*** prison instead of help coexistence instead of love unnecessary reform one coffee and hotel room per person there are many ways to show your dislike Reprint by Crank *** mom sews a vagina for her daughter like a red rag for tears mom wants soldiers to give flowers to her daughters the cemetery is silent about flowers daughter collects khaki and throws it into the toilet daughter screams that she does not need such flowers graves are silent about the dead Reprint by Rat's Ass Review *** this poem will not be written by anyone because the author will go to the supermarket for vodka and never come back Reprint by Tipton poetry journal *** the leaves don't resent it when you step on them the bones barely crunch when you do people barely crunch on such occasions. death is like a land mine doesn't resent it when you step on it Reprint by Tipton poetry journal *** what does the right pike of a suicide exposed to the wind say? what happens to the frostbitten left cheek? mother's biblical face turns silky as son pulls out graveyard surprise box from under his bed *** internet people live the longest a dog that died ten years ago still puts likes on social media instead of its killed dog owner *** while God is sleeping, the children press all sorts of buttons on his smartphone and do not understand what this leads to angels drink living water meanwhile and get drunk what is the name of the little boy who will never become Jesus Christ? *** Dynastic hands of the dead No one will teach palms to cry Money can't be earned аnd neither can respect Money and respect can only be stolen from talent *** What can poetry be talking about in the 21st century besides blood? The ruins warm the bodies of the future dead *** death allows itself to be late in the form of rain that washes away all the moles from the body no one allows you to return to childhood with a cheek turned up for a blow meanwhile the window is slammed shut wide open meanwhile the birds sew up the sky tightly time turns into sand from which we built a house house is grass house is glass religion trauma of cold speech torn tongue crunching leaves underfoot the breathless unborn god underfoot and above the heads of the airy sky which is no more *** the little wolf cub is looking for wolf jesus but can't find him animals are too humane to crucify each other animals are just physically hungry *** Jesus received the resurrection certificate from the hands of the centurion the dove sat on the arm of the tree and silently watched *** there is no more home ruins play the stones of a scream There's no more peace because someone skipped a history lesson on Hiroshima at school *** as soon as і wake up from sleep і frantically begin to suck the dick of my rifle as if there was no war Essay The Ditch Man is something thrown into the ditch of world history. One day some guy went to get some alcohol at some store and ended up in the hospital. Judging from the pics on instagram, I would have liked this guy, and he also has nice long finger nails. Only I still don't know for sure if he's gay or if he just dresses so provocatively that he gets attacked by scumbags on the streets. Once a famous poet went to get alcohol in one of the few stores and disappeared. These were the days of Soviet terror. I never understood what wrong this poet had done. One day a Jew was walking near the palace (probably looking for where to buy alcohol). The guards came up to him and grabbed him. And then, on Nero's orders, the unfortunate Jew was crucified. Why this happened is unclear to me. Perhaps after such an incident Christianity was born. That's why I don't drink alcohol and use courier delivery as a rule. I also think it is important to note that I want to dye my hair ashy.
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Christina Chin/Uchechukwu Onyedikam
Translations to Taiwanese Translator's name: 陳美如 Country: 紐西蘭 (New Zealand) Translations to Igbo Translator's name: Uchechukwu Onyedikam Country: Nigeria Uchechukwu Onyedikam / Christina Chin young stripling bearing the task to her side loading corn stalks on a cart na-eto eto stripling na-ebu ọrụ ahụ n'akụkụ ya na-ebu ọka ọka na ụgbọ ala 少年郎 在她身旁 幫忙扛 把乾草捆 裝手拉車上 * frigid air in the porch the loyal collie wags at its master's whistles ikuku oyi na ihe owuwu ụzọ mbata nkịta na-eguzosi ike n'ihe na-aga na ya onye ukwu ịfụ 門廊上 寒氣逼人 忠實牧羊犬 聽聞主人口哨 搖搖尾巴
Photography from Isabel Gomez de Diego
Poetry from Nery Santos Gomez
Caballo sobre mi espalda Mis piernas pegadas a tu flanco sudoroso, Apretando con fuerza, mis manos sujetando tus crines. Sin rumbo corremos desbocados. Tus cascos golpeando mi tierra, sonido de castañuelas. Levantando polvo, haciendo camino en tierras de nadie. Ritmo y movimiento, tierra adentro. Adrenalina y susto nos recorren, una bestia sin pensamiento me lleva sin destino. El viento silva en mis cabellos y se cuela entre mis brazos tensos. Nadie lleva las riendas. Corcoveando, tus músculos fibrosos te dirigen. Coordinamos tu carrera. Subimos y somos aire por un momento, caemos y somos tierra al instante. Llano adentro. Donde todo es verde, vigoroso y equilibrado. Me dejo llevar y me convierto en una amazona griega. Llegamos a donde pertenezco, el límite exterior del mundo conocido y lo cruzó, sin fronteras. Soy yo sobre tu espalda o tú sobre la mía. Cabalgando como uno. horse on my back My legs stuck to your sweaty flank, Squeezing hard, my hands holding your mane. Without direction we run wild. Your hooves hitting my land, sound of castanets. Kicking up dust, making way in no man's land. Rhythm and movement, inland. Adrenaline and fear run through us, a beast without thought takes me without a destination. The wind whistles through my hair and sneaks through my tense arms. Nobody takes the reins. Bucking, your sinewy muscles direct you. We coordinate your career. We rise and are air for a moment, we fall and are earth instantly. Flat inside. Where everything is green, vigorous and balanced. I let myself go and become a Greek Amazon. We reached where I belong, the outer limit of the known world and crossed it, without borders. It's me on your back or you on mine. Riding like one.
Poetry from Atagulla Satbaev
Unbelievable palmistry My tongue is crooked, honestly - I can not look into your eyes. Scattered line on my palm is connected to my destiny I deceive myself just like that. I am wandering of searching the line of love in my hand, without finding it in my life ... There are living walls between us There are living walls between us. Draw an invisible boundary. What is the benefit of our separation?! It parts us from our love. Ruthless living walls between us. It is like dying is not meant for them- The tears are just a sight to behold. (Didn't they face with the passion!?) Living walls between us. They part us, even the paths; Constantly looking at us ... We are moving apart further Living devils between us. They will not fall. They are eternal… *** Drown the hourglasses into water, put a rope around the neck of time released its the last breath. Tied the clock hands to the stone I tried to hold off the life and live. But - Could not stop My heart Screaming Just like a clock in my chest ... It is not true when they say We are lack of power when it comes to the time: time loses - when it stops beating My heart Atagulla Satbaev was born on August 10, 1995 in Nukus city, Uzbekistan. His poems were published in local magazines and journals.
Poetry from Christine Poythress
NIGHT DREAMS I am the night that was the day. Either way breathing grass verdant covering where earthworms squiggle in encrusted dirt far below succotash seams subsumed in pine needles. Time’s strands branches dripping their needles the hair of time around which I’m bound to the gory glory of nightfall where earth’s hair sprouts in darkness in the blackness seeming still yet alive with creatures. Enveloped then dissipated I inhale the moon bringing day.
Poetry from Sayedur Rahman
Yearning Land In lands afar, where shadows fall, A refugee’s heart, it bears the call, To reminisce of motherland’s embrace, In distant lands, a new life we chase. Our eyes still hold the memories dear, Of homeland’s beauty, once so near, But fate has led them to these shores, Where dreams are forged on distant mores. We long for the scent of native soil, The songs of birds, the daily toil, Yet resilience grows in refugee’s heart, As we strive to make a brand-new start. With hope, we carry our homeland’s grace, A tapestry of memories, time cannot erase, For in our journey, we have found, Strength in unity, on common ground. Though we’ve left our past behind, A refugee’s spirit, resilient and kind, We cherish what was, and what will be, A testament to the human spirit, wild and free. Sayedur Rahman is from Bangladesh's Rohingya refugee camp and the author of "Echoes of Home".