OUR HOME IS BLEEDING

And night comes like a thief, with a gentleness that caresses 
the eyes with a gleaming broken ray written on a brittle glass
disappearing into the horizon like broken sparks of flames,
and then night falls like stars ready to devour our hopes.

The afternoon is dead with barrows lurking in our palms ,
Our dreams down like a warzone burnt into ashes by the 
Bombings in our tongues and throats which our hearts can only hear.

It is a cold coming, our dreams of having a brick over our dangling head,
Ready to be broken into pieces by the muzzle under the bomb of bazooka.

Let there be hopes as the gwagwalada river flows in the tacit lust of 
Our cauliflowers_ drips of the night’s velvets on our sparkling rivulents.

Can we be pieces and faces bonded by unity and aspirations of better future?
Can we be the race with our wings not sunken with only dreams?

Can we be the home to the sweats and blood of our own self?

After this and thats, we could only cuddle our broken spirit in that cocoon
Buried underneath our blankets.
                                     
Let there be a NIGERIA with realms of aspirations in our blood,
Let the great labor of our heroes be not in vanity washed in pain.
Let there be a nation free from the cuff of servitude and pain. 

Tajudeen Muadh Bayo, lightening pen X, is a poet from Nigeria. His works appear forthcoming on magazines including Afrihill Press, Scars Tv and others. He’s also a member of the Hilltops Creative Arts Foundation.

A Dream In a Requiem

it reminds me the time I took remnants
of my soul—to sail the river of memories,
to the world
where deads vomit tears and saliva,
where a river has nothing to offer 
but a skull of its dead son.
I, once heard a story of
how the soil married a seed;
and how men enthroned themselves
to the bed of kings in the hell. 
when the clock is asleep—
men grow wings 
to witness how an anthill
transforms into mountain–how it bloom flowers
that turn red, pink and blue, black.
now, tell me how our name fades
& how we'd paint our eyes red?




Mubarak Said is the 3rd runner-up of the poetry category of the 2022 Bill Ward Prize for Emerging Writers. His works are forthcoming and published in many literary magazines national and international as imspired magazine, Afrihill press, World Voices Magazine, Icefloe Press, Literary yard, Beatnik Cowboy, Piker press magazine, Teen Literary Journal, ILA magazine, Icreatives review, the yellow house magazine, williwash magazine,  Pine Cone Review, Synchronized chaos, Susa Africa, madswirl magazine, Applied Worldwide, Opinion Nigeria, Today Post, Daily Trust, Daily Companion and elsewhere.

It’s Hayward’s Fault!

Hey there,
We’re neighbors, you know

Yes, in fact I run right through
the heart, of the Heart,
 Of the Bay.
That curb that’s broken,
 That fence that’s shifted,
 Those cracks in your plaster—
Yep, that’s me.

No one pays me much attention—
Though they should!
Attention follows my cousins,
Loma Prieta, 89,
 and San Francisco, 06.
 But before 06
I was the talk of the town.

“The Great One,”
 you called me,
 And I’m still here,
 Right Here,
In the center of every thing
 you love!
Loma Prieta was near
 Santa Cruz,60 miles away!

San Fran 06 wasn’t even
 in San Francisco,
But offshore, out in the Pacific.

 Yet I’m right here,
snaking my way
 along Mission Blvd.
through homes, freeways,
 churches, hospitals
 U.C. Berkeley even,
 And frankly,
 your inattention
 is beginning
 to bore me.

Make no mistake,
 I’ve been bored before,
October 21, 1868,
 To be exact.

The cure for boredom
is excitement—
and boy did I deliver!
Rumbling, roaring, reverberating--
 I twisted, I turned,
Toppling chimneys off walls,
 Houses off foundations,
 Two stories became one,
Large cracks split the earth,
 Springs went dry,
 Springs gushed forth,
And the ground undulated--
Wave after wave
Upon nightmarish wave:
Taking life from many;
Sending some into such panic
That they lost their mind
Before, satisfied, I settled,
 Once again.

 There were few of you
 here then,
But now there are millions—
 MILLIONS,
AND I’M BORED AGAIN!

Hey, did I mention
that we’re
neighbors?
Close,
close
close
neighbors!



The Challenge

The challenge, 
	Spoke my cousin,
		Is for me, a practiced poet, 
	To write a positive poem
		  About Trump.

“Huh?”  I gasped,
	Write something positive
		About the pathological liar?
			The lifelong crook?
		  The egotistical egotist?
		The defiler of our democracy? 

Hmmmm! 
   
	But then it dawned on me—
		I never liked George Bush,
		But when compared with Trump,
		He seems a shining star.

So thank-you, Donald.
	You are so bad,
	You made even Bush seem good.



Putin on the Ritz

Vladimir, oh Vladimir,
Oh have you met Vladimir,
Vladimir the DONald’s idol.

Vladimir, oh Vladimir,
Trump thinks that he’s such a dear,
To Donald, dear Vlad is vital.

Vlad hacked Hillary so Trump could win it all,
Trump just won’t admit this,
He’s bursting with gall.
But he’s now the puppet,
In Vlad’s gaming hall
He’ll sell,  us out,  to Vladimir.

Vladimir, oh Vladimir,
Oh have you met Vladimir
Vlad the great PUPPet master.

Vladimir, oh Vladimir,
Trump thinks you’re hot, Vladimir,
He cares not that you’re a bastard.

But Vlad has dear Donald,
Right by the short hairs,
He wants NATO weakened
As much as he dares,
And Donald will help him
Like nobody cares
Cuz he’s under the spell of Vladimir!

Vladimir, oh Vladimir,
Trump thinks of you like a mirror,
Thus you must be the best of them ALLLLLL,

Donald thinks that Vlad likes him 
Because he’s so smart,
He can’t comprehend
That Vlad don’t give a fart,
That Vlad’s only goal 
Is tear NATO apart,
Trump’ll help because it’s Vladimir.        


	

Scream!

It is better to scream than to be screamed at,
So go ahead and scream!

Scream for every kernel on every ear of corn in every cornfield in Iowa.
Scream for a time when gold doubloons are no longer necessary for the short-term rental of a phosphorescent tree house in a virgin wood.
Scream for all the catatonic pilgrims on the road to nowhere.

Scream for Christopher Marlowe. 
Scream for Philip Marlowe. 
Scream for the amoebae, the protozoa, the paramecia.
Scream for all the juke joints in all the emergency rooms of all the papier-mâché palaces.
Scream for the glen plaid-clad elocutionists who come knocking at your door. 

Scream for all the dead pet turtles flushed down the toilets of New York City by indifferent children of the sixties.
Scream for the plumbers.
Scream for the right to whimper.
Scream for brushes, and bobby pins, and carburetors, and noodles.
Scream for the sad, abandoned clam diggers.
Scream for the wall-eyed pike, because if you don’t, who will?
Scream for an end to calcified beginnings.
And scream for those who’d rather you didn’t.

Just get out there,
Open your mouth as wide as you dare,
And scream!

Peter Cherches’ next collection, Things, a mix of prose and poetry, will be published by Bamboo Dart Press in April. He has published widely since 1977 and boycotts all journals that charge submission fees.

Peter Cherches’ new short prose collection Whistler’s Mother’s Son, available now!

a sense of calm
 
it's bad art
on muted
walls
 
carpet meant
to lull you
into a sense
of calm
 
as long as
you don't
mind being
fucking crazy
 
the chairs
might as
well be a
bed of nails
 
and not the
kind of nails
you would
like leaving
marks on
your back
----------------------------------------------------------------
much better off
 
i gave up smoking
nearly fifteen years
ago
 
my doctor says i
should be happy
that my lungs are
much better off
 
i laugh and say
the weight gain
and the bitter
asshole deep
within killed
happiness
years ago
 
i'm sure one day
he’s going to tell
me to take some
pill
 
he knows currently
 
i'd sell them
----------------------------------------------------------------------
searching for a vein
 
i'm losing
my interest
in life
 
all the
beautiful
women
have
already
said no
 
hell, even
the ugly ones
aren't interested
anymore
 
pretty soon,
i'll be alone
and searching
for a vein
 
but i know
my luck
 
the first one
won't kill me
 
my soul likes
the taste of
agony
---------------------------------------------------------------------
enjoy it while they can
 
the winter doom and gloom
 
piled a few feet high in
every parking lot
 
we haven't seen it like
this in years
 
the kids seem to love it
 
at least the ones that are
too young to have to shovel
the driveways and sidewalks
 
i give them the look that
means to enjoy it while
they can
 
enough years in this place
and you'll understand why
i have a bad back
-----------------------------------------------------------------
that first kiss
 
snow showers
in the morning
 
turn the ac back
on by the weekend
 
getting lost in the
memories of the
first love
 
that first kiss
 
the first time
fooling around
under the bleachers
 
life was a problem
for everyone else
back then
 
and now you realize
you haven't seen each
other in over a decade
 
time doesn't heal
 
it eliminates
 
breaks every soul
one second at a time

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) was raised by wolves but graduated high school with honors. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Yellow Mama, Terror House Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Transparent Men and Women

       Yuan-Hongri

Tr.  By Wit lee

 

Transparent men and women

Men and women more beautiful than colored butterflies

Maybe really a group colored butterflies

Dancing from Zhuangzi ‘s big dream

 

But I see cities, crystal transparent cities

Like city’s dream, city’s love

 

Through the walls could reach the other shore

Light, may transcend time

Above the sea surface of time, boats of light are flying

On a little island

I see other men and women

 

This calendar tells us a window

After days are still another days

It is the illusion of days that besiege us

Just as my flesh is my own shadow

 

Yesterday’s leafs and water drops

Pebbles I played with in my childhood

The sun I see for the first time

Those all things are smiling in a house of light

 

Eyes of men and women

Eyes more charming than the rainbow

On vibrant morning

In intoxicating dusk

Flying water drowned men and women

 

I found one sun in my own chest

I discovered cities in my head

The water of the past turned into crystal, diamond

There are stars sailing in my bones

 

Ah, a young girl in dream

Maybe came from some day a hundred years ago

Still I miss that moment

That vision disappeared when I wake up

 

That momentary smile, how warm it was

Who made you appear in my dream?

 

I believe in dream, as I believe in the sun

And in dreamland I saw another me

 

Shadows of Phoenix and Unicorn

Once in dream came down

On the mountain top

I dreamed a house of heaven

 

Blood is another river

Blood in my body also has its own dream

I set foot on a ladder of days

But on the other mountain

Leisurely I’m flying

 

Shadows of men and women

Blooms in a smile

The seasons of men and women

Days are like pieces of stones

 

I opened an photo album sealed for many years

I saw Yellow Emperor rambling in the city

One shadow is among many shadows

On another wild field

Ancient years are shouting and fighting

 

On grassland all kinds of flowers are laughing

Living in glass I

Don’t know their names

 

Water of yearning, water of sweet and fragrant spring

Fly from inside rocks

A girl is like a colorful flying phoenix

 

Only dream tells us the illusory of time

Outside time's gate

There is another sun

 

Who was playing games inside ancient rocks

Igniting gold piece by piece

On pieces of transparent boulders

Drawing seas and cities

 

I was sitting in a house filed with light

With a picture album hold in my hand

In the buildings of ancient times

Caught sight of the future emperors

 

Who’s blood was the plum flower drinking

Which girl’s song was it singing

When I got up

I saw a white jade, glittering its smile

 

In the age when rock drifted fragrance

Queen Mother of the West was a witch

Tow eyes have intoxicated the handsome and strong MU Tianzi

 

This is a gold sculpture

But I don’t know

Am I in times of heaven or mundane?

 

On days when Goddess stepped on auspicious clouds

Where am I?

On which star

Still preserves my house of past?

 

Form east to west

There is a road of gold

Perhaps there is a blonde

To be my companion of tomorrow

 

The earth is a crystal jade

In lover’s mouth

Atmosphere is as sweet as wines

 

And in one dreamland

I'm still a baby

 

Every city and county I passed by

Have all left my shadow

Thousand years after they will still be golden and shining

 

Bread that I eat was my own blood

A girl that I loved once loved me a thousand years ago

 

I saw in the arms of the rocks

Girls were lying down, cheeks fresh and red

Skins were as transparent as jade

 

Hieroglyphs and letters

Were glittering and shining on the sun

 

God is holding a brush in his hand

Waving a pen in heaven

Those cities of gold and silver

In an eye's twinkling flew toward the human world

 

On the edge of a big river bank

There was one house of mine

A garden yielded full of golden fruits

 

On the other mountain, red plum blossomed spreading the top

My shadow turned into a Kylin

 

In the house built with white jade

I wrote down a volume of poetry

Each line of verse is a star in the blue sky

 

A tortuous, quite and secluded path

Walked through from a garden

The sun shed its golden drizzle

 

Golden spiral ladders

Was in another crystal sky

I opened my own head

There are more suns

Spinning ,singing

 

Girl of light, petal of smile

On a lake green-jade-like

Reflecting the red houses

A cluster of green leaves transmit bright red lips

 

Smiling faces of the alley paved by stones

To where shall it lead me?

Blooming peach tree of early spring

Upon the hillside ,bees of sunlight are buzzing

 

Through the street of trams and crowd

In front of the glorious and magnificent mansions

Look up forward a piece of crystal blue sky

In the thoughts of white clouds

Is the city beautiful?

Along the street of billboards and neon lights

Big trees covered with green hair

Enable me miss the distant mountains and the clear springs

 

Children’s smiling faces are no unfamiliar

Black jade eyes, pink lips

At this moment, men and women flow stream endlessly

It was fashion and vanity that noised the street

 

I planted myself here

Left a thousand shadows

To cultivate a thousand gardens

To pave the gold onto road like the stones

Let every stone melt into crystal

 

In wind language there were sounds of stars

Rocks and pine trees of distant mountains

Poetry rhythm of the sea

There were underground buried dreaming words of ancient people, blooming red flower  

And there were remote poems I eager to go back

 

Every single green tree beside the street loves us

Under the hot sun, wordless green shade

Every flower has its own language

People with crystal eyes

Will see flower's smile

 

Ah, every time the sun rises

We all woke up from death

The dead us,where have been kept?  

Do not belittle a stone

It hummed the song of universe

 

The young girl's smiling face of the very days  

Turned into a white cloud

Upon the mirror face of the sky

All the saints could be seen

 

I was silent in the fire, went through  

The flame of men and women

In the high streets and back lanes of cities

Wind of time blown colorful flags

Under the blue sky, river of life is flouring and rushing

 

I tried to open the memory door

On another planet

Leisure and happy time

The night of death subsided

And on the red clouds of dawn

Golden smile face of the sun

 

The initial men and women

Men and women without names

Men and women created God

 

The initial poets were a couple of lovers

When the blood started to sing

I heard the language of the sun and stars

 

On some wonderful and joyous occasions the sun smiled outside the window

A young girl walked into your window

Her eyes are two stars

Came from ancient space

 

How transient this prosperity in front of us

This street, city of labyrinth

The old man sitting on the street playing with chess   

Still missing the house of gone away

 

The young girl of that very year was still walking past the street

Only turned into a transparent shadow

Tomorrow is in white clouds' hometown

Tomorrow’s sun is still smiling and silent

 

Every moment of mine is departing me

Big birds of time were darting in the sky

Brightly coloured feathers

Glitter in the sky, knowing nowhere to leisurely fly down

 

In a palace

I’m an old man, sitting on golden chair

Missing me

 

I walked into a stone

Saw another sky

On a vast sea

There was an island of peach flower

 

Days of riding a Phoenix

Where are my companions

Walking on the street of Wangfujing

I miss the Yellow emperor riding a dragon up to the heaven

 

Light is my only food

Light of the sun, moon, and stars

Became my bones

 

Ancient Greek and Rome

Is now in front of me

Poems of Homer and Sappho

Turned into my sweet spring

 

Many countries I travelled

Flying in the space-time of words

A thousand years and ten thousand years

Made me lament: transience

 

And now every drop of blood today

Is all a ruby

Every inch of the land I've stepped on

Is all ancient gold

 

Whose jade body am I walking on?

Ancient sweet and beautiful songs

Enables me fall in love with the ancient girl

 

In a transparent jade

Will your laughter be preserved?

Sometimes on one star

I saw your beautiful face

 

Ah, golden words

Stars of east and west

How many poets’ kingdom they have entered?

 

Strings of shining glorious names

Engraved on the chest of the sun

Upon the ocean of the sky

How many happy gardens are there?

 

I'm just fluttering away

Making a temporary farewell from the mundane world for a millennium

When Sappho returns again

A new song must be chanted

 

Days of labyrinth in front of us

Time played the strings of the sun and the moon

Words flied from the stars

 

I walked into the days of phantom overlapped

I can’t tell the past from the future

Now I’m alone and unconventional

And under the sun I lost the shadow

 

Is this body accompanied me

The narrow boat of time?

Above the waves of the Three Gorges

I galloped forward

 

Understand the songs of green shade

Drink a wine of silent time

A golden daisy

During my mid nap

Turned into a girl

 

Poplars and willows on lake shore stand by each sides

Are they still waiting

The lovers strolling in the evening?

 

The sunset is waving a handkerchief of twilight

The light of love

Is soaring in the clean breeze

 

Pairs of star eyes

Where are they twinkling today?

On whose forehead they are inlaid

Singing and chanting to me now?

 

I stepped across the gates of light

Having no idea where to wake up from drunken sleep

In the labyrinth weaved by the light

Drink up the sweet wine of words to my heart’ content

 

Those golden smiling faces

Come from east and west

In the kingdom of poetry

Bosom friends and partners everywhere abound  

 

I lingered about in day times

Opened doors and windows in the wall of light

Had a sweet deep sleep in the white jade case

Dreaming of my own footprints

Radiating golden light in the sky

 

Loneliness became God

Will loneliness hear the words of sky?

Swim across the long river of shadow

I’m a shadow forgetting himself

 

In a house by the street

What kind of time there have been ?

Every day on the earth

Flame of time, burns endlessly

 

Let red lips of lovers fade

Black hair run into dust

Smell the fragrance of the mud

Whose love do you think and recollect?

 

Everything is colorful and transparent

Every stone keeps its own memory

A pile of shattered stone statues

Smile at me in the sun

Maybe we'd known each other a thousand years ago

 

Blood of stone is golden and transparent

Time flower is gold and precious stones

Where are the charming figures today?

Left rolls and volumes poetry of light behind

Those shadows are still brilliant

Vivid and bright-colored as ever in transparent words

 

A withered flower has a beautiful memory

An instant bloom embraces eternity

Memory walks to memory, where shall we go?

The first drop of water turned into an ocean

All things I witnessed come from the past

Tomorrow will born in my palm

By whom the chess pieces of the stars are driven?

In whose eyes the earth is also a chess piece

 

I watched my own life on the earth

Drinking water, having meals, heart full of yearning

Another me perhaps always keep me accompany

Only he knows my secrets

Words I said may have been said

Roads I traveled may have been traveled

I seem to be repeating one by one the me of the past

 

On my tired days, eager for fall down and die

Like zhuang Zi, became a free butterfly

As soon as I wake up, I see the sun

Auspicious clouds spread their fragrance beside me

 

Rivers flowed out from the embrace of the mountain

Again back to the ancient sea

My memory ocean maybe is just ahead


Where is the time hidden exactly?

Come with no sign and go with no trace

Upon the mirror surface of time

Only see my own shadow

 

My songs can be heard by the stars

Walk on the city street

White clouds walk with me

 

I walked into a church

Caught a sight of Jesus holding a baby in his arms

God stands in heaven,waits and watches us

 

My god is myself

I sat in the heaven, looked at myself

A big seven-colored bird

Spread the wings of sky

Watched me walking on the earth

 

Death' black night curtain

Covered heaven of gold and silver

At this moment where do I live on earth?

Drink up all this glass of wine

Blood of time is brewed into nectar

 

No time for hesitation and hovering

Not to be sad in the face of heaven

What cannot be retained is the shadow one after another

My songs are a paradise that will not wither

 

Who is not hungry and thirsty in city desert?

Colorful sand and gravel accumulated into time

Flame refined out transparent bones

Drink the bright jade body

More brighter and glorious than diamonds

 

In pavilions of sky,read volumes of golden books

In time and space labyrinth,write volumes of poetry

 

In the world of mortals, who is my bosom friend?

Caress a street tree, listen to the whisper of the green leaves

 

Transparent crystal world, countless brilliant smiling faces

Open the wall thus can walk into

A house full of laughter

 

Tomorrow is just a landscape

Long has been hanging in the balcony of sky

The sun walked forth and back in the sky

Made tomorrow’s lunch prepared

 

Let me sit down and caress the time’s silk

Cut it to make you a new dress

Walk into the bosom of the sun

Through the flame

And turn into a beam of pure light

 

Glass of the blue sky, melted in the flame

You will see the young girl singing on the star

Garden of earth blossom once again

The human world is full of transparent butterflies flying all around

 

Labyrinth city, colorful river

Wind blows flags of dream

In whose blood the ancient song is sounded?

The Hurrying footsteps beat the drum for an expedition

 

Those eyes glistering starry bright

Seems contain ancient sweet spring

A seed of gold

Is sprouting on your palm, full of bloom

 


Beijing, August 1998

I Dream

I dream that I breathe peace 
into everyone to whom I speak,
that my smile unties the knots 
that their frowns have knitted on their faces,
that my eyes emanate warmth,
an antidote to whatever the deadly frost has glaciated,
that my unfettered feet can walk upon water 
like Jesus’,
that my mind accommodates every fragrance 
that flowers and roses exuded,
that my hands can free all the creatures 
imprisoned within cages,
that my ears are attuned to the sighs of leaves 
fluttering to breezes,
to the orbit of stars,
to the mystic rituals of true believers,
to the silent prayers of children, 
to the whispers of souls in a congregation.
 

The Land of Broken Glass

I see everywhere massive amounts of broken glass.
Some are of smashed bottles,
some a symptom of domestic wrath.
I marvel at these splinters that decorate our grass,
our pavements,	
and car wheels like diamond studs.

A rough boy sits on the edge of a cart of trash,
scavenging for little treasures such as morsels of food 
and plastic bags to trade for coins.
I see him contemplate an empty bottle of orange juice,
which he abruptly brings down with a bang,
like a judge pronouncing the irrevocable verdict, 
his eyes dilating with delight
at the dexterity of his hand,.
the startling soundtrack,
and the harmful littering of a pedestrian path.

 
In Enslaved by Civilization

No wonder D.H. Lawrence assimilated the school
to a very elaborate railway system
where tractable, well-behaved boys
are persistently instructed
to adhere to good tracks
until they reach their teens
when into life they are shoved.

The habit of adhering to lines
has already become an ingrained trait
and now the boy is an adult,
he runs on a new set of ways,
a life-long slave
to rails.
 

Free

It is the usual tune I constantly play
as I drive up our very steep mountains,
my father reclining in the front seat,
my German Shepherd, extremely excited.

The labrosones that herald this piece
bring to my father’s eyes joyful tears,
to my dog, an aesthetic hypnosis.

Free is the title that was given
to this unparalleled jazz fusion.
The birds that orchestrate in pine trees
hearken to the interplay of metal and strings
as George Michael and Chris Cameron create
a rapport of concordant resonance.