John Portelli, Maltese-Canadian author and retired professor, is planning to edit a collection of poetry inspired by the awful situation in Gaza. All proceeds from the sale of the book will be generously donated to poet friend Ahmed Miqdad who, together with his family, have been suffering great pain both physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Portelli has already helped Ahmed by co-authoring a book with him “The Shadow: Poems for the Children of Gaza” (Horizons Malta, 2024). From the sale of this book he donated 1400 euros to Ahmed via the office of the Palestinian Embassy in Malta. He welcomes poems for consideration for this collection which he aims to be of very good quality. To publish the book we also need to collect some funds. 

Thus far he has found donors who have contributed 350 euros toward the publication of this anthology.  We will need another 350 euros. Any donations are welcome.

 If you wish to submit some poems, please email John on John.portelli@utoronto.ca.

English Major

Back then they’d step out of their story

Their novel, their play, their poem and

Speak to us, deal with us. We knew them

And they knew us, where we were, where

We were going. We were quick to quote

Them when it fit. We’d nod when we saw

Their relevance playing out in front of us.

Being an English major in the 60s gave us

The material we needed to deal with the 60s

And the world it was making for us. We were

A crowd in a world of crowds. We had years

Of wisdom playing out in what we read and

What we heard in our classes. Shakespeare

And Milton, Becket and Ginsburg, Heller

And West – our lists were impressive and

Seemed endless. What else did we need to

Face what was coming at us? Years of it and

A life bolstered by it. What could go wrong

With this? Everything that could go wrong

Of course, went wrong. And all of it seems

Flimsy now – and turned out to be just that.

Where did all the 60s English major go and

Where did all that wisdom sneak off to?

                   Dreams

They show up in my dreams

People from my past, pass by.

Some silent, others saying

Things I remember them saying

Back then, safely in the past.

Some go by, seem familiar, but

I can’t recall their names. They

Are background figures, passing

By in my dreams like they did in

My past. Dreams do that these

Days, present places and spaces

Filled with characters that made

My past what it was, part ceremony

Part show, part story. They came in

In real time and now get their cameo

Appearances in my dreams. There’s

No explaining when and why they are

There in that dream on that night. I

Try to connect them to my present

But they fit uncomfortably, even if

I stretch things, connect some piece

Of my present to my dreamed past.

No they’re separate now, out of control

Playing my life out in these stray bits

Of my time.

                Joker

Been telling the same joke

living that same joke

For a long time now

Minutes of it and years of it.

Been laughing at my joke,

Even after I heard that one

About only a fool laughs

At his own joke or jokes

And I’d be foolish enough

To laugh aloud, join in

The general laughter

All around me.

Been a street clown

A circus clown

A stand-up comic

Part Laurel, part Hardy

One of the three stooges.

I’ve chuckled and guffawed

Been chuckled at and guffawed at

Been the butt of many jokes

And played the punch line

For all of it.

come see the skinny-necked sparrow leaving tracks in the snow

Nijinsky brought his own moonlight

and everything else 

was papier-mâché

a caterpillar curled up on the grain of firewood

she tested the strength of the bleach on the tip of her tongue

how the picture of his mother became a mirror for fixing her hair

a congested bear on tv hawking honey-flavored cough syrup

taking turns telling me why I need a Titanium phone

there for her first pickled onion

remembering the birthdays of the dead

it was the strawberries in the shortcake he didn’t like

—————————————————————————-

the breakfast of a champion

leftovers and

christmas cookies

the breakfast

of a champion

how much liquor

in the coffee this

morning

whatever it takes

to avoid the inevitable

chasing death like

a whore in church

that dark haired vixen

of the teenage years

imagine if she would

have said yes and all

this bullshit would

have never happened

imagine if you were

actually someone

worth saying yes

to

————————————————————————

a visit to the doctor before a snowstorm

blood pressure of

someone in perfect

health

blood sugar of

someone that will

be dead in a few

months

more scratches of

the head than i have

seen in years

but as always

what designer drug

will the insurance

pay for

i guess the pain

can wait

i suppose all this

booze is here for

a reason

———————————————————————–

flirting with disaster

one of these nights

one of these drinks

will probably kill

me

i feel like i am an

expert at flirting

with disaster

a quick tongue

will get you

places in these

sordid circles

she does believe

we are going to

spend forever

in harmony

i hate to break

it to her

but the chances

of that happening

are even worse

than my impending

doom

—————————————————————————

just a few inches

snow on the way

now the panic

will set in

long lines for

gas and groceries

jesus christ

just a few inches

some stupid fuck

will ask where

the hell is global

warming now

this is when i

would love to

grab him and

tell him about

the good ole’

days of four

fucking seasons

instead of just

hot and cold

———————————————————————-

into something beautiful

and here comes

this angel willing

to grab me by the

throat and drag me

into this century

of course, as much

as i want to believe

she has my best

interests in mind

this fucking wall

i have been building

won’t allow my

complete belief to

grow into something

beautiful

this is where the

distance apart

is my friend

allows me many

miles to get my

split brain back

into one

i hope those stunning

eyes meet me on some

edge of the world

and we both decide

to fucking jump

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is a 3 time Best of the Net nominee and a recent Pushcart Prize nominee. He’s been recently published at The Beatnik Cowboy, The Dope Fiend Daily, Disturb the Universe Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash and Yellow Mama. He is currently working on a yet to be titled book of new poems. You can find him most of the time on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

As Chin says, “Published by Nun Prophet Press and curated by Jerome Berglund, Heterodox Haiku Journal editor, this book combines poetry with visual art to offer a unique reading experience. Whether you’re a fan of poetry, art, or both, this book promises to be a delightful addition to your collection.

You can find it here for $4.00. Please grab a copy and help support indie publishers! Your support means the world to me and to the indie publishing community.”

I have no father! 

Even though I was a man, he smiled,

The most sincere person in the world.

Although I was stubborn, he thought of me,

You are my one and only father.

Sometimes I hurt you,

I put it down to manhood and youth.

Even then, the person who looked at my heart,

You are my one piece, my world, dad.

Sometimes we didn’t sleep because of the chaos.

You were tired, but we did not stay silent.

Anyway, a man who can’t stop loving

My father is a hero in my personal world.

You are my greatest happiness in the world,

I walk in your shadow, wealth is my throne.

You are the reason I click the steps chart,

My respect is endless, my country is my father!

snow –
the chirp of a robin
so muffled