Death?
What the hell am i doing on earth?
Life designs the cloth of fear
which is difficult to wear
Why?
There is a lurking uncertainty
Its design is a threatening peculiarity
So,
In death, i glory in peace
as my sleeping body is laid to Mother Earth with ease
The cloth of peace i wear
Therefore, i would say, ‘death is not a being to fear’
On The Ground of Death
I fell on the ground of death
as I felt guilt, shame, and humiliation
for being hopeless to ask for a slight assistance.
I missed my legs like a tree forfeited
its roots and branches in autumn
I saw my weight gain, stretch marks
but I found the legs of a soldier
They were seeping as I was sobbing
I erased my memories a few years ago
my reflections began to communicate louder,
since they were always an unspoken
My tongue was no longer a treasure
I wanted him to say my visions to stop weeping
I wanted him to notify my parts to stop bleeding
But he was muted, through every measure.
Montreal’s Moon
I saw Montreal’s moon in the eyes of Noemi,
Since then, I am a poet not broken
but fully spoken about devotion verses,
and emotional tales that brought tears
for three hundred sixty-five days.
Montreal blues hide when I am trying to find your shadow
The smile on my face was birthed after we passionately kissed
Hold my hands and take me away from the sorrows
I’m inhaling This world has turned me into a warrior
ashes of centuries ago
When I learned that I must love you
without any boundaries
Being friendly and helpful is not a struggle for a wounded man
The flowers that bloom from the first night we made affection
my body became numb
after I touched the sunshine in your heart
Love is not a tournament
that lasts for a few hours before bed
Your love is the soul that grows in your feelings
whenever I miss having you around my arms,
all the sad songs have a common way to describe
how much I miss being next to you by the sunsets.
Grandma’s oatmeal
Today, dear book group, we’re exploring the difference
between cinnamon, commas,
and a cheerleader’s ability
Pausing only if grandma needs her medicine
With plenty of cinnamon,
you can spin a syrupy alphabet in your throat
of phrases and punctuation, new to a child
And my grandma once told me
that if you mix plenty of cinnamon in your oatmeal
you can bend a period into a comma
with your mind, and
With plenty of commas,
An elderly man with a surgical mask
on his forehead,
may make himself visible outside your window
His acne scars covered – but his infectious saliva
skating on germs until it reaches another mouth.
It makes me revel at my own grandparents
and the way their masks kiss and are kissed
when – They leave to get vegan donuts.
One moment, grandma needs her medicine.
She tells me it’s because her mask smells
like a cheerleader
Highschool is sticking its unwashed fingers up her nose again
Showers in body spray during class,
the smell of shiny magazine pages and pressed flowers
having a tea party in the split ends of the cheerleaders ponytail
Too much for her to bear.
A T-shirt in the airport says – if a comma isn’t placed
in front of grandma
instead of after
she might end up in our digestive system.
With a cheerleaders ability,
you can kick so high
your leg gets stuck in the lumps of oatmeal
in the sky
or, if you aren’t heartless, grandpa says
you should jump up and down
until grandma finds the energy
to crawl back out of your throat.
My Ledbury Shirt
For my Birthday a while ago, my Dame de Mois at the time, gave me a Ledbury dress shirt. It was magenta with the inside collar and cuffs in a subtle eggshell hue. I was excited to try it on and model it for her. The process of opening a new dress shirt is tedious. I have always been curious as to why they use so many straight pins in new shirts.
I began pulling out the pins and putting them in a nearby empty beer can.
” Don’t throw them away!” She screamed. “Give them to me, I save straight pins!”
” Why the hell would you want to save all these pins?” I inquired.
” I use them on my Voodoo dolls.” She smiled in a scary sort of way.
First and last time I wore the shirt. I decided to move from New Orleans to Costa Rica in a week and told her of my plans.
” A week! I’m not sure I can be ready in that short amount of time. There’s a lot I’ll need to take care of.'” She responded in an excited tone.
” It’s okay, I wasn’t planning on taking you with me.”
” You mean I’m not coming with you to Costa Rica? You’re an insensitive bastard.”
She stomped off slamming the door then opening it and slamming it again.
” Fuck you Santiago! Hope you get Dengue or Malaria or some other shit!”
I contracted Dengue eight months later, spending a week in the hospital. Now and then I feel short stabbing pains especially in my groin area. A Doctor’s examination couldn’t determine a cause for the piercing pains. I had an idea as to the reason, just don’t want to think it, write it or say it out loud.
DONNY APPLEVIRUS
John Chapman traveled far and wide
planting seeds. Apple seeds.
John Chapman changed the native land.
Planted apple trees.
This is something travelers do—
spread new seeds. Plant new stock.
Itinerants might not stay long.
Their footprint does.
A virus travels free today.
Some get sick. Some pass on.
Warnings flash from every screen
for all to heed.
But power struggles reign today.
Choose your name. Cast your vote.
Donald stages circuses
across the land.
Crowds sit close-- no masks, just hats…
Shouting cheers. Shouting jeers.
And when he leaves, the virus spikes.
More sick. More dead.
Like Johnny Appleseed, he plants
virus here, virus there.
Seeds his base, case after case.
His legacy.
AWOL FROM THE PANDEMIC
What day is it? Who cares? Sun’s out!
Shut-ins are fleeing their coops,
flocking to Lake Chabot, and the path
that follows the shore’s lazy loops.
A man in a face mask totes poles, net and pail.
Bikers with bells swerve past guys on the trail.
Homebound parents and kids need a break,
so call this P.E.!
Today, school’s at the lake.
All sorts of joggers, some fleet and some puffing
work out for fitness, or shaving off stuffing.
Dog walkers everywhere tug dogs on leashes.
(We’re short-leashed too. COVID-19’s capricious.)
Picnics prohibited. Potties are locked.
Charcoal grills covered. Rental boats docked.
Yet families trudge up the trail
with their strollers.
Hikers are young people, middles, and oldsters.
Nod as they pass—no one pauses to talk.
Everyone’s cautious when risking this walk.
Shelter, but break for essentials like these:
striding through tunnels of green,
sun on the water, trees on the hills…
Just pause panic mode—and breathe clean!
THE FIRST YEAR OF COVID Dec. 2019: The World Health Organization says that a mysterious pneumonia is sickening dozens in China. Wuhan was not our problem. We were busy— shopping, planning, seeing friends, going to work and coming home tired, looking forward to the weekend… Suddenly, a switch flipped. Warning lights flashed. Normal became dangerous— avoid friends, suspect strangers, postpone family gatherings. Lurking in ambush was an invisible killer: COVID 19, SARS-CoV-2, the coronavirus. Dr. Fauci tried to help: Wash your hands. Mask your face. Stay home. Stay safe. That was March, 2020. Now it’s October, 2020. The virus, our leader said, was just another flu. It will disappear in April, like magic. It didn’t. Over 200,000 have died, and the toll rises daily. You get it, you get over it, he said. Don’t let it dominate you. Dominate? Is this an arm-wrestling contest? If we act macho, will COVID slink away? Have you ever played Peek-a-Boo with a baby? Cover his eyes. You disappear. Uncover—Peek-a-Boo! You’re back! We have a leader who is telling us: Cover your eyes. Stop testing so much. Then COVID cases will go down. We will dominate. Send kids to school Open bars, gyms, restaurants, stores. Ditch the masks. Feed the economy. Cover your eyes. See? Like magic, COVID disappears. Peek-a-Boo! But people keep on getting sick. Not quite recovering. Many die. Too many. As the world watches, a 74 year old toddler tries to bully COVID, rips off his mask on a balcony overlooking cameras, plans more rallies, phones in to Fox to blame and gloat, strategizes that if we shut our eyes, we win. But we lose. Lose jobs. Lose shelter. Lose lives. The White House is the new Wuhan. There’s dynamite behind every door. Our leader is the super-spreader. Our country is the loser.
A Rose A rose has beauty And sending it to someone Has a message so caring. A thank you for friendship, and always there What more could one ask. So I leave with a prayer. And may blessings pour down That we will share the roads of life And remember the rose that will Help us through strife.
An Autumn Pleasure Taking a ride through mountains is a joyful relaxation never experienced before. The mountains are majestic and the thousands of trees now show fantastic colors of their leaves -- gold, red, brown with a little green here and there. Taking curves in the road at times takes you between mountain tops that is such picturesque beauty of fall colors. At times like this, all concerns and worries seem to fade away and you are living in this world of nature giving us a time of happiness and thankfulness.
SURVIVAL Life is a long fight for survival, or so it seems. I know there are so many confusions and health issues and families can be part of this and cause us to feel real pain. Our thoughts become a source of sadness and longing. Yet, we keep a glimmer of hope within ourselves. We pray, talk to friends and browse through old pictures. Suddenly our thoughts turn to the future and the feelings of hope and faith begin to shape Our mind instead of relentless depression. The opportunities and gifts have been so many as we remember the joy and happiness some have brought. So we begin to change ourselves and look forward to sharing time and talents in special ways with those around me. We finally experience peacefulness within our soul.
Hearts That Are Broken Sadness may fill a heart with longing -- Longing for the sound of a baby's laughter Or the sweet chirping of a bird outside your window. Sounds of nature bring a pleasant relief to a Heart that is feeling so alone. One's heart is so entwined within our emotions And we need to let the purity of nature Fill us with a joy as we immerse ourselves in the Gifts of nature's beauty Then our heart will know the peace that comes With becoming a part of nature's delight. A Free Spirit I watch the birds flying free in the sky And I think to myself I want to fly with them. They are free to wander wherever they might, And their freedom stirs a longing in me -- To join them in their journey and they know the way. As I keep watching those birds in their flight, My longing increases and my spirit joins them in Their canopy of song filling the air with their joy.
Charles J. March III is an asexual, neurodivergent Navy hospital corpsman veteran who is currently trying to live an eclectic life with an interesting array of recovering creatures in Orange County, CA.
His various works have appeared in or are forthcoming from Evergreen Review, Atlas Obscura, Litro, Chicago Tribune, L.A. Times, Lalitamba, 3:AM Magazine, Ink Sweat & Tears, Fleas on the Dog, Queen Mob’s Teahouse, The Recusant, Taco Bell Quarterly, Storm Cellar, Harbinger Asylum, Madness Muse Press, Maudlin House, Misery Tourism, BlazeVOX, Blood Tree Literature (prize), Bareknuckle Poet, Anti-Heroin Chic, The Beatnik Cowboy, Points in Case, Expat Press, Stinkwaves, Young Ravens Literary Review, The Writing Disorder, Literary Orphans, Otoliths, Oddball Magazine, et al. Links to his pieces can be found on LinkedIn and SoundCloud.