going viral there are so many expressions of God love a hug is one in a sea fish contours rubbing against slippery scaly aqueous matter between us no Thing between us a silent sound passing in the moonlight an expression of Love. ~ a virus (God sent?) has opened-up a new world a stagnant sessile creature born of creation is free free an opportunity virus an opportunity opportuned to be Creators to create distance distance the eyes that see beyond a daily weekly monthly yearly cycle one-routine-after another we’ve missed the opportunities the opportunities that have been calling us listen! listen! i say to your next dream― have you seen the wisdom in there? in here this un-conscious machine this un-conscious medicine this un-conscious god delirium awake! awake! it cries i want You fully realized the non-living is near alive the virus hints alive in here whispering death & life subtle in its message cruel in its response but only for a moment one cruel moment at a time we are learning so much in here with you with us we haven’t been this alive in a good long white whale swallowed a virus a teacher a god God you are approaching i can smell disease decay decomposition with-out my will a heart is faltering there is a rhythm not our own the self is fading a virus is growing the core is exposing truth exposed the kernel with-in the core institutions corporations markets economics distractions distortions elite minds in elite towers crumbling to the sea fish at home home in here to make a home the un-conscious mind at work at last part virus swimming searching learning rubbing against the fabric of the fuller existence of being finalizes itself fully virus dies. epilogue: a sea replete with fish swimming amongst the corals rubbing growing rubbing growing brother sun beating down reflecting love reflecting lovingly sister moon expanding the tides expanding the tides of fate taking over what was what is only a number’s game with-in a circle with-in an embryo we watch the gods forming un-forming the odds archetypical swimmers inside the naked truth fornicating with illusion as time passes through virus to bacteria to fruiting body bacteria phages with-in the living iridescent sense of microscopic particles of precious life.
Monthly Archives: May 2023
Poetry from Alan Catlin
694- something I read or heard somewhere, “The dead have memories For up to thirty days after they die.” Actually misheard. should be, “The dead have memorials that last Up to thirty days after they die.” “It was like the truth” 700- “For imaginary visitors I had a chair Made of cane I found in the trash.” Charles Simic After Dante, no one was surprised how many levels of hell there were “Your invisible friend, what happened to her?” Simic 704- Hell’s lawn ornaments. Sock puppets. Stuffed toys. Rusted hubcaps. Flexible action figures. Colored string. Lawn jockeys. Garden gnomes. Dried flowers. Wrought iron funeral wreathes. Metal flowers. Bird houses. Birds. Pinecones. Broken wrist watches. Detached human ears. Potato heads. Doll’s heads, voodoo heads. Fetishes. Mannequin limbs. Snake eyes. 706- Doomsday or plain old day books. Jean Seberg or Romaine Gary. Dead in the trunk of a car or The back seats of. Jim Carroll. Herman Melville. Jerry Garcia. All born August 1. All gone now. 707- True seriousness resides in the comic. Nicanor Parra. The Oblivion Seeker. Isabel Erhardt or DFW. Drowned in a flash flood in the desert or hung by the neck until dead. 708- Drowning the desert. Like getting killed in a car crash on the way home from a funeral. Like a mystery writer being murdered. Like being killed on the ground by a plane falling from the sky after surviving 9-11 in a tower.
Poetry from Dan Cuddy
Frankfurt am Main, Germany Often in my wounded warrior years I think back to Frankfurt, Germany twenty years after the horror though I then was not mindful of the whistle and bang of bombs, the dry or the wet mess of rubble; the streets were postcards reconstructing, bratwurst sizzling beer warm, not needing chill, frauleins in calf-high boots, mini-skirts, tight sweaters that your eyes groped wildly, though judiciously. The sun shone down as in a travel magazine, so rich that azure, the greens dark, bright in that damp Taunus District climate. My legs were good. I walked one end of the city to the other never fearing knife, gun, Gestapo, thug; I walked fantasizing the look of the Holy Roman Empire, of genuine Roman soldiers before that, the armor clinking or clacking as they walked, the precision of determined feet on stone, on ground. I imagined campfires on dark nights, logs, twigs burning, the crackle, and the river silent in the shadows out there somewhere. I strolled by the now and seemingly forever named Main River, the stippled white light of noon floating, and I even by myself, mostly by myself, entered the scene like Caspar David Friedrich, a wanderer above a sea of fog, but the fog was in the mind, history, not the eye, in the mind and then the cold touch of a railing, and next to me the frown and pull away of that pretty girl that I would have liked to meet.. I heard stories of the war, saw the aria of the old opera house, the building a shell exploded with a Beethoven burst. The fog did not lift; besides imagined Sturm und Drang. there was only the crudity, the stupidity of enlisted army life, only the George Grosz faces of people I knew, drunks, punks I knew, kids like me, when face to face with a mirror, and later through years of sifted sunlight, time established itself, the haze of history arose from its corpse. I saw in perspective a personal walk on a stage empty awaiting the next act of the larger drama. I was grateful that I lived in less than Wagnerian times, the entrances and exits were losing their impressions in the accumulating dust, in the wearing away of wounds in the sweeping away of the dust. History is so much cloud; The brief shapes evaporate But the essence of storm Always arises, bit by bit, And grumbles out to another country, Bites lightning quick, Floods with impassioned blood And roars the rhetoric of anger and grief. In Frankfurt I roamed the wisps of the past As if the conclusion of one war was final, but it is the human heart that’s always ready for new battle, arming itself with distrust, suspicion, vainglorious ambition, A generation falls dead, So many puppets rot away, All that courage, fear, blindness, Visionary grief evaporated like water, Puddles of blood hidden, absorbed by weeds, The dancing flowers of peace so charming, Disarming nations with the veneer of civilization. How so much is reconstructed, built with hope, But all the foundations are built on forgetting, or if Memory is invoked, the kings, queens, sergeants, Killers and the fallen are made of bronze or stone. No blood, no veins, no laughs or tears Come out of the unchanging mouths of statues, Posterity that has that faux nobility, Like scripture has that holier than thou reverence. Nothing is grounded in the common world of bombs, armor. The head is still wrapped in historic fog, ----Dan Cuddy ******* The Gasthaus On Homburger Landstrasse Johan or “John” owned a profitable business a gasthaus serving Henninger Bier cognac all manner of whiskey schnitzel, wurst, pommes frites that the young depraved American army craved A somewhat homey place, the wood paneling, the white and yellow opaque glass of the lower window panes, the comfortable tables, not too closely spaced; Locals visited it too, not just soldiers that wanted to get off-base but had to stay nearby, Edwards Kaserne just across the street and Third Armor headquarters' gate, this side half a block down. John had a glass eye. He in his late forties a soldier in Hitler's army, his frau, attractive face, a bit plump but good living settles, spreads, sits in contented conversation. Renoir would approve. Life moves on. Certainly, John was not a war criminal but a skinny youth in the bad times, when harangue and euphoria were the orders of the day. John just wanted to get along; it was his duty to serve, defend the homeland, had nothing to do with Jews. he didn't particularly like Nazis. He was a dark-haired German lean, young, given a uniform, a gun. John was not an intellectual; he fell into the general apoplexy, nurtured no visible conscience or protest, just an ordinary man, Ecco Homo, the events swarming before his eyes within, without his mind, he just wanted life, not a soldier's death, not a hero's monument, and so, twenty years after the war he had a plump attractive wife who gave him a peck of affection in public and more in the marriage bed, three floors above that gasthaus where soldiers would come and go talking of drinking and bordellos, but the American soldiers were kids and the couple like chaperones kept a semblance of order, had little trouble with loud voices, off-key American singing. A profitable business, an ordinary life, not a romantic’s dream but preferable to the ride of the Valkyries one learns to tap forgetfulness toast the present, ---Dan Cuddy
Essay from Sherova Orzigul Alisher
Our new Uzbekistan Yes, I am that even by the residents of other rich, developed countries I was born in Uzbekistan, a unique country described as a “Paradise land”. First of all, thank God for this. This country is truly a paradise. Its nature, scenery, air, delicacies, friendly and hospitable people, everything is special. Day by day, the example of a new bride in our country is becoming more beautiful and polished. Whether there is a living soul living in this land, whether it is a human, an animal or a plant, everyone is happy to be born in this land, in this wonderful place. There are countries where you won’t find a single flower that is a symbol of beauty that will bring you a smile and a good mood. There are countries where you cannot find a child who can be a support to his parents who raised him and loved him in his old age. But God’s eyes fell on our country and everything was given in abundance. Alhamdulillah. The leader of our country, our father, our first president, Islam Karimov, did not stop until our country reached this level. They said that they are my people, whether they walk or stand. They saw people as their family members. They paid special attention to us young people. They said to themselves, “Our children must be stronger, more educated, stronger and certainly happier than us!” they put the slogan. In a word, every Uzbek, along with our compatriots, was able to take an indelible place in the hearts of the people of other countries. Today, their follower, our new president, Shavkat Mirziyaev, is continuing the work of our first president, Islam Karimov, for the peace, prosperity, and further development of our country. They are working day and night for the prosperity of our country, for the peaceful and happy life of our people, for us young people to get a good education and never be inferior to anyone else. After all, isn’t this the land under God’s eyes. The people under God’s eyes? Isn’t this the nation on which the bird of happiness landed? Yes, this happiness is not for everyone. It is the duty of each of us to preserve this happiness. It is our great goal of every young generation to protect our country, which is growing and developing day by day. Our country is changing day by day, even a person who lives here and goes to study or work in another country for a short period of time comes back and is surprised by the changes. Our country is surprising the world. The leader of our country, our grandfather, is never tired of striving for the prosperity and development of our country, just as the bees never get tired of gathering honey and keeping it. There is a big difference between Uzbekistan five years ago and today’s Uzbekistan. In a short period of time, the people of our country have achieved great achievements that have made our country take a worthy place in the world community. He introduced a number of reforms and innovations to our country. Our country has entered a qualitatively new stage of its independent development, New Uzbekistan. And this New Uzbekistan is developed on the basis of the principles of friendly cooperation with the world community, strictly following the recognized norms and principles of democracy, human rights and freedoms, and the ultimate goal is to create a free, prosperous and prosperous life for the people. It was proudly mentioned by a number of editors. The phrase “New Uzbekistan” means, first of all, a new life, new reforms, a new way of life, a new worldview. In this regard, we cannot count the achievements made during the past 5 years. During these 5 years, our country has developed more and has more unique landscapes. It proved that it will not be left behind by other developed beautiful countries. Developed in every way. Of course, these achievements are based on strong knowledge. The owners of this knowledge are our peers, young people, people of our country. After all, our first president Islam Karimov said, “The future of Uzbekistan is in the hands of the youth!” they hardly boasted. This is the future! And Uzbekistan is in the hands of our youth. We must make it more prosperous, raise it further, justify the trust given to us. In a word, we should join hands, tie our waists tightly, and live for the country and the people with enthusiasm! For Homeland My grandfather said, "My child this world is yours. Gird up your loins, you are a flower in the mountains. Live for this country, let it be self-sacrificing soul, Be great like your ancestors, white blood in your veins. Don't give away your cradle, open to the people your door, Try with all your heart, may luck be always with you. This beautiful country is for you, for a black eye is yours Let's hold hands, let's live for the Motherland too. Since the new Uzbekistan is being built for us, we should live for our homeland. our country, our people, and work together wholeheartedly. We must justify the trust given to the youth. We need to improve our new Uzbekistan and make it flourish. We are proud to live in such a heavenly country, and it is our main duty to protect every inch of its soil like our own home. It is a dream for some to see the beauty of our new Uzbekistan, and some dream of living in other countries. And we are in this country. We should be thankful that we are among the people whom God loves.
Essay from Mamatkasimova Sitora
From one street of my life paths... I remember...My childhood began in a beautiful place called Mirzaabad and still continues in the warm embrace of this place. When I was young, I remember waiting for my mother's hot loaves in the oven to be ready... I have loved books since I was young. And this light led me to the "Knowledge Competition" held earlier at school. Because I fell in love with the book, I became the absolute winner of the republican stage of this competition. It is not surprising that the feeling of interest in creativity awakened in my heart even then. I still remember the first poem I wrote in my school days: Hello, my daughter-in-law is Spring I miss you so much I was waiting for you to come You are a beautiful garden. Here, you entered my beautiful nature Spreading the scent of flowers to the green world, Now don't go to other countries Your daughter Sitora will miss you. It's true, maybe this poem, which came out of my young heart at that time, has no rhyme, no meaning, but it was the first melody of a young heart... Years have passed since then. The golden pages of the book invited me to Gulistan State University. I remember my high school years... When I was preparing for Oliykhoh, I read books under an umbrella despite the snowflakes and raindrops falling. Perhaps, because of these hardships, I have achieved the happiness of being a student... I would like to thank life and fate for these great rewards. I bow down a thousand times to my parents who stood by me and supported me in my bold steps. I still have high hopes for life. Praise be to my God who created me... I am thankful that my life is beautiful and bright... Currently, I am teaching and educating young people at school 34, Boyovut district. When I see hope for life and confidence in the future in young souls, my interest in life increases. The high status of "MASTER" coming from their tongues makes me hope to live yet. Maybe my life is beautiful with such memorable moments...
Poetry from John Culp
+ Oh, Really This Fresh Creation of Works without form Says without Starting and Starts before Born This has no reflection Yet said to reflect Then carry one's Heart towards what to expect Freshly creates Where time holds in stance Life carries Completion The form is a Dance At the end of each Dance LOVE'S Spirit Remains You Like it , just name it. Gifts come without names ... by John Edward Culp December 10, 2016
Poetry from Teya Cooksey – Voytenko
i used to have a swing. when i was little. it hung on the tree outside of my house. and i remember i used to spend hours on the thing swinging higher and higher hoping i could touch the stars. swing to smth else. outside of my current life. but one of my most vivid memories w that swing is my dad screaming at me from the porch. i can't tell if he was mad or scared. i js remeber his face. scrunched and twisted. his words that were vibrating in my skull. each one tearing into my brain a little more. making a new line. the swing’s gone now. it was taken down years ago. and i can no longer touch the stars