I Dream I dream that I breathe peace into everyone to whom I speak, that my smile unties the knots that their frowns have knitted on their faces, that my eyes emanate warmth, an antidote to whatever the deadly frost has glaciated, that my unfettered feet can walk upon water like Jesus’, that my mind accommodates every fragrance that flowers and roses exuded, that my hands can free all the creatures imprisoned within cages, that my ears are attuned to the sighs of leaves fluttering to breezes, to the orbit of stars, to the mystic rituals of true believers, to the silent prayers of children, to the whispers of souls in a congregation. The Land of Broken Glass I see everywhere massive amounts of broken glass. Some are of smashed bottles, some a symptom of domestic wrath. I marvel at these splinters that decorate our grass, our pavements, and car wheels like diamond studs. A rough boy sits on the edge of a cart of trash, scavenging for little treasures such as morsels of food and plastic bags to trade for coins. I see him contemplate an empty bottle of orange juice, which he abruptly brings down with a bang, like a judge pronouncing the irrevocable verdict, his eyes dilating with delight at the dexterity of his hand,. the startling soundtrack, and the harmful littering of a pedestrian path. In Enslaved by Civilization No wonder D.H. Lawrence assimilated the school to a very elaborate railway system where tractable, well-behaved boys are persistently instructed to adhere to good tracks until they reach their teens when into life they are shoved. The habit of adhering to lines has already become an ingrained trait and now the boy is an adult, he runs on a new set of ways, a life-long slave to rails. Free It is the usual tune I constantly play as I drive up our very steep mountains, my father reclining in the front seat, my German Shepherd, extremely excited. The labrosones that herald this piece bring to my father’s eyes joyful tears, to my dog, an aesthetic hypnosis. Free is the title that was given to this unparalleled jazz fusion. The birds that orchestrate in pine trees hearken to the interplay of metal and strings as George Michael and Chris Cameron create a rapport of concordant resonance.
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Hongri Yuan and Yuanbing Zhang, translated to English by Wit Lee
Transparent Men and Women
Yuan-Hongri
Tr. By Wit lee
Transparent men and women
Men and women more beautiful than colored butterflies
Maybe really a group colored butterflies
Dancing from Zhuangzi ‘s big dream
But I see cities, crystal transparent cities
Like city’s dream, city’s love
Through the walls could reach the other shore
Light, may transcend time
Above the sea surface of time, boats of light are flying
On a little island
I see other men and women
This calendar tells us a window
After days are still another days
It is the illusion of days that besiege us
Just as my flesh is my own shadow
Yesterday’s leafs and water drops
Pebbles I played with in my childhood
The sun I see for the first time
Those all things are smiling in a house of light
Eyes of men and women
Eyes more charming than the rainbow
On vibrant morning
In intoxicating dusk
Flying water drowned men and women
I found one sun in my own chest
I discovered cities in my head
The water of the past turned into crystal, diamond
There are stars sailing in my bones
Ah, a young girl in dream
Maybe came from some day a hundred years ago
Still I miss that moment
That vision disappeared when I wake up
That momentary smile, how warm it was
Who made you appear in my dream?
I believe in dream, as I believe in the sun
And in dreamland I saw another me
Shadows of Phoenix and Unicorn
Once in dream came down
On the mountain top
I dreamed a house of heaven
Blood is another river
Blood in my body also has its own dream
I set foot on a ladder of days
But on the other mountain
Leisurely I’m flying
Shadows of men and women
Blooms in a smile
The seasons of men and women
Days are like pieces of stones
I opened an photo album sealed for many years
I saw Yellow Emperor rambling in the city
One shadow is among many shadows
On another wild field
Ancient years are shouting and fighting
On grassland all kinds of flowers are laughing
Living in glass I
Don’t know their names
Water of yearning, water of sweet and fragrant spring
Fly from inside rocks
A girl is like a colorful flying phoenix
Only dream tells us the illusory of time
Outside time's gate
There is another sun
Who was playing games inside ancient rocks
Igniting gold piece by piece
On pieces of transparent boulders
Drawing seas and cities
I was sitting in a house filed with light
With a picture album hold in my hand
In the buildings of ancient times
Caught sight of the future emperors
Who’s blood was the plum flower drinking
Which girl’s song was it singing
When I got up
I saw a white jade, glittering its smile
In the age when rock drifted fragrance
Queen Mother of the West was a witch
Tow eyes have intoxicated the handsome and strong MU Tianzi
This is a gold sculpture
But I don’t know
Am I in times of heaven or mundane?
On days when Goddess stepped on auspicious clouds
Where am I?
On which star
Still preserves my house of past?
Form east to west
There is a road of gold
Perhaps there is a blonde
To be my companion of tomorrow
The earth is a crystal jade
In lover’s mouth
Atmosphere is as sweet as wines
And in one dreamland
I'm still a baby
Every city and county I passed by
Have all left my shadow
Thousand years after they will still be golden and shining
Bread that I eat was my own blood
A girl that I loved once loved me a thousand years ago
I saw in the arms of the rocks
Girls were lying down, cheeks fresh and red
Skins were as transparent as jade
Hieroglyphs and letters
Were glittering and shining on the sun
God is holding a brush in his hand
Waving a pen in heaven
Those cities of gold and silver
In an eye's twinkling flew toward the human world
On the edge of a big river bank
There was one house of mine
A garden yielded full of golden fruits
On the other mountain, red plum blossomed spreading the top
My shadow turned into a Kylin
In the house built with white jade
I wrote down a volume of poetry
Each line of verse is a star in the blue sky
A tortuous, quite and secluded path
Walked through from a garden
The sun shed its golden drizzle
Golden spiral ladders
Was in another crystal sky
I opened my own head
There are more suns
Spinning ,singing
Girl of light, petal of smile
On a lake green-jade-like
Reflecting the red houses
A cluster of green leaves transmit bright red lips
Smiling faces of the alley paved by stones
To where shall it lead me?
Blooming peach tree of early spring
Upon the hillside ,bees of sunlight are buzzing
Through the street of trams and crowd
In front of the glorious and magnificent mansions
Look up forward a piece of crystal blue sky
In the thoughts of white clouds
Is the city beautiful?
Along the street of billboards and neon lights
Big trees covered with green hair
Enable me miss the distant mountains and the clear springs
Children’s smiling faces are no unfamiliar
Black jade eyes, pink lips
At this moment, men and women flow stream endlessly
It was fashion and vanity that noised the street
I planted myself here
Left a thousand shadows
To cultivate a thousand gardens
To pave the gold onto road like the stones
Let every stone melt into crystal
In wind language there were sounds of stars
Rocks and pine trees of distant mountains
Poetry rhythm of the sea
There were underground buried dreaming words of ancient people, blooming red flower
And there were remote poems I eager to go back
Every single green tree beside the street loves us
Under the hot sun, wordless green shade
Every flower has its own language
People with crystal eyes
Will see flower's smile
Ah, every time the sun rises
We all woke up from death
The dead us,where have been kept?
Do not belittle a stone
It hummed the song of universe
The young girl's smiling face of the very days
Turned into a white cloud
Upon the mirror face of the sky
All the saints could be seen
I was silent in the fire, went through
The flame of men and women
In the high streets and back lanes of cities
Wind of time blown colorful flags
Under the blue sky, river of life is flouring and rushing
I tried to open the memory door
On another planet
Leisure and happy time
The night of death subsided
And on the red clouds of dawn
Golden smile face of the sun
The initial men and women
Men and women without names
Men and women created God
The initial poets were a couple of lovers
When the blood started to sing
I heard the language of the sun and stars
On some wonderful and joyous occasions the sun smiled outside the window
A young girl walked into your window
Her eyes are two stars
Came from ancient space
How transient this prosperity in front of us
This street, city of labyrinth
The old man sitting on the street playing with chess
Still missing the house of gone away
The young girl of that very year was still walking past the street
Only turned into a transparent shadow
Tomorrow is in white clouds' hometown
Tomorrow’s sun is still smiling and silent
Every moment of mine is departing me
Big birds of time were darting in the sky
Brightly coloured feathers
Glitter in the sky, knowing nowhere to leisurely fly down
In a palace
I’m an old man, sitting on golden chair
Missing me
I walked into a stone
Saw another sky
On a vast sea
There was an island of peach flower
Days of riding a Phoenix
Where are my companions
Walking on the street of Wangfujing
I miss the Yellow emperor riding a dragon up to the heaven
Light is my only food
Light of the sun, moon, and stars
Became my bones
Ancient Greek and Rome
Is now in front of me
Poems of Homer and Sappho
Turned into my sweet spring
Many countries I travelled
Flying in the space-time of words
A thousand years and ten thousand years
Made me lament: transience
And now every drop of blood today
Is all a ruby
Every inch of the land I've stepped on
Is all ancient gold
Whose jade body am I walking on?
Ancient sweet and beautiful songs
Enables me fall in love with the ancient girl
In a transparent jade
Will your laughter be preserved?
Sometimes on one star
I saw your beautiful face
Ah, golden words
Stars of east and west
How many poets’ kingdom they have entered?
Strings of shining glorious names
Engraved on the chest of the sun
Upon the ocean of the sky
How many happy gardens are there?
I'm just fluttering away
Making a temporary farewell from the mundane world for a millennium
When Sappho returns again
A new song must be chanted
Days of labyrinth in front of us
Time played the strings of the sun and the moon
Words flied from the stars
I walked into the days of phantom overlapped
I can’t tell the past from the future
Now I’m alone and unconventional
And under the sun I lost the shadow
Is this body accompanied me
The narrow boat of time?
Above the waves of the Three Gorges
I galloped forward
Understand the songs of green shade
Drink a wine of silent time
A golden daisy
During my mid nap
Turned into a girl
Poplars and willows on lake shore stand by each sides
Are they still waiting
The lovers strolling in the evening?
The sunset is waving a handkerchief of twilight
The light of love
Is soaring in the clean breeze
Pairs of star eyes
Where are they twinkling today?
On whose forehead they are inlaid
Singing and chanting to me now?
I stepped across the gates of light
Having no idea where to wake up from drunken sleep
In the labyrinth weaved by the light
Drink up the sweet wine of words to my heart’ content
Those golden smiling faces
Come from east and west
In the kingdom of poetry
Bosom friends and partners everywhere abound
I lingered about in day times
Opened doors and windows in the wall of light
Had a sweet deep sleep in the white jade case
Dreaming of my own footprints
Radiating golden light in the sky
Loneliness became God
Will loneliness hear the words of sky?
Swim across the long river of shadow
I’m a shadow forgetting himself
In a house by the street
What kind of time there have been ?
Every day on the earth
Flame of time, burns endlessly
Let red lips of lovers fade
Black hair run into dust
Smell the fragrance of the mud
Whose love do you think and recollect?
Everything is colorful and transparent
Every stone keeps its own memory
A pile of shattered stone statues
Smile at me in the sun
Maybe we'd known each other a thousand years ago
Blood of stone is golden and transparent
Time flower is gold and precious stones
Where are the charming figures today?
Left rolls and volumes poetry of light behind
Those shadows are still brilliant
Vivid and bright-colored as ever in transparent words
A withered flower has a beautiful memory
An instant bloom embraces eternity
Memory walks to memory, where shall we go?
The first drop of water turned into an ocean
All things I witnessed come from the past
Tomorrow will born in my palm
By whom the chess pieces of the stars are driven?
In whose eyes the earth is also a chess piece
I watched my own life on the earth
Drinking water, having meals, heart full of yearning
Another me perhaps always keep me accompany
Only he knows my secrets
Words I said may have been said
Roads I traveled may have been traveled
I seem to be repeating one by one the me of the past
On my tired days, eager for fall down and die
Like zhuang Zi, became a free butterfly
As soon as I wake up, I see the sun
Auspicious clouds spread their fragrance beside me
Rivers flowed out from the embrace of the mountain
Again back to the ancient sea
My memory ocean maybe is just ahead
Where is the time hidden exactly?
Come with no sign and go with no trace
Upon the mirror surface of time
Only see my own shadow
My songs can be heard by the stars
Walk on the city street
White clouds walk with me
I walked into a church
Caught a sight of Jesus holding a baby in his arms
God stands in heaven,waits and watches us
My god is myself
I sat in the heaven, looked at myself
A big seven-colored bird
Spread the wings of sky
Watched me walking on the earth
Death' black night curtain
Covered heaven of gold and silver
At this moment where do I live on earth?
Drink up all this glass of wine
Blood of time is brewed into nectar
No time for hesitation and hovering
Not to be sad in the face of heaven
What cannot be retained is the shadow one after another
My songs are a paradise that will not wither
Who is not hungry and thirsty in city desert?
Colorful sand and gravel accumulated into time
Flame refined out transparent bones
Drink the bright jade body
More brighter and glorious than diamonds
In pavilions of sky,read volumes of golden books
In time and space labyrinth,write volumes of poetry
In the world of mortals, who is my bosom friend?
Caress a street tree, listen to the whisper of the green leaves
Transparent crystal world, countless brilliant smiling faces
Open the wall thus can walk into
A house full of laughter
Tomorrow is just a landscape
Long has been hanging in the balcony of sky
The sun walked forth and back in the sky
Made tomorrow’s lunch prepared
Let me sit down and caress the time’s silk
Cut it to make you a new dress
Walk into the bosom of the sun
Through the flame
And turn into a beam of pure light
Glass of the blue sky, melted in the flame
You will see the young girl singing on the star
Garden of earth blossom once again
The human world is full of transparent butterflies flying all around
Labyrinth city, colorful river
Wind blows flags of dream
In whose blood the ancient song is sounded?
The Hurrying footsteps beat the drum for an expedition
Those eyes glistering starry bright
Seems contain ancient sweet spring
A seed of gold
Is sprouting on your palm, full of bloom
Beijing, August 1998
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
a sense of calm it's bad art on muted walls carpet meant to lull you into a sense of calm as long as you don't mind being fucking crazy the chairs might as well be a bed of nails and not the kind of nails you would like leaving marks on your back ---------------------------------------------------------------- much better off i gave up smoking nearly fifteen years ago my doctor says i should be happy that my lungs are much better off i laugh and say the weight gain and the bitter asshole deep within killed happiness years ago i'm sure one day he’s going to tell me to take some pill he knows currently i'd sell them ---------------------------------------------------------------------- searching for a vein i'm losing my interest in life all the beautiful women have already said no hell, even the ugly ones aren't interested anymore pretty soon, i'll be alone and searching for a vein but i know my luck the first one won't kill me my soul likes the taste of agony --------------------------------------------------------------------- enjoy it while they can the winter doom and gloom piled a few feet high in every parking lot we haven't seen it like this in years the kids seem to love it at least the ones that are too young to have to shovel the driveways and sidewalks i give them the look that means to enjoy it while they can enough years in this place and you'll understand why i have a bad back ----------------------------------------------------------------- that first kiss snow showers in the morning turn the ac back on by the weekend getting lost in the memories of the first love that first kiss the first time fooling around under the bleachers life was a problem for everyone else back then and now you realize you haven't seen each other in over a decade time doesn't heal it eliminates breaks every soul one second at a time
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) was raised by wolves but graduated high school with honors. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Yellow Mama, Terror House Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Poetry from Peter Cherches
Scream! It is better to scream than to be screamed at, So go ahead and scream! Scream for every kernel on every ear of corn in every cornfield in Iowa. Scream for a time when gold doubloons are no longer necessary for the short-term rental of a phosphorescent tree house in a virgin wood. Scream for all the catatonic pilgrims on the road to nowhere. Scream for Christopher Marlowe. Scream for Philip Marlowe. Scream for the amoebae, the protozoa, the paramecia. Scream for all the juke joints in all the emergency rooms of all the papier-mâché palaces. Scream for the glen plaid-clad elocutionists who come knocking at your door. Scream for all the dead pet turtles flushed down the toilets of New York City by indifferent children of the sixties. Scream for the plumbers. Scream for the right to whimper. Scream for brushes, and bobby pins, and carburetors, and noodles. Scream for the sad, abandoned clam diggers. Scream for the wall-eyed pike, because if you don’t, who will? Scream for an end to calcified beginnings. And scream for those who’d rather you didn’t. Just get out there, Open your mouth as wide as you dare, And scream!
Peter Cherches’ next collection, Things, a mix of prose and poetry, will be published by Bamboo Dart Press in April. He has published widely since 1977 and boycotts all journals that charge submission fees.
Peter Cherches’ new short prose collection Whistler’s Mother’s Son, available now!
Poetry from Bruce Roberts
It’s Hayward’s Fault! Hey there, We’re neighbors, you know Yes, in fact I run right through the heart, of the Heart, Of the Bay. That curb that’s broken, That fence that’s shifted, Those cracks in your plaster— Yep, that’s me. No one pays me much attention— Though they should! Attention follows my cousins, Loma Prieta, 89, and San Francisco, 06. But before 06 I was the talk of the town. “The Great One,” you called me, And I’m still here, Right Here, In the center of every thing you love! Loma Prieta was near Santa Cruz,60 miles away! San Fran 06 wasn’t even in San Francisco, But offshore, out in the Pacific. Yet I’m right here, snaking my way along Mission Blvd. through homes, freeways, churches, hospitals U.C. Berkeley even, And frankly, your inattention is beginning to bore me. Make no mistake, I’ve been bored before, October 21, 1868, To be exact. The cure for boredom is excitement— and boy did I deliver! Rumbling, roaring, reverberating-- I twisted, I turned, Toppling chimneys off walls, Houses off foundations, Two stories became one, Large cracks split the earth, Springs went dry, Springs gushed forth, And the ground undulated-- Wave after wave Upon nightmarish wave: Taking life from many; Sending some into such panic That they lost their mind Before, satisfied, I settled, Once again. There were few of you here then, But now there are millions— MILLIONS, AND I’M BORED AGAIN! Hey, did I mention that we’re neighbors? Close, close close neighbors! The Challenge The challenge, Spoke my cousin, Is for me, a practiced poet, To write a positive poem About Trump. “Huh?” I gasped, Write something positive About the pathological liar? The lifelong crook? The egotistical egotist? The defiler of our democracy? Hmmmm! But then it dawned on me— I never liked George Bush, But when compared with Trump, He seems a shining star. So thank-you, Donald. You are so bad, You made even Bush seem good. Putin on the Ritz Vladimir, oh Vladimir, Oh have you met Vladimir, Vladimir the DONald’s idol. Vladimir, oh Vladimir, Trump thinks that he’s such a dear, To Donald, dear Vlad is vital. Vlad hacked Hillary so Trump could win it all, Trump just won’t admit this, He’s bursting with gall. But he’s now the puppet, In Vlad’s gaming hall He’ll sell, us out, to Vladimir. Vladimir, oh Vladimir, Oh have you met Vladimir Vlad the great PUPPet master. Vladimir, oh Vladimir, Trump thinks you’re hot, Vladimir, He cares not that you’re a bastard. But Vlad has dear Donald, Right by the short hairs, He wants NATO weakened As much as he dares, And Donald will help him Like nobody cares Cuz he’s under the spell of Vladimir! Vladimir, oh Vladimir, Trump thinks of you like a mirror, Thus you must be the best of them ALLLLLL, Donald thinks that Vlad likes him Because he’s so smart, He can’t comprehend That Vlad don’t give a fart, That Vlad’s only goal Is tear NATO apart, Trump’ll help because it’s Vladimir.
Poetry from Mubarak Said
A Dream In a Requiem it reminds me the time I took remnants of my soul—to sail the river of memories, to the world where deads vomit tears and saliva, where a river has nothing to offer but a skull of its dead son. I, once heard a story of how the soil married a seed; and how men enthroned themselves to the bed of kings in the hell. when the clock is asleep— men grow wings to witness how an anthill transforms into mountain–how it bloom flowers that turn red, pink and blue, black. now, tell me how our name fades & how we'd paint our eyes red? Mubarak Said is the 3rd runner-up of the poetry category of the 2022 Bill Ward Prize for Emerging Writers. His works are forthcoming and published in many literary magazines national and international as imspired magazine, Afrihill press, World Voices Magazine, Icefloe Press, Literary yard, Beatnik Cowboy, Piker press magazine, Teen Literary Journal, ILA magazine, Icreatives review, the yellow house magazine, williwash magazine, Pine Cone Review, Synchronized chaos, Susa Africa, madswirl magazine, Applied Worldwide, Opinion Nigeria, Today Post, Daily Trust, Daily Companion and elsewhere.
Poetry from Tajudeen Muadh Akanbi
OUR HOME IS BLEEDING
And night comes like a thief, with a gentleness that caresses
the eyes with a gleaming broken ray written on a brittle glass
disappearing into the horizon like broken sparks of flames,
and then night falls like stars ready to devour our hopes.
The afternoon is dead with barrows lurking in our palms ,
Our dreams down like a warzone burnt into ashes by the
Bombings in our tongues and throats which our hearts can only hear.
It is a cold coming, our dreams of having a brick over our dangling head,
Ready to be broken into pieces by the muzzle under the bomb of bazooka.
Let there be hopes as the gwagwalada river flows in the tacit lust of
Our cauliflowers_ drips of the night’s velvets on our sparkling rivulents.
Can we be pieces and faces bonded by unity and aspirations of better future?
Can we be the race with our wings not sunken with only dreams?
Can we be the home to the sweats and blood of our own self?
After this and thats, we could only cuddle our broken spirit in that cocoon
Buried underneath our blankets.
Let there be a NIGERIA with realms of aspirations in our blood,
Let the great labor of our heroes be not in vanity washed in pain.
Let there be a nation free from the cuff of servitude and pain.
Tajudeen Muadh Bayo, lightening pen X, is a poet from Nigeria. His works appear forthcoming on magazines including Afrihill Press, Scars Tv and others. He’s also a member of the Hilltops Creative Arts Foundation.