excerpted from 

THE LINN JOURNALS (Luna, Indy, and Nova Notes, Dog Walking Documents)

(Sand and Stride)

Day Two, Part Two

Walk long down there, and then up the hilly parts in the stone and sand, well wrought are the lands, green and the trees watch on. They seem taller today, and the overcast sky is gone and I can see the blue, the little clouds puffy and new. Breathe. Stretch. Queens Lace grows everywhere and there are places where the grasshoppers live and others that have dragonflies. Strange mushrooms to the side. A bee. A bird. A waving branch. Calm. Nobody is around. No souls.

I ask the lady, for it has arrived to me for some reason, ‘Who was that psychic that saw your grandmothers? And the one grandmother told the psychic that her posture should be better and the other grandmother…no…the same one had a bird, a parrot I think, that she kept in life, on her shoulder in the astral plane? I want to see her. I think I have a card somewhere. I also want to see spirit like that,- with plane eyes in everyday life…’ and the sun is strong for late day, and I am talkative suddenly, ‘…it is still summer, that is for sure.’

And we go far, determined, with a healthy and long stride, purposeful, happily or at least contentedly. The sumac is there, and the long and wide field briefly appears, side paths, more trees, a gravel way. We enter a turn that is full of purple flowers that grow somehow tall, to above knee height, taller than the others- they are intricate and strong, interesting and confident. They have each other, and live in large groups. ‘It’s as if on this turn, in this certain area exactly, everything pollinated or seeded and grew at at once,- w/the perfect mixture of the right soil and sun, rain and whatever it takes. Hey, want a soda cracker?. Do you know the other day I heard something in the bushes and stopped to see if I could see anything, and a large woodpecker jumped up and flew out?’

Eventually we turn that corner and begin the journey back. But it’s for the most part level ground. ‘It’s better to get the hilly parts done on the first half, when we are fresher and really setting out. Then just stroll back easily…’ and we do. It’s still bright for such a time a day. In the winter it will be dark at 5:30pm. We’d better take this while we can. In the summer I complain it’s too hot and in the winter I whine about the cold. Spring and autumn are my real times. Times of change and cool goodness and comfort. Liminal. Sweater weather as they say. But for now,- we better take it, better appreciate it, better go with it all…

(Peg-leg) Frida

“They thought I was a surrealist
but I wasn’t. I painted my own reality.”

Self-Portrait in a Velvet Dress
With Necklace
With hair loose
With monkeys
With necklace of thorns
On the borderline between Mexico and U.S.
Portrait of Luther Burbank as hybrid: half man, half tree
Henry Ford Hospital or The Flying Bed: The Miscarriage
My birth
I suckle
Memory 
or the Heart
The Two Fridas with Cropped Hair
The Dream
or the Bed
Self-Portrait with Braid
Thinking about Death
Me and My Parents
Thinking of Diego
The Broken Column
Without Hope
The Wounded Deer
Nucleus of Creation
Flower of Life
The Last Embrace of the Universe
Marxism Will Give Health to the Sick
Death is a Friend
	
 
Remedio Varo: The Mexican Years: Reversed

Phenomenon of Weightlessness
Still Life Reviving
Spiral Transit
The Arid Path
Vegetable Architecture
Vegetarian Vampires
Phenomenon
Unsubmissive Plant
Embroidering the Earth’s Mantle
Woman Leaving the Psychoanalyst
To Be Reborn
Ascension to Mount Analogue
Disturbing Prescence
Mimesis
Encounter
Hairy Locomotion
(for a) Cancer Ward (the mural)
Farewell
Celestial Pablum
Creation of Birds
Vegetable Cathedral
Magical Flight
Star Catcher
Magical Flight
Star Catcher
Three Destinies
Discovering
Useless Science (The Alchemist)
Solar Music
Weaving of Time and Space
 
Extreme Art Material: Memorial Art Gallery (2006)

Particulate Matter (smog) on porcelain plate with gold enamel
Garden hose, nylon cable ties and steel
Carrot Wheel: carrots
Plaster, pigment, shipping tags and SUV exhaust
The Ruin: U.S. five-dollar bill erased
Colors in Water: Superior: recycled metal zippers
Found Portraits from the Cambodian Killing Fields of Tuoi Sleng
Small Island: Smoke on silver plated tray
Natatorium Cactus: Swimming pool cover and cable ties
Untitled: Pencil shavings
Treasure Map: found drug bags and thread (Philadelphia)
Metamorphosis: Human hair and glue
Allergy Series: Polyurethane and dog hair, Polyurethane and 
contents of vacuum bag
Untitled: Polyurethane and toilet paper, polyurethane and
	Cigarette butts, epoxy, and dryer lint
Topographic Solution: Fish skins, fishing line, pigment, and steel
Geography of Thought: Pennies and wire
I Wonder: Orange peel and waxed linen thread
Eggshells mixed with resin
Peach pits mixed with resin
Twister: Bones, glue, sealants, glass, and silver
Untitled: Hair and glue on canvas
Untitled: Duck Sauce packets
Untitled: Blood, gold leaf, resin, and clay on board
After Vermeer: 4,669 spools of thread, clear vinyl tubing, aluminum
	hanging apparatus, 4-inch clear acrylic sphere and steel stand
There’s No Comfort in the Truth: Recycled cassette tape
Gravity’s Rainbow: Paper collage, pills, hemp leaves, acrylic and
	resin on wood

 
Eccentric Lives and Peculiar Notions Scrambled

Charles and Marjory Johnson, Lancaster, CA, the last stubborn,
	flat earth doctrine defenders
Describing the community that dwelt within the earth
Miss Bevan as Nesta Webster author of spine-chilling accounts
	Of hidden forces beneath the surface of history
The Christ Conspiracy: The Greatest Story Never Told
Path  of the Pole: Cataclysmic Poles Shifting Alters Geology
Mind Control =World Control
The Bridge to Infinity
Liquid Conspiracy: Truth behind the acronyms: JFK, LSD,
	CIA, Area 51, and UFO’s
The Man Who Got Letters from Statues
Stones of the Temple of the Dragon erected by Welsh Druid
	revivalists
Lost Continents and Hollow Earth
Other Findings of Revisionist Geographer
Extraterrestrial Archaeology
Worlds in Collision
Occult Ether Physics
People with Holes in Their Heads
The Lost Teaching of Atlantic
Atlantis the Antediluvian World
Architects of the Underworld
Men and Gods in Mongolia
Photographs of “flying saucers around the mother ship”
The Ant-gravity Handbook
NASA, Nazis, and JFK
The Harmonic Conquest of Space
The Purpose, Intent and Overview of Extraterrestrial Visitations
Somewhere in the Night
The Fallen Sky
The Bomb that Fell on America

 
The Many Lives of Lee Miller (abridged)

As model
Nude studies as a full developed teenager by her father
Work as a fashion designer
Controversial Model for first Kotex Ad
Solarized by Man Ray
Her Work as a Photographer
As a subject of Surrealists
As a Surrealist
Man Ray’s Nude Bent Forward was Lee
The shadow pattern on her torso by Man Ray
Breakfasting in bed reading with Tanja Ramm beneath a wall 
	hanging by Cocteau
The lips for Man Ray’s iconic The Lovers
Portrait Photographer of Gertrude Lawerence
Josephy Cornell superimposed with ne of his many objects
Sel-Portrait as Fashionista
Married in Egypt shooting frame from the top of Great Pyramid
Her Portrait of Space inspiration for Magritte’s, La Baiser
The Picasso Abstract Portrait of Lee
Literally charming snakes in Egypt 1938
Her suggestive (erect) Cock Rock (formation)
Duty calls as a War Correspondent in Europe
Glum Glory in her uniform off to document the war
Posed at the entrance of an Air raid shelter with mask, eye shield 
	and air raid danger warning whistle
A “non-conformist chapel” as rubble
Bombed out, “Bridge of Sighs” London
Shattered roof of University College reflected in pool of rainwater
Henry Moore in a suit sketching in Holborn underground station
	While Londoners huddle beneath blankets trying to sleep
Emergency field surgery, Normandy
Lee in uniform in Picasso’s liberated studio, Paris
Colette, Aged 71, embroidering in her apartment
Moroccan troops outfitted for winter in snow, Alsace
Dead soldier, “There is a good German. He is dead!”
Suicide daughter of Burgermeister, Leipzig reclining on a couch
Statues covered by camouflaged nets make a landscape like a 
	Painting by Yves Tanguy, Germany 1945
Among the first to enter the camps: Dachau dead, 1945
Lee bathing in Hitler’s bathtub, Munich 1945
Lee dressed as Marcel Duchamp’s Mona Lisa at a party c)1954
After she died her son found trunks of her work stored in the attic,
He had no idea she had been a photographer

Jacques Fleury marches in the long parade headed by drum major Walt Whitman. But many observers from the street are still uncertain of the spectacle. One of Whitman’s early literary friends and admirers, John Townsend Trowbridge, recalled that he found in the poet’s first (1855) edition of Leaves of Grass “much that impressed me as formless and needlessly offensive; and these faults were carried to extremes in the second and enlarged edition of 1856” and that much of the early criticism centered on “his unrhymed and unmeasured lines.” And Trowbridge also referred to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s remark on Whitman’s later work: “No more evidence of getting into form.” Whitman was ignored by the establishment for most of his writing career, and when noticed he was reviled and ridiculed, but his work was the beginning of what is known as free verse.

While free verse has become the dominant form of contemporary American poetry, and has largely shucked its socially “offensive” character, it still has many detractors among those who relish what Whitman called the “ballad style,” with its emphasis on rhythm and rhyme. Although he also indulges in rap-style rhyming, Fleury reflects on this dichotomy between acceptable and unconstrained poetry (imposed by “an all-white order” with its “long history” of imposing its “cultural values and / Socio-political power” in his free verse poem, “Random Musings about Submission,” in which he reflects on the rejection of one of his poems by a nameless publication, “Thank you for your submission. But your work is not a good fit for our publication.” In response, Fleury launches into a racially-charged defense of his identity as a non-binary non-WASP poet, writing as “an ignoble omnivorous muskrat.” After tracing his poetic heritage back to the epics of Gilgamesh, Beowulf, and Roland, he demands an “all-inclusive literary faction / Where ALL postulatory voices are worthy of publication” and he vows to continue to submit but NEVER to their behest for submission!!!”

In “Who Am I?” Fleury further defines his identity as a “multilayered entity … / a building block of heterogenity.” (He briefly adopts an effective set of off-rhyme couplets, “I am a malady / I am a remedy / I am a rainbow / I am a shadow”), while in another poem, “Possible Causes and Effects of Cited High Blood Pressure,” he itemizes standard medical data (family history of heart disease, poor dietary and sleep habits) and adds racism to the list. However, despite the bitterness expressed in much of his work, he also notes, in “The Only Way to See the Stars…,” that such seeing is “through the darkness.” 

So Fleury’s free verse is free enough to incorporate occasional diversions into “ballad style” renderings. But, again according to Trowbridge, even Whitman’s own pioneering “writings became … more consciously literary in their aim.” Or, as Emerson remarked, in a different context, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” 

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 at:  http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.

Duane Vorhees is an American poet in Thailand. He is the author of THE MANY LOVES OF DUANE VORHEES, HEAVEN, GIFT: GOD RUNS THROUGH ALL THESE ROOMS, MEMORIES ARE LINKED LIKE OASES, A CONSIDERABLE SHARE OF FELICITY, and THE WOMB AND THE BRAIN. Born in Farmersville, Ohio, USA, he graduated from Bowling Green State University with a doctorate in American Culture Studies. He has taught at Seoul National University, Korea University, and the Asian Division of the University of Maryland University College (now the University of Maryland Global Campus).

My green country in Monsoon’s lap

Monsoon clouds gather, dark and deep,

Rivers swell, their secrets to keep.

Paddy fields dance in the pouring rain,

Life awakens, free from pain.

Children splash in puddles wide,

Nature’s bounty, a vibrant tide.

In every drop, a story flows,

Bangladesh breathes as the monsoon grows.

Wazed Abdullah is a student in grade nine at Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Love to family

My love to my family,

To my brother, sister, mother.

A piece for my dad too,

My way is a sidewalk.

I honor my father,

I respect my mother.

My brother and sister,

Of course I care.

Abdurrahman, Umida,

He respects me.

With kind words to me,

He tasted honey from his tongue.

Daddy loves me

He caresses and hugs.

what i say will do

What can I say?

My mother is kind,

Every word has magic.

My mother is my only one

The whole world is one piece.

My sister is surprised

My brother is a wrestler.

Inspiration cries to me,

A propeller in my head.

My family is my happiness

My throne in the world.

“Family is the holy place”

The words madhim-ku.

Ilhomova Mohichehra is a teacher of the 8th grade of the 9th general secondary school of Zarafshan city, Navoi region.

RAIN IN MY EYES

The rainbow appeared

behind the lines of rain,

the worries and troubles of stis,

carved verses

where the west burned,

in the braided flower,

we put a wreath.

You can’t see the rainbow

it didn’t rain a little,

in my eyes…!

AUTUMN LOVE IN PRISTINA

We met in the fall,

in the amphitheater you tweet…

the streets of Pristina,

in the cold night,

shoot me like a mountain fairy.

the stars were aligned

that summer evening in your tear,

we were both lost in the untouched oasis

and the lips stopped at the sounds FlokArtë.

Why did we travel, tell me why

in the cold winter and snow,

the beaming sun gave us a gift,

you ray of sunshine lit me siashra.

Why did we run to the meadows, why

in the early spring fragrance of love

we pray to the flowers of the green field,

embraced we felt exotic intoxication.

THE POET’S MUSE

The poet,

They give the words a meadow color

evoke memories in torn maps

does not believe in the miracles of the Mountain Fairies

of the world forgives love!

The poet cooks the word

in the magic of poetry,

in the chain the verses of the verses

stigmatizes renegades

with the measure of memory

in the arboreal fireplace.

Poet, in verse

the storm and the sun in the sun bring,

the figures are planted with love,

under the word

it bakes a world

that you don’t know

fused into crystal…

on the poetic harp you compress it.

The poet dreams

Aphrodite in the light of the lantern,

and he engraves the stalagmites in the cave

in the poetry book

AFTER CENTURIES

After centuries we will get drunk

On the salty altar

we will remember your escape in the spring,

the colors will change,

there will be neither red, nor black, nor green

it will be only blue;

there will be no age, only death

 neither school, nor court, nor work,

the whole thing will be like a game…

there will be sea in overtime

life will develop there in the depths,

ships will sail without gas

my dear

The air will be polluted

and the oxygen will be rarefied,

rain will not fall, nor snow, nor typhoon

there won’t be, everything will be the same

in ruins of centuries,

abandoned houses that people are looking for,

fierce wars will be fought

they will cry: bread, air and palaces

with your absence,

that day will come after a few centuries,

where you and I will eat in glass dishes

and we will knit the verses

on the silk fabric,

they will be fed to the spotted birds

and drunk, that day will come very soon,

my love…

these verses will be: proof of a love.

Lan Qyqalla, graduated from the Faculty of Philology in the branch of Albanian language and literature in Prishtina, from Republika of Kosovo. He is a professor of the Albanian language in the Gymnasium. He has written in many newspapers, portals, Radio, TV, and Magazines in the Albanian language and in English, Romanian, Francophone, Turkish, Arabic, Italian, Greek, Swedish, Hindu,  Spanish, and Korean.

Antelope Field

There are antelope
in the field down
the road. Okay, 
well maybe not
antelope, but nyala
or oryx. & maybe
it’s not a field
but a patch of
garden which in
reality is too small
for the eland &
in reality is not
even a garden but
a window box in
which the cat sits
soaking up the sun. 
& since I don’t have
a window or a cat
it’s quite possible 
that this scene
from the wilds is
nothing more than a
screensaver that
comes on after
I’ve been away from
the PC for at least
three minutes. Which
I haven’t been, I’ve
been sitting here
all the time. So maybe,
just maybe, it all
comes down to
a plasma rectangle
that is framed by
tool- & scroll-bars
but is otherwise
entirely white except
for the two words 
floating at the top.
Field. Antelope.



Putsch

He picked
up whatever 
thoughts
were upper- 
most in 
his mind at 
the time 

ran with them
for a while

& then 
discarded them
as if they were the 
children of 
a past regime.


Nijinski reminisces

Exuberance
is in an eye
much more

beholden
to the magic
of the mo-

ment than to 
the pattern
of the dance.




Inside knowledge

Or:
knowing where
the bodies are
buried. 

Or:
knowing when
the berries are
bodied.


On Journeys

The shape of the journey
has something to do
with color. A small part
but important. The color
has to do with the shape
of those things you are
looking for. Also important,
not so small. The taste lies

on your tongue. Sound is
restricted by allowing one
album to come along with
you. Either earphone music 
or that playlist in your mind
cycling through an endless loop.