-------------------------------------------------------
simpatico
the soft brown skin
all the inside jokes
no one understands
us
it shouldn't work
love shouldn't be
anywhere near
whatever this is
but i see the look
in your eyes
simpatico
fuck the world
stack all the fucking
decks against us
we will break them
all down with glee
with love
with a never-ending
sense of what is right
i lick the honey off
of your finger and kiss
you with all of what i
have left to give
everything doesn't
do it justice
rescued an old soul
from the bitter edge
hopefully now,
we jump together
------------------------------------------------------
if we could get away with it
i remember being on vacation
with the family and my father
got us lost while hiking in
the great smoky mountains
it might have been the first time
i ever thought i wonder if we killed
him here if we could get away with it
trust me, it wasn't the last
as the dysfunction grew, the vacations
became crazier and crazier
eventually, i was driving and the
thought became a notion that i
actually had a say in
never did kill him
but i sure was a happy motherfucker
when he did die
i'm sure his family reads these poems
part of me wonders if they ever
understood the monster he became
the other part of me is pretty
damn sure they don't care
which is fine
not everyone is cut out
for the family life
one of the genes my father
has passed along to me
----------------------------------------------------------
like a beautiful woman
i treat my pain like
a beautiful woman
it will kill me and
it is a race to see
who gets there first
i'm just a bystander
along for the ride
sometimes, i even
get to participate
the pills never seem
to work but jack daniels
is always in my corner
every once in a while
i'd love for that beautiful
woman to grab the shotgun
in the corner and use me as
target practice
somewhere, burroughs is
shining up an apple
a soft embrace
on a sweaty night
two lost lovers
trying to make up
for all the moments
that have escaped
along the way, the pain
became love and love
will kill us all
--------------------------------------------------
the endless temptation
hopelessly devoted to
the last beautiful soul
i ever want to know
longing for that kiss
the look of desire
the endless temptation
on the tip of her tongue
dancing under a full moon
the autumn crisp in the air
she whispers i love you
into my ear
my heart starts to skip
a beat
if i'm lucky
i'll die in her arms
before either of us get
a chance to ruin the
moment
--------------------------------------------------
mister right now
remember the one that gave
you the stevie nicks vibes?
the one that you had the
most sexual chemistry
with
i was only mister right
now for her
she never was going to settle
for anything less than forever,
with whom she is still with
welcome to the other side
of the coin
where you are nobody's forever,
at least anymore
hell, mister right now hasn't
seen the light of day for years
now
there comes a time when you
can't deny how much reality
fucking sucks sometimes
losers are the glue of society
you remember writing that
a lifetime ago?
sure, still believe it
still understand my place
in it all
more people die alone than
you happen to read about
in the newspapers
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is slowly wasting away in the suburbs, drinking away the pain from arthritis. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Asylum Floor, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash Quarterly and The Beatnik Cowboy. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
A Way to Go
Often I wake up
in the middle of the night
unable to go back to sleep
writing this
like so many others
We wait for the light
on the edge of dawn
trying to make sense
of ourselves and others
with a few words rambling
off into the blur of forgetfulness
It's sad and silly and maybe smart
to be wise in our own eyes
giving ourselves a sigh of completeness
as we fall
and we do fall
back into the loneliness
of ourselves not knowing what we're doing.
Notice the period on the above line
that shows a good place to stop
but I keep going
hoping
something comes out of all of this....
Maybe a prayer
that I'm still involved
and finding my way to go.
All of us...
finding
a way to go.
Is that why
we wake up
in the middle of the night?
With Whispers
So I'm back
with a line of light
on the horizon...
Do you see it?
At least imagine it...
Or are little Leprechauns
dancing around on the floor
pointing at your cold feet
old feet that almost never
get out and run in the dry soft sand
of freedom
and where is the freedom
we use to read about?
Sorry...
I didn't want to go back into this...
The Leprechauns are nervous now...
But think of it...
A sunny day at a beach
where the waves are gentle and warm
and make you believe
you're young again
with someone walking toward you
to love and cry with under the covers
of a bed
safe
and silent
with whispers
of love
lasting forever.
Upward We Bend
This is the end
of another rattle of lines
hoping you read between the skips
and look up to the sky
where clouds move slowly
showing the way
of how to sit beside
all those you love
and fly Baby Fly!
Those Lost Words of Love
In your eyes I can still see the shadow of passion
that once stormed between us
like the force of a rushing river never ceasing
Our talks were exciting and our interests
were so similar, as if we were one person
Then the day came when words became silent
and tears told the world our painful tale
At times I hope that you will find the beautiful
lines of the never ending love story once again
Even now, I remember the words you once spoke,
and I swear at times you want to speak them again
Those lost words that you still refuse to say to me
sit on tip of your tongue, yet you will not utter them
But I refuse to accept that those words of love for me are not still there
Just speak them to me once more ❤
"God! Do You Cry Too"?
Today while trying to make sense of it all
When I look around and see so much evil
When what was created so perfectly
has become so wrong, I wonder...
Does God cry?
When I read He made me in his likeness
and He tells me clearly through his word
that there is no other love greater than His
I think of how sensitive he has made my heart
and I can't help but ask... "God, do you cry too?"
And when I see a child who has been abused
And you have called them our greatest treasures
Do you take vengeance on such evil?
"God! How do you cope, when you see their tears?
Tell me! Do you cry too?"
I think He must. Because the One who taught me
how to love; Who taught me about faith; Who commanded me to love one another must have a heart as sensitive as mine..
and I think, "God, I believe you cry and grieve just like me."
"Because no other could care as deeply as You do."
"You count every tear I cry.. But Lord, who counts yours?"
Longing for Spring
The clouds cried again today as a cold wind blew across a sunless sky of gray.
I watch an orange fall off my tree and I wait until the rain becomes a sprinkle to collect it.
I walked outside feeling the mist hit my face
to pick up the fruit that lay on the wet earth while admiring it's vibrant orange color.
As I peel the fruit which uncovers its perfume, I close my eyes and savor it's sweet nectar.
I enjoy seeing the green grass in the garden covered with rain, which brightens it's color.
Spring is waiting to burst out as Narcissus flowers now show off their yellow faces.
I long to see the the blue sky of Spring again;
Waking up to the scent of jasmine that will soon bloom, and the gentle morning song of the sparrow that lightens my mood.
Once more will I be able to hear the owls call to me while sitting on my porch in the dark, as the coyotes howl an eerie song in unison.
I welcome again the warm breeze that lightly touches my skin as it blows gently through the sheer curtains covering my bedroom window.
And I will fall asleep to the calming sound of the crickets and the croaking frogs as the stars twinkle behind a bright full moon on a beautiful Spring night.
Kristy Raines was born in Oakland, California, in the USA.
She is a poet, writer, author and advocate.
She has five books getting ready to publish soon, one with a prominent poet from India which will launch hopefully soon called, "I Cross my Heart from East to West", two fantasy books of her own called, "Rings, Thins and Butterfly Wings" and "Princess and The Lion", and an anthology of poems in English,"The Passion Within Me" and her Autobiography called "My Very Anomalous Life"
Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing.
LIFE AND DEATH IN ALABAMA
A fertilized egg is a treasure,
a boon to the barren, a gift of hope.
But in sweet home Alabama,
the latest law gives embryos a bonus:
eternal life.
A judge decreed an egg fused with a sperm
is now a U.S. citizen, with rights.
If kept quick-frozen, zygotes live forever.
Sperm donors will pass on.
Parents will pass on.
But grandchildren, great-grandchildren
must keep potential ancestors in liquid nitrogen
forever and ever. Amen.
Any careless spills or thaws are murder.
Any cells lost in the implant process-- serial murder.
And murder is a capital offense.
These microscopic cells don’t look like people.
No face, no bones, no blood, no lungs;
no organs, tissues, gender.
But one dogmatic judge decreed
these cells are fully human.
That’s what his Church believes.
Our founders erred-- Church ought to rule the State!
His Church, of course.
Living children aren’t the law’s concern.
In Alabama, school-aged kids
can work in factories— child labor. Cheap.
Children of asylum-seekers?
Routinely ripped from parents’ arms
and locked in cages.
Children of the poor are grudged food stamps,
must fight red tape for every scrap of health care.
And every day more kids are shot and killed.
No, real youngsters aren’t priorities.
But embryos—now there’s a righteous cause!
Eden’s tree, that bore enticing fruit,
has sprouted in the courtroom, promising
knowledge of good and evil.
Alabama’s judge has tasted insight;
his laws prevent Eve’s needy daughters
from seeking IVF—lest cells be wasted.
Decrees deny a babe in arms to parents
out of respect for life.
He reads God’s mind, this Alabama judge.
Or speaks, perhaps, for someone else
that lurks in Eden, hissing…
Copyright 2/24 Patricia Doyne
[Excerpt from Fleury’s book: Chain Letter To America: The One Thing You Can Do To End Racism: A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism]
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality.” — Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
A 2006 article by Mema Ayi and Demetrius Patterson from the Chicago Defender reported that “actor Morgan Freeman created a small firestorm…when he told Mike Wallace of “60 Minutes” that he finds Black History Month (BHM) ridiculous.” Freeman goes on to say that “Americans perpetrate racism by relegating Black history to just one month when Black history is American history.”
I agree with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that as Americans we are tied together “…in an inescapable network of mutuality…Whatever affects one [of us]…affects [all of us] as Americans in this country.
As you can clearly see, the month of February dedicated to Black history continues to stir controversy. However, we can’t continue to ignore the fact that although we have made progress towards racial unity, we still have ways to go towards racial harmony, understanding and tolerance, if not acceptance.
Scholars and historians such as Conrad Worrill, chairman of the National Black United Front, agree that Black Americans still need February, and every day, to reflect on the accomplishments of Black Americans who contributed countless inventions and innovations to society.
Radio personality Cliff Kelley notes that capricious historians conveniently leave out certain parts of the story that do not corroborate their version of history, which consists mostly of White men. Blacks are virtually removed from the narrative to substantiate the White historical agenda. Plenty of Black youths do not know their history. Most of them think that their history begins and ends with slavery.
Former State Representative David Miller (D-Calamut City, Ill) asserted that Freeman was right in saying that Black history should be a year round thing. “We’ve shaped America,” he said, “but that Black History Month should serve as a reminder of our legacy.”
The recently deceased Howard Zinn wrote in his book A People’s History of the United States, “There is not a country in world history in which racism has been more important than the United States.” He poses the question, “Is it possible for Blacks and Whites to live together without hatred?”
When it comes to the evolution of racism, he had this to say: “…slavery developed into a regular institution of the normal labor relations between Blacks and Whites in the New World. With it developed that special racial feeling — whether hatred or contempt or pity or patronization — that accompanied the inferior position of Blacks in America…that combination of inferior status and derogatory thought we call racism.”
He goes on to say, “The point is the elements of this web are historical, not ‘natural.’ This does not mean that they are easily disentangled or dismantled. It only means that there is a possibility for something else, under historical conditions not yet realized.”
In a 2010 article in The Boston Phoenix, “Is There Hope in Hollywood?” Peter Keough extrapolates the medium of film is making an effort to bridge the race gap. They do this by portraying Blacks as heads of state — in movies like Transformers 2, 2012 and Invictus — although the contexts in which a Black man becomes president is often created by a catastrophe in which the White leader is killed. Or Blacks are still being portrayed in glaring stereotypical roles such as in Precious, with racist clichés like Precious stealing and eating an entire box of fried chicken.
The undercurrent of racism is evident even from well-meaning Whites like President Biden, when he ran against Obama for president. Biden declared that “[Obama] is the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean, and a nice looking guy.” Similarly, another fellow Democrat, the former Senate majority leader Harry Reid wrote in his book Game Change, about Obama that America is ready for a Black president, particularly because he is “light skinned and speaks with no Negro dialect.”
This leads me to extrapolate that despite all that Blacks have contributed to the making of America, this becomes extraneous compared to the first impression our colorful appearance makes. I am compelled to recall what Dr. King, Jr. so eloquently stated, that Black people should be judged “by the contents of their character” and not their skin color.
Many modern conveniences spring from the inventions of Black inventors: blood banks facilitating life-saving transfusions, the bicycle, the electric trolley, the dustpan, comb, brush, clothes dryer, walkers, lawn mower, IBM computers, gas masks, traffic signals, the pen, peanut butter…The list goes on and on.
Thanks to the Academy Award nominated film, Hidden Figures, we’re now all familiar with the amazing contributions of mathematical geniuses Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, whose work helped make Neil Armstrong the first man on the moon! All of these achievements have become part of our daily lives here in America and around the world as the result of African-American contributions to the economic and scientific stronghold known as America.
Sadly, we still need Black History Month to remind us!
Jacques Fleury
Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian-American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc…He has been published in prestigious publications such as Muddy River Poetry Review, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others…Visit him here.
