the humans come out & so do a few loud crows after the snowstorm — tail end of winter pretty warm in the sunlight too cold in the shade — green buds have appeared on Mom’s lilac hedge out front first full day of spring — two deer & then three in someone’s yard on Iris missed the bus again — slept all day & night I wake up past eleven disoriented — bio/graf J. D. Nelson’s poems have appeared in many publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). Nelson’s first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Alan Catlin
“Things Unintelligible but Understood”: lines from Wallace Stevens, a found poem Consider the odd morphology of regret Note the decline of music The grapes are here and now Starry voluptuary will be born At least the number of people may there be fixed There is no such thing as innocence in autumn Machine within machine within machine The cabinet of a man gone mad No man shall see the end Naturalized: Lines from Hala Alyan’s, The Moon Turns Back: a found poem He plays devil’s advocate. May father plays soccer. In dreams I am in Nevada. Half-life in exile. I’m not your side bitch. Those fucking K-Mart towels when did we give them away? I loved them. Pink as slaughter. You can’t put a corpse back together again. I type all the metaphors I can. I can’t keep pretending to love. Patti Smith Photo Album #1 Mundane objects imbued with deep, personal meaning: Bolano’s writing chair, Hesse’s decrepit writing machine, Virginia Woolf’s tarnished walking stick, Jim Carroll’s narrow, single bed, Fred Smith’s recovered childhood toy; all their owners gone. A woman with a camera remembers. 736- Spy of the First Person. Patti Smith and her day book. Sam’s Old KY home Adirondack chairs on the back lawn facing the hills. Empty now. 737- Patti Smith punk rock star or stay at home mom. Surrealistic pillow maker or Rimbaud re- incarnated. As a woman Collector of memories. Just Us Kids or a museum of dead things. On the M Train. Or off. Babel or Coral Beach. I. She. Contains multitudes. Patti Smith Polaroid Sequence Nov/Dec Pasolini Monument: two doves intertwined in stone Genet’s A Man Contemplating Death on Mapplethorpe’s Birthday: A Still Life Editing Sam Shepard’s last manuscript A white horse head in Wales Dylan Thomas’s grave with plain wooden cross Rimbaud’s elaborate headstone Sharing coffee with ghosts of Camus, Sartre, and Simone in the Gallimard garden A solitary bird sings of the death of Proust Jim Carroll’s well-thumbed Penguin paperback of Schulz’s Street of Crocodiles The bound twig broom used to sweep dying leaves from Mishima’s grave Sam Shepard’s Depression era Gibson Puccini’s composition piano Photo of Rosa Parks Dec 1, 1955 Joan Didion: pure writer The guardian angel near the grave of Bertolt Brecht Patti Smith at the interval contemplating Tosca: “ I have lived for art, for love.” A letter in the hand of Emily Dickinson Dante’s headstone Zappa’s ‘Hot Rats’ album cover Ralph Fiennes on the set of Coriolanus The ruins of Hadrian’s library After Reading Burchfield: December Moonrise, #8 Flat saucer shaped clouds in gray blue sky are pocked by puncture wounds shining bright as fallen stars or creatures like birds of another species. Irradiated seeds sprout plants that only bloom at night. Moonrise over distant hills make the landscape more unreal than it already seems to be. Blistered cones of light where the moon should be
Poetry from Kristy Raines
Only Time Will Tell Time is nothing that can be touched It can only measure how long love lasts Love can not be measured by a watch on a chain For it is timeless and is a feeling that lives or dies My love for you was born in my heart like a child Painful at times but grew into something beautiful Your gentleness never fails under any circumstance And only you understand what this heart needed I will hold your hand through every turn in life from this moment in time to the next For as long as the watch on the chain keeps ticking Like the beats of our hearts, only time will tell how long you should wait for me… Things Two Hearts Left Unread We walk the same road every day You walking one way and I another We need rarely to ever speak when we pass because we can read each other’s looks What is never said speaks the loudest We know what is there, and what is not You poke at me and I play along I get silent and make you wonder if I am mad We play this wicked game but laugh under our breaths But we do complement each other like the butterfly and flower I have written these feelings down many times Although, many times have I had to rewrite them I need not brag to any friends but keep quiet about things that two hearts left unread. I Will Now Tell You I always want to be the blooming flower of the glittering touch within your dreams Like an illuminating fairy that enters the forest of your thoughts Do not be bothered by the poems that now vanish because beautiful thoughts of hope have now replaced your hopeless hopes of sadness which used to plague you Your river of love now flows in rhythm with mine as joyous waves become like a fierce storm of passion between us The hue of my form is like the blood that pumps through my veins which I now use to write our eternal story of love. The secretive story of two lovers forever tied together by fate. Kristy Raines was born in Oakland, CA, 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, Things and Butterfly Wings" and "Princess and The Lion", 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.
Poetry from Stephen Jarrell Williams
"How Long Till..." How long do we hide ourselves? Do we ever come out in the open? Or are we just shades in our own prison light? I long for some truth in self, don't you? But with all my years learning to be more than I am, is there any way out? Do I become a boneless bore? Can I stretch a few rubber bands before they pop? Gads, this is ridiculous. I think I'll quit for now. See you tomorrow when I run for president. "The Dream Keeper" Today I step out to run the real race. I hate weasels with egos Why can't people live without telling lies? I loved the first girl I ever kissed. I know I was too young to think of the future. But are dreams really only dreams? "It's Me Again" One last song under the full moon... She was all I ever wanted. More than I deserved. But isn't that how it is? At least in the beginning?
Poetry from Dr. Prasana Kumar
VOICE OF SILENCE! Silence has a voice; listen to it Do go down the memory lane My time still stands erect there Silent are my awkward moments My silent words I face everyday So much pain and agony dominate The sea water keeps dead silent Million hidden silences beneath There is a silent rise in every fall Listen to utter silence sometimes. THINGS REMAIN UNREAD! You tread this way everyday I often meet you on your way In silence we speak together Feelings said but a few unsaid With a little shyness in your eyes And cherubic smile on your lips Some haughtiness in loving ire The butterfly and flower can't play You must have penned those thoughts Might have torn them apart many a time You're bashful in front of your friends Things of two hearts remain unread. WHEN I BREATHE! When I breathe none but you realize Every moment even if it is far away You're mine ; can't think otherwise I know not how the moments 'll pass Miserable me ; life sans you all void I've come to the world for you only I'm leaving the whole world for you Clouds in the sky connect the door There is you in the sunny shade rains In the recommendations of the Lord Crazy me, crave to live & EDGES OF MY MIND! How to tell you what you are to me We'll walk together to cross all hurdles I 've come to you and I find myself lost Edges of mind 've had penalty of love Me standing alone in the world though All my nights are restless to see you If I don't see you ever,I 'll be nowhere My destination finds myself at yours Many miles I 've covered to fetch you How to tell you what you mean to me. Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai (DOB 07/06/1973) is a passionate Indian Author-cum-poet while a tremendous lecturer of English by profession in the Ganjam district of Odisha.He is an accomplished source of inspiration for young generation of India .His free verse on Romantic and melancholic poems appreciated by everyone. He belongs to a small typical village Nandiagada of Ganjam District,the state of Odisha.After schooling he studied intermediate and Graduated In Kabisurjya Baladev Vigyan Mahavidyalaya then M A in English from Berhampur University PhD in language and literature and D.Litt from Colombian poetic house from South America.He promotes his specific writings around the world literature and trades with multiple stems that are related to current issues based on his observation and experiences that needs urgent attention.He is an award winning writer who has achieved various laurels from the circle of writing worldwide.His free verse poems not only inspires young readers but also the ready of current time.His poetic symbol is right now inspiring others, some of which are appreciated by laurels of India and across the world. Many of his poems been translated in different Indian languages and got global appreciation. Lots of well wishes for his upcoming writings and success in future.He is an award winning poet author of many best seller books.Recently he is awarded Rabindra nath Tagore and Gujarat Sahitya Academy for the year 2022 from Motivational Strips . A gold medal from world union of poets France & winner of The Rahim Karim world literary prize 2023.The government of Odisha Higher Education Department appointed him as a president to Governing body of Padmashree Dr Ghanashyam Mishra Sanskrit Degree College, Kabisurjyanagar. Winner of " HYPERPOEM " GUNIESS WORLD RECORD 2023. Recently he was awarded from SABDA literary Festival at Assam.
Poetry from Mark Young
Some Postwoman Poems Today the post- woman brought me the riddle of the Sphinx. I walked out to get it; but on the way back tripped on the packing tape which had come unwrapped in transit & had to crawl like a baby the rest of the way. The ankle wasn't broken, just sprained; but I'm using a walking stick to get around for the next few days. Feeling fine otherwise. Now what was that question again? * Today the post- woman brought me a satellite navigation system with Bob Dylan doing the voice- overs. Worked fine until we hit Highway 61. Then it stopped giving directions & started asking me "where do I want the killings done?" * Today the post- woman brought me a sacrificial pig. Looks as if lamb, like most red meat these days, is too expen- sive to be used as anything more than metaphor. * Today the post- woman brought me the shade of Dylan Thomas who stood in the hallway & kept on farting. Now I know what was meant by that "when I was a windy boy" thing even though he got the tense wrong. * Today the post- woman brought me a bridge. I'm waiting for my ship to come in so I can open it.
Essay from Ruxzara Adiliqizi
XƏTRINNT OF MY LOVE
Let me bend my love into your love,
Let it not be based on the pleasure of my love,
Let me give up on love, let me not hear,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
Take away the ovary of my heart,
Your capacity is abundant, remember me,
Let it snow, rain, shine in the sun,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
You are my hearth of hope, my trust,
O poet to my life, I know the feeling,
Everyday the wind blows into my soul,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
Let me close your eyes, let me look at you,
From the demand, you become bored, you become embroidered,
My dear, let me be your blessing for life,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
ISTURUM, MY OWN COUNTRY, WHERE I WAS BORN
Yad, I have no eyes on Özzgən's soil,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
O I who turn back and forth in the land,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
I don't want grapes, hazelnuts, pomegranate vineyards,
The heart desires the sky plateau, the mountain of shish,
The land to which I speak, my shadow falls,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
Flowers would grow on my lawn,
There the nightingale sang more loudly,
My thighs would kiss my lips,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
Əsən mehi shallow pull telimə,
Its origins are sometimes different,
Waterfalls rose into my slice,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
At the end of the article, we would flee to the pasture,
We had learned to bala-yaga, to ski,
The tulip gave color to the cheeks,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
I was a mother, my mother was there too,
My will was sensitive to my eyes,
My prince would wash my feet,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
I was valuable in my hand, and in myself,
That's why I said "homeland",
Wherever I look, the sign is in my eye,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
Quickly turn away, let the son go to longing,
My heart is in need of attention, compassion,
I'm sorry, what's your name, fame,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
CARRYING THIS SPIRIT
WE ARE NOT COLLAPSING A NATION
Envər Pasha of our Turan army,
Look at the power of his love,
His love is across the seas, over the mountains,
This spirituality is only Turkish!
He gave great importance to the nation and the country,
Joined in jihad, escaped from the flames,
“Transformation as a victorious commander,
Or let me be a martyr!” - choose your slogan!
Time colliding in the room,
The letter he wrote to Nacibé Sultan,
Even though the sultan's heart was saddened at that moment,
It has become a source of pride for a lifetime!
“I love you, my praises
Raise me with my job!”- he wrote,
“Write the names of the villages in history,
Martyrdom is a mark!” - wrote...
“To protect our country from the enemy,
Mustafa Kamala, possible help,
The day that should be from him,
“One dimension, my sons!”
The one that comes to life before your eyes,
He kissed her gentle fingers and left...
The one that makes hearts happy when you remember it,
He entrusted tomorrow to God...
A mill carrying this spirit has collapsed,
And your truth guides, the path they follow!
It precipitates the oil, but it does not absorb much of it,
As long as there is one mill and two states!
He joined the Turan party,
Now what kind of Pasha has arrived?
The great men of Great Turkestan,
Come on, Victory, our heads are high!
Rüxsarə Adilqızı (Həsənova) – Çəmbərək (Krasnoselo) rayon of Qərbi Azərbaijan, born in Qaraqaya, the secondary school in the Çaykənd city of the same region, in 1987, the current Baku State University.
She graduated from a faculty of science and started his labor activities. She received her doctorate of biological sciences in 1996, and her degree as an academic in 2005, and currently works as an assistant professor at BDU's Faculty of Ecology and Natural Sciences. 100 provinces of BDU (1919-2019) were deemed worthy of the Jubilee Medal of the Republic of Azerbaijan, in the name of the "Giant of the XXI Century".
Member of the Azerbaijanis Writing Union, she is the author of the poetry books "Roads lead me to the land" (2012), "My beloved homeland award" (2021), "44 days that write history" (2021), "Mirror of my heart" (2023), in her poetry anthologies, She was featured in literary and literary magazines and was awarded with the "Qızıl Qələm" Media Award Laureate Diploma and the "Union of Turkish Peoples" medal of the "Çukurova International VII Turkish World Poetry and Music" festival.
She has a family, two sons and two daughters.