Scribbles

[Written at a Boston-based writing group and included in Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self]

La vie

Ah, la douleur de la vie;
So sorrowful this life can be,
We live in a constant that is uncertainty,
Waiting to awaken each morning can be tiresome,
Waking from a nightmare can be winsome,
‘Til we see the dreadful daylight of reality!
Yearning to sleep;
Daring to wake;
What comes next?
Life is but a haste!

Bird Bath

The mockingbird emerged from its bath,
Singing while in sat on a raft,
Looking into the distant path,
And poised with some sass,
Swiftly flew off in a fit of wrath!

Insomnia

I dreamed I had insomnia
And birds of prey roamed
‘Round my sphere
My heart rhythm’s tachycardia
Abided in a bed of fear…
I dreamt I slept with insomnia
echoes of children
Resounded like nostalgia
My senses somewhat forlorn
Yearning for the years bygone
Wishing to wish away my melancholia
I dream of sleep
Awake I weep
I dreamt i prayed
My soul to keep
I fell asleep
Or so it seems
Wishing to weep
For my esteem
Alas to sleep
Perchance to dream…

What Place is This?

Surrounded by a shadowy grey environ,
Sitting cross legged on some ground,
Looking up in a circular motion,
I wondered why there was no one else around…
Yearning to hear a sound;
Something has blurred my vision,
Suddenly I hear a pound,
Could thunder be a thing I found?!
Alas…The dawning of my wakening,
I am living in a cloud!!!

Jacques Stanley Fleury is a Haitian-American Poet, Author and Educator. He holds an undergraduate degree in Liberal Arts and is currently pursuing graduate studies in the literary arts at Harvard University online. Once on the editing staff of The Watermark, a literary magazine at the University of Massachusetts, his first book Sparks in the Dark: A Lighter Shade of Blue, A Poetic Memoir was featured in and endorsed by the Boston Globe. His second book: It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories is a collection of short fictional stories dealing with the human condition as the characters navigate life’s foibles and was featured on Good Reads. His current book and hitherto magnum opus Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism, A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism explores social justice in America and his latest book, “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  along with all other previously mentioned titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, Porter Square Books, The Grolier Bookshop, Goodreads, bookshop, Amazon etc…  His CD A Lighter Shade of Blue as a lyrics writer in collaboration with the neo-folk musical group Sweet Wednesday is available on Amazon, iTunes & Spotify to benefit Haitian charity St. Boniface.

Waves ripple

The dark and the sea

spray surrounds us

as a salt water

sky burst would

We can hear

the rocks below

breaking open

the energy of tides

exhaled from within

plosive as the wind

Iridescent

eyes of wild animals

amid the rain forest

trees

the real ones

and the imagined

carved from wood

or hewed from stone

All the paths forward

are overgrown with

mutating plants

stinging weeds

and poison ivy

pointed stalks

glow-in-the-dark

earthworms are trail

markers showing us

the way

Overcome by weariness

while walking without

a clear sense of purpose

or direction

we sit where the deer

lie down

feel our dreams

become an invasive species

inhabiting all

the exposed places

in our bodies

Lying still is

impossible

Our skin moves

without us

The transition from

sleeping to waking

is inseparable

are two indistinguishable

states

while walking

we enter a maze

of feeling

that seems to be

a physical one

where paths intersect

and lead nowhere

We wonder if there

is a center

if the center will hold

Feral

Other than the argot

infused standing

water

we have had nothing

to eat or drink

for days

Now we know

how it is to be

feral

unsure of what

or when we will

eat next

or if we will be

eaten in turn

We are reluctant

to gorge on wild

fruits and berries

having heard stories

of those who ate them

went mad

and died

We wonder now if any

of the stories

we have heard are true

Demeaning the Dramaturg

We will have to wait

for the second act be-

fore anything of import

happens. The open-

ing is purely scene-

setting, inserting a

whiff of color to whet

the tongue, a round of

self-aggrandizement

to pleasure the author.

Under armored

Born

without a

larynx she

could not

call out

to say

she was

drowning

so signed

frantically &

invented

swimming.

Word marinade

He took the word

& left it overnight

in a marinade. Soy,

grated ginger, a

thin-sliced bird’s-eye

chili that he’d picked

from the garden just

that morning. Made

no difference to the

meaning, to the re-

sonations; but, oh

boy, did the kitchen

stink & produce a

steady flow of words.

The / I Ching / in the Fall

There is a

continuity

in the

natural

order. First

the leaves

fall & then

the stems

that they

were form-

erly part of.

Some temp-

oral over-

lapping. The

stems lie

in the pool,

on the path.

Yarrow stalks.

Cast &

counted. Con-

fusing hex-

agrams. Too

many answers.

Too few

questions.

You / could have / knocked me down

The ridge of up-

right hair made things

easy for. Distinctive or

prominent, given to

a number of

guests & held

in a public

manner. Gorilla war-

fear. Gratifying. But

only to those who were

affected by some terminal

payment. The remainder

reluctantly signed

their names to a petition.

The second autumn of the Blockade was coming. Our second house was also bombed. Since it was made of wood, it burned down to the foundation. Not only clothes and some other things were lost in this fire, but most offensively, almost all our family photos and some documents – everything that was saved in the spring from the Petrograd apartment.

After that, we lived with some relatives of my father for a while. I don’t remember this period so much, although it foreshadowed the end of my blockade story.

It happened in a completely ordinary way. It’s just that one day after school, my father told us:

– Volodya, Alexey, we are leaving.

The mother and sister were already aware, the youngest was unconscious after another illness. And we lost contact with Ivan and Leonid a few months ago.

We decided and were going to drive fast, literally during the day. That’s how the Blockade and my childhood in Leningrad ended for me. I didn’t know if I would come back then or not, what my life would be like next. But there’s something left in that city, maybe it’s a part of my soul.

Christina Chin / Jerome Berglund (italics) 

calm lake surface 

the low clouds touch

white sandy shore

cement truck spinning

weathercock still

the noise 

at every house 

new swallows 

square roots 

doll hair

sneezing

cleaning too much, 

cleaning too little

why is my house 

never clean enough?

Rubina Anis is the Headteacher of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. She has obtained her honors and Master’s degree from the Department of Arts and Crafts, Rajshahi University.

Bad Craziness Rising

Walking into the Cosmos Bar

In Soi Cowboy in Bangkok

The City of Lost Angels.

That nefarious den

of iniquity and evilness

Twenty drinks too sober.

I sat down at that bar

Watching the mad scene unfold

The naked ladies dancing.

Drinking one scotch, one bourbon

And one Singha beer.

With my buddies.

the whole motley

Jack Daniels crew.

Drinking with Mr. Baker Beam, Jim Beam, Mr. Blanton

Mr. Booker, Elijah Craig, Jack Daniels

George Dickel, Thomas H. Handy, Basil Haydens

Henry McKenna, Old Mr. Forester, Mr. Jameson

Mr. Nester, David Nichols, Benjamin Prichard,

George T. Stagg, Colonel E.H. Taylor,

Johny Walker, Evans Williams, William Larue Weller

W.L. Weller Pappy Van Winkle, and his old  Grand Dad.

The scent of bad craziness

Hung in the air like

A sexed-up durian fruit.

an over-ripe mango girl

Desperately seeking to have sex

With wild, dressed-up bananas

Running around with the Orange Man.

Down the Street,

the Moon, looks out on the mad scene

Sniffs the air, saying,

“Man, this is bad craziness”

And runs away to join her lover the Sun

In an orgy of drunken forgetfulness

The Planet Mars, not amused, chases after the maiden Venus

Under the cold, calculating glances of the Planet Pluto

The Moon and the Sun rent a room in the Hotel Venus

Across from the Jupiter All Night Diner

Cosmic shit kickers, out for a night of Earth bashing

The Earth trembles, shaken

Moans with passion, and I awake

Saying, that was bad craziness.

Out there on the edge

Between the inner me and the outer zone

I went on down that road heading to hell

Just as fast as I could drink it all down.

And met me a lady, an outlaw lady on the far side.

Money, power, and passion rolled up in a bundle

Electric chemistry fills my head,

Zapping my brain into demented muscles

As I give in to the

“bao bao ya yah Madi “ madness

Bad craziness overwhelmed me.

All around me.

As paranoid, pulsating images scream out

With mad passion, and demented noises

The night turns ugly fast

And very, very weird

Weirdness in the air

The scent of bad craziness.

As the wild things come out to play.

The moon is freaked out

The Sun falls asleep in the gutter

And I say to myself, I’m just another cosmic Guy

On the loose, on the edge, on the wild side of things

Watching the show unfold, I wonder,

Is this all nothing but a cosmic drunken bum show?

Who is the star, who is she – the naked maiden up there in the bar

Black, leather jackets on stage naked visions of nightly lust

Dancing with an attitude that could kill an elephant in heat

And the Moon continues to dance across the evening sky

Satisfied, allows mankind to sleep it off.

Yet another night in the city of demented lunatic hell’s angels

Finally, rest as the sun comes up casting its evil eye over the sleeping city

Dispelling the bad craziness for a spell.

Blasting the wild things back to hell.

The masks come back on

And I walk down the road

Putting everything back into the box.

Until the next night of bad craziness

Let’s the wild beast within

Escape its leash.

Bad craziness rising yet again.