RAIN

The grey grasses can no longer console the tears of the clouds.
Their joy of welcoming the pacific rain,
Has faded in the darkness.
The petrichor seems no longer serene.
Where is your soothing beauty, O' rain?
O' rain! 
You stole their food and then their heart. 
Don't extinguish their burning pyres now. 
The soil, not being able to bear their agonizing pain,
Held their bodies on her lap.
Oh you!
How cruel you are!
You took their lives, who craved your presence, who appreciated your healing power.
Oh rain!
You made the dazzling fire roar and burnt everything down to ashes.
How can you, O' heavenly rain, be so cruel?

SEER

Between the game
and my aim
lust fills the moment.

Your reply’s flame
does the same,
fulfills the omen.

WORD

I started this work in cuneiform
but I couldn't undam the poem.
The stone wedged it. Bereft, mute, tuneless,
the task I adjourned to papyrus,
The flooding rendered it all a smudge,
its squiggly hieroglyphic unedged.

I converted to parchment and quill,
betook myself to tonsure and cowl,
to abstinence and flagellation, 
but manuscript illumination
of my holy writ couldn't complete.

Printing press further repressed my wit,
O! Its backwardness and reverses
transformed my tercets into curses.
Typing required guitarist fingers,
not these mallet hands of my nature.

Word processors came to my rescue
at last! Too late, alas, for my muse.

THAT Y IN MISER IS ME: A MELODRAMA

I had thought to hoard your beauty,
to store it safe and proud
in that place where you'd amused me
and none else would be allowed.
But you crept out through the tower,
and you burst out into World.

Now you perfume your universe
with circus, peacocks, clouds . . . .
while I stay locked in duty
with my memory and my
                              (shroud
    almost I wrote/ A miser's booty
    lost!!! Hyperbole for the horde.)

PARIS ERECTION

His cock had set the hour
when Paris’ city would die.

Eiffel made a tower
to mate Paris with the sky.

GAZA REDUX

This time there is no honey left in the lion
and there are no brass shackles on Samson.
Arise, mace and chariot of Dagon!

Trouble began when mythical brothers
confused their identities as others’
shadows and mirrors, instead of doubles.

Dagon resented the enemy’s reign.
Injustice and neglect made him insane.
“They’ve laid waste our land and multiplied our slain.”

Nova morning burst and then exploded.
Nova dancers flared up and then went dead.
The sun worshipers fled while others bled.

Samson was ordered to regrow his mane
and to resume his judgment, now unchained,
and yet remain blind to the others’ pain.

The jawbone of an ass – heartless orders --
Samson deploys 30-cubit shoulders --
the heaps upon heaps of children smolder.

Samson expands an eye for an eye
to peacock’s tails and needles’ eyes.
Gaza is as flax that was burnt with fire.

Burn all the wells! Keep the corpses hostage!
Grind up humanity into sausage:
tabulate but don’t value the lossage.

Samson/Dagon said: “Though you have done this,”
(each said) “yet of you will I be avenged
and after that” (they promised) “I will cease.”

Samson said, “Now shall I be more blameless,
though” (Dagon said) “I do them displeasure
to do to him as he hath done to me.”

Soldiers and martyrs measure their service
on the basis of duties, not mercies.
Each world regards the world as its world is.

Fairy


When I was quite young, in grade school, homosexuality was invisible and mute and shrouded in a cloak of secrecy. Most children my age understood it not at all. Only very rarely, would an adult refer to a putative "not-quite-right" character as a “Fairy.” In my mind at the time, fairies frolicked with the brownies and the leprechauns through verdant forests and meadows.

Later, when I attended middle school, at which time sexual awareness became manifest, homosexuals were heartily reviled, the objects of scorn and hostility--the “other.” If a child of that era were mentally defective--labelled at the time as retarded--he was often subject not only to bullying, but to malice and isolation as well, and was called “Queer,” which was a catchall word for the disaffected.

When at last I reached high school, during the 1960s, the term “fag” came into vogue and was levied by boys and girls, athletes and non-athletes (the freaks) alike. Girls who would not put out were lumped into the “Lezzy” dustbin of life. Clearly, it was thought, there must be something very wrong with these sexually stunted young girls.

In college, (the 1970s) the liberal, enlightened teachers and their student acolytes often advocated for these alienated persons and heralded the newly christened “Gays” as quite upstanding men and the “Lesbians,” their female counterparts, as exemplary as well. This was not the mainstream attitude toward these individuals; to many, both outside and inside the walls of academia, homosexuals remained queer or faggot or even worse. Little attention was paid to the gradations of sexual reality; everything was still discussed in terms of male and female. Cis and dysphoria were far in the future. Which of course left many people out. A presumptive intellectualism was bestowed upon them. “Rubyfruit Jungle” found itself on college reading lists in 1973, followed by “Tales of the City,” “Dream of a Common Language” and others.

But one time, at my university, a wide spectrum of sexual “others” gave a public forum on their sexual identities and the undercurrent of discrimination against them. It was a courageous effort. The panel was heatedly assailed by an array of mostly African American women who discounted any bias the others had suffered, as just. When a transsexual said that he was in a homosexual relationship, one woman screamed, “Why don’t you make up your mind?” Another shouted, “I like dick!” to thunderous applause from the audience. Okay, so not everyone at university was enlightened.

After graduation, now free of the regimentation and bureaucracy of school, I explored the regimentation and bureaucracy of the world of employment. I witnessed discrimination, by both management and labor, against both male and female non-heterosexuals. Homosexuality was not generally given as the reason for the discharge, though everyone knew the truth. It was not until well into the 21st century that it became illegal to fire an employee based on the issue of sexual identity (June, 2020). Like any other segment of society, sex-based minorities have had to fight for their rights.

I have had many LGBTQ associates, acquaintances and friends, housemates, fellow students and colleagues over the course of the last 60 years. And I admit that my own attitudes toward LGBTQ individuals, in terms of their rights, responsibilities and merit, have evolved. Society at long last has embraced the efforts of LGBTQ people to attain the rights and recognition so long denied them. My experience, by definition, has been only anecdotal, but I likewise stand behind the LGBTQ community in attaining their long overdue respect and self-actualization.

 

London’s Ramp



He still has

London’s 

Doggy ramp,

He’s not

Sure why

He hasn’t 

Been able 

To let

That go.

Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fifth book, was published in May.

Alkada and his men rode hard and adamantly, circumventing Captain Hammer about two days back in the Barren Canyons. It took every ounce of discipline Alkada possessed not to confront Hammer and settle up on owed blood. However, catching up with NoLove and the Mob took precedence at the moment. Shyne loyalty must be upheld, he thought to himself when he made the decision. Besides, they were hot on their quarry’s trail by not even a half day's ride behind. 

Alkada reached out to Skully. Vexed by what he saw, he signaled for everybody to stop. "They're already in Freedom Compound," Alkada announced. "Are you sure? The trail is still fresh," countered StreetLife, pointing down at the newly made hoof marks on the ground. "Yeah, I'm positive, and there's a lotta activity goin’ on. People are movin’ all about there. But I'm not sure how this is gonna play out if we gotta rock the bells." 

"So, let's post up here and wait them out," StreetLife suggested. "No, that's no good. Whatever has brought them here has brought many others from all around. I guess that meeting the soldier told us about is pretty big. So, I'm sure our arrival won't be a total surprise. 

Besides, waiting here may go from laying on three enemies to being greeted by a battalion, and having Republic soldiers at our backside don't sit proper with me. Not to mention, I don't believe Baron Black will take too kindly to us jus’ kickin’ grass so close to his compound. He and my father go way back, and that alone will warrant me payin’ him the respect of a visit. And it's a good bet we're bein’ watched right now." "Rahhhhh," Skully screamed overhead, confirming Alkada's statement. 

Alkada reached out to the bird with connection and awareness and saw that several sentries from Freedom Compound were watching them. A moment later, Alkada snapped out of the connection he harbored with the bird. "Yeah, we're bein’ watched. But, right now, it’s just curiosity as to why we are clustered here talkin’ without proceedin’ to the compound. So many others have passed through here recently. We're just one of many, but it won't be much longer before mild curiosity turns to violent interest." 

About Avery Brown

Avery Brown is a native of Brooklyn, New York currently residing in Atlanta, Georgia.  As a first time author, Brown was inspired to write this story due to the passing of a dear friend at the hands of police. The Blood Sagas came about in hopes of keeping the memory of his friend alive for generations to come. He understands the beauty and passion necessary to create a space in which characters can explore complex issues in a fantasy world. He is now currently working on his second book in 4-part the Blood Sagas series. Passionate about his craft, Brown is also hard at work on his next project, Manimal, a fantasy thriller, that illuminates the magic of the Indian Nations. 

More about the Blood Sagas on Avery Brown's website.