
with eyes of gold and silver-plated teeth,
they cover tobacco stains under lips stapled tight
shrouding their deadbeat heart
with red right-hand knuckles.
What is a woman if not a frame imagined
too plump, if not a figure
malnourished from longing, yet so full
from desire, of indentured servitude
to their own stomach rumbling
with craze and clouded appetite.
A woman, if not
A sickly yellow vomited like
a scream amplified
From the depths of the womb.
J. D. Nelson is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website,MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.
FEARMONGERING IN SPRINGFIELD
“In Springfield, they’re eating the dogs!”
yelled Trump at his TV debate.
What’s behind these demon tales?
What fuels such baseless hate?
It starts with an influx of workers
back in 2017.
Springfield factories no longer hummed.
The town was in decline.
Then came the Haitian immigrants
to package food, work shifts
in automotive machining plants.
But new faces caused rifts.
15,000 new faces
riled up a Nazi group—
this “Blood Tribe” marched with swastika flags
and paramilitary troops
to crash a jazz and blues event.
Pointed guns at cars.
Shouted, “Go back to Africa!”
The Blood Tribe was at war.
A spokesman told the City Council:
stop hiring workers’ kin.
“Crime and savagery will increase
with every Haitian you bring in.” *
The speaker got kicked out. Next day,
Springfield City Hall
was closed because of bomb threats,
and a school got threatening calls.
Then, when a cat went missing,
the scapegoating began.
“They say those Haitians eat our pets.”
Rumors wildly ran.
Now schools are closed to keep kids safe.
Bomb threats, fear, and hate
menace Springfield’s peaceful town.
Does this make America great?
* Quote by Drake Berentz, aka, Nathaniel Higgins,
reported by Stephen Starr in the Guardian, 9/14/2024
In India when a daughter gets married they need to wear a red veil and red bindi on her forehead. It’s a symbol of married women. Also I would like to add that in India we call our mother Maa. Whether it is India or any other country, mother and daughter emotion is same.
THE QUEST
I’m in my autumn my child,
Your father’s departure made my life hollow.
My heart weeps when I recall him.
Now, I am stacked with responsibilities.
My eyes are craving to see you in a red veil.
My lifelong wish to see,
The vibrant red colour on your forehead.
My child, I searched a lot
But the suitable boy is in a remote, untouched land.
Is it my fault that I gave you birth ?
They tarnish our race.
‘Unity in Diversity’ is confined to papers.
They criticize on your shadowy tone,
Your knowledge is your gem,
And they ridicule it too.
Murky world, disgrace your devotion towards me
A devoted son is an honour,
Then why not a devoted daughter?
I begged at every door,
To search a suitable boy for you,
Sad folks always gave false hope.
Me too wish to nurture my grandchild,
Who will sit on my lap,
And I will wrap her tight.
With her, I will revive my childhood.
I asked to God:
Why a dummy smile people,
Enjoying an ecstatic life.
We have wisdom to be simple,
And thus our hearts are distorted every time.
Waiting for the new dawn,
In every verse there are some,
Unspoken silence.
(Answer To Mother…….)
MOSAIC of EMOTIONS
Be good, do good and receive good,
The age old phrase.
In this broken mixed-up world,
Do we always receive fruit ?
I am a scapegoat in the hands of time.
I longed to pass marital bliss.
A hand who will hold my hand,
A soul- soothing warm hug and worries disappear.
I pine for his presence.
Me too wish the paradise of motherhood,
That feeling when I will hold you in my arms, my child,
And embrace you in my chest.
I will play with you like a toddler,
Till we burst out with laughter .
Those precious moments when your grandma will sing a lullaby for you.
I am longing to see.
I hate mirror Maa,
Every time it reminds me of single shaming.
The lines on your forehead write the tales of an agonized mind.
I curse myself Maa to see you in pain,
And knowing the reason is me.
I know you are aching to see the luminous red vermillion on my forehead,
Will it fulfill in this birth?
The voyage for a suitable match is just an illusion.
They abandon me to see my worship towards you .
Pity mother with only daughter in the family.
In her declining years should I leave her all alone?
Can a groom do the same?
Our society is rooted in orthodox ideology,
Which need to be structured.
(Is it so difficult to give her a little space in son -in -law’s nest?)
Deepika Singh is an Indian native from Margherita, Assam. She holds an M.A. and a B.Ed. degree, by profession, a teacher. Her writings are a reflection of the everyday experiences she has. She thinks the correct words have the power to transform our culture. Her works were featured in various publications, including Sipay Journal, The Poet Magazine, Womensweb, Journal of Macedonia Scientific Society, Poetry Zine Magazine, Archer Magazine, etc. Additionally, her writings were translated into Hebrew, Chinese, Macedonian, Spanish, Serbian, Tajik, and Turkish. She also recited poetry on Kent’s BBC Radio.
(Photo of a female statue in a dress with no head and no left hand, surrounded by stones and trees)
A stunning photo from Brian Michael Barbeito’s collection of vignettes and photographs, Still Some Crazy Summer Wind Coming Through
The digital net of Brian’s camera captures the look of so many things, and his visions linger long and sink deep in the well of memory. Sure, as the Winged Victory still stands tall in the art history of Greek sculptors, the artistry in Brian’s photos lingers in a sensitive viewer’s memory and thoughts. Each pictorial image preserves a certain place at a certain time, and the reader of this book’s writings can experience vicariously the feelings and thoughts of its author, over and over, time and time again.
From forest paths to bridges over bogs and water lilies with ducks and swans abiding, to crowded shops, carnivals, city streets old barns and snow-clad woodlands, Brian takes you on many outings through his world and shares his intimate thoughts and feelings of the unseen as well as the seen. Brian presents the subtle other-worldly as a robust and palpable part of everyday life. Brian, as an image-builder, shows us ways to see the plainest of ordinary things as special and wonderful.
Each image in this book Still Some Crazy Summer Wind Coming Through makes an immediate impression, as the writing adds more and more gateways through which one’s imagination can enter to roam and mix with Brian’s own. The spontaneity of the photographer’s own actions moves a reader to welcome their own heartfelt spontaneity as it encourages one to venture out exploring and preserving in photos or in writings some impressions of the local natural scenery, featuring combinations of as animals, plants, rock walls, old barns, road signs, marbled skies, and other wonders.
I have known Brian for many years, and he has a wealth of photographs and vignettes, which I hope he will be presenting soon in additional books comparable to Still Some Crazy Summer Wind Coming Through.
John L. Waters
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 it 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.
