The Mouth that Roars

Just the sound of his voice,
Awakens memories of fingernails on a blackboard,
Of  tires  screeching  outside at midnight,
Of  coarse sandpaper on raw wood,
Of babies crying and crying and crying,
Of a neighbor weed-eating at 3 am!
It’s an audible recording 
	from a medieval torture chamber.
Without even considering the stupidity
	And malevolence of the words:
	     Point guns at Liz Cheney,
		Paint Kamala with “low i.q.,”
		Shoot at him
			through the dishonest media,
		Vow revenge on all who disagree,
		Proclaim “rigged” 
			even before the votes are counted!

How can the most immoral man
		In the universe
			Get a single vote?
	

Inconvenient Truths

          Sometimes people don’t want to hear the truth

          because they don’t want their illusions destroyed

          — Friedrich Nietzsche

I’m sitting in front of the TV just staring at what’s

on the screen like there’s no tomorrow, in fact

what day is it? I never watch TV this early

but then I never stay up til after 2am either

unless I think my life depends on it which I kinda did

waiting for results of the race between a woman and

a man in this case not Billie Jean King and

Bobby whoever duking it out across the net,

to prove a female can play the game as well

but now after the fact, the pundits crowd around

to pontificate and debate the matter at hand

namely, why? Racism, sexism, or was it

about the money, follow the money. It’s

the economy, stupid. So squinting through

bloodshot eyes and listening with my earbuds

in to not disturb my wife who’s not yet up,

I’m watching The View, I don’t think I ever

have before. It’s Whoopi Goldberg, who I

used to think was funny and a coterie of other

female celebs as they question each other

on the question of the day, why she lost?

Alyssa Farah Griffin insisted it’s not about

abortion, it’s the cost of living. Co-host

Sunny Hostin interrupted to say it’s misogyny.

Griffin—it’s the border—Goldberg, groceries

and stuff is high because the folks in control

want more money for themselves—“A completely

intelligent, qualified woman lost to a guy who was

simulating sex with a microphone,” Joy Behar said.

That’s when I turned it off and went to bed.

Afterword: I can’t possibly begin to explain the whys and wherefores in this little square of space. I tried, here: The Present Situation—Fractured Reality: Reflections and a Poetic Response by Howard Debs – VISIBLE Magazine

News source: ‘The View’ Hosts Argue About Trump’s Win: ‘Democrats Missed the Moment’  https://bit.ly/3YJZ2LE

Kind people!

Pure nature,

I live in Chamanzar.

In my bright motherland,

I play and laugh.

People are kind

No denials.

He walks with a smile,

He always laughs.

Sparkling eyes,

Kind words.

They are sincere, honest,

Really kind people.

Ilhomova Mohichehra is a student of the 8th “K” grade of the 13th school, Zarafshan city, Navoi region.

Super Typhoon

A few days of warm respite

From a sweet Katherine’s spite

Tonight awaits a King’s roar

Don’t pee so much on my floor

Overgiver

Charity by giving one’s extra is the way

Giving all, there’s a tribulation to pay

Mom’s punishments for me by the bay

Yet I understood not, come what may

Pains, both physical and emotional

Is my generosity nothing special?

I was just following the winds of her sail

Yet, her whips created me a coat of mail

But my daughter learned from my pains

Saw the cruelty of people out for gains

The foolishness of my weak temperament

Learned to distinguish with discernment

Unconditional love, unconditional giver?

Should one weigh the need of a receiver?

But even the Messiah refuses some requests

To be a wise giver, I often fail the test

Though I may be too trusting, blackened burn

Still there would be others giving back in return

From friends and strangers, a hundredfold turn

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

 

There is No Happiness Here

There is no happiness here.

Mosquitos circle overhead like vultures.

Pain is here, with an eternal depression mixed in with a fear not dissimilar to a mouse in a cat cafe.

No familiar rules, just brand new cultures.

There in the earlier there but not the currant now, I wouldn’t and couldn’t get cold rain

as it was always hot, dousing us in a burning mental pain

God this sucks very much

Every night without noise, with every step, I must shush.

While I wallow in absolute disgust,

At these terrible terrifying tears leading too what feels like a spoonful of hell,

I’m forced into amounts of manual labor so crushing that it feels like I’m underfoot an elephant in a parade,

as I’m reminded of the issues my back suffers,

while it’s only made worse by the labor that the elephants crush me with.

In that unpleasant umber weald, where the vulturous mosquitoes play around with the little happiness that’s left

With trees growing larger like the broken promises as they say that they will make my life easier,

The trees growing under the warm wet skies, soaking the failed dreams of a treehouse.

The Journey

Everyday the train starts for with the passengers

Maintaining the time the train runs through the air

What a stormy speed!

And people get down and up at their fixed places

Life is always circling like the journey by train

Life gives birth lives, life builds castles

When life gets tired, it stops forever

Stops as well never to come back

Even then the train is running on the way

The way the world is rounding

We only keep pace with the time

Some stops and get down from the compartment

Some get up and start the journey anew.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

25 October, 2024.

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.