HOLES

Black holes, 
More holes arise
Your face reversed, a tripwire
Universal effigy, blanket sky of fear
Black holes, blackened tears
In corridors of sunken mirrors
Black holes,
More holes arise
Your face reversed, a tripwire

As you sink into yourself,
The harrowing altar near its tinned denial
Bleeds forth, a faint gospel groaning,
Feebly sowing its half-dripping gourds of 
Dead banquets, questing for loans, 
Boiled and fractally conjoined, icicles of
Ancient guards, umbilical froth
Bursts placards of tired, lost suns
Whipped clean of their ancient morgues:
The bottomed firmaments in the day’s Sickly half-glow

Ripened holes of black,
Denied castellated frequencies,
Unredeemed attics of multiverses seep Disloyal broth,
Animated fugues within horns of rotted Plaster
Wreath the bones of 
Gangrenous gossamer,
As unripe Crowns
Are led down the ladders of gelid stone

They are entombed within spinning gyratory eyes,
To see no further light,
As the black holes eclipse
Themselves
Fully tied

And to your face reversed, a tripwire

More holes arise

Black holes

Black holes arise


Born in Lubbock, Texas in 1984, AG Davis is a sound poet, author, performance artist and composer who resides in Jacksonville, Florida. Davis began his career as a Division I football recruit, having attended West Point for a brief period of time. After dropping out, he earned his degree in English Literature at the University of Florida (2006).

He has written four books of highly experimental poetry, his most recent being published in 2023 through mOnocle-Lash Anti-Press. 
His work often delves into the darker side of the human psyche, exploring the multifaceted realms of psychosis.

Vague

It's morning
Sitting alone in my room
Looking around the outer
Nothing clear through the glass
All seem to be vague in my eyes
In the nature's lap
I pay heed to any sound
Only the birds chirping I can hear
To recollect the past I find all obscure
In this cold foggy morning
The sun has not yet risen
All seem to be hazy
I passed the days 
So many days from my life gone by
Like the broken glass
The world appears to be blurred
In this foggy morning
The more I keep on for brightness
The more it darkens the world
Trembling in cold here in this lonely space
I hear the sound of birds only
What are they calling?

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh,
13 January, 2024.

 

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. 

Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been being published in an International Online Magazine - Synchronized Chaos from America for seven years. 

You are always my hope and supporter,
You are my sun and the light of my heart.
I always melt with you kindness,
I love you for sake of God.

You enchanting face always shines,
I will fall in love with your beautiful eyes.
I love you for sake of God,
And God is in your heart, my righteous.

I will love you till my lasts breath,
I feel loved, when you kiss my forehead.
You are my hero and my brave protector,
I love you for sake of God.

You are the remedy of my pain,
I want to see happiness in your eyes.
I love you for sake of God,
Letʼs value and love each other always.

My literary portrait


I read poetry
until morning
Meeting, love, sweet sadness.
In front of my eyes are bad legs,
Discrased  helpfull grasses.
I read poetry
of songbirds
About free flight.
Afghan birds in front of my eyes,
It pases away in a withered tree.
I read poetry
my grandfather Alpomish!
I swear, we are the sons of the Alps!
There is no Kuntugmish in front of my eyes,
Neither Rustam nor Gorogli.
I read poetry
higher emotions:
Faith, honesty, kindness.
Brothers and sisters  in front of my eyes,
They do not show mercy to each other.
I read poetry
the world is bright.
I'm here, the sky is clear.
It is clear before my eyes,
A world of steppe wolf
I read poetry
again and again.
Loud claps are played.
I have eternal applause in front of my eyes,
Curse the father of clappers.
I read poetry,
deceiving the nation,
Close your eyes to everything.
I do not tremble on any page,

I read poetry and call myself a poet...

Farrukh Amirov
Young uzbek poet 

Eyes and Ears

My bad habit of not using my reading glasses and instead holding books a few inches from my face progressed to reading with just one eye while the other eye remained shut.

The shut eye can no longer focus on anything.

My reading eye experienced a torn cornea.

I started buying audiobooks.  The first book I listened to was about the 1947 Roswell UFO incident.  Decades of research went into the book, and it had a twelve hour listening time, but it took about twenty four hours to listen to it because I’d fall asleep and then have to spend a lot of time backtracking to pick up the narrative where it left off.

Aliens are real, the cover-up is huge, and I feel alone and afraid.

I developed otitis in both ears, a constant itch which, if memory serves, is caused by tiny living creatures setting up nests in your ears.  The prescription eardrops foam up in the ear canal and temporarily quell the itching.  My hearing has warped, maybe from using the drops, maybe from the nests of creatures who’ll never be conquered, who’ll never leave.

The second book I listened to was Liz Cheney’s “Oath and Honor.”  I didn’t fall asleep much listening to Ms. Cheney’s first-hand account of people and events before, during and after the January 6th, 2021 insurrection.

People who love dictators are real, they are many, and they are everywhere.  My warped hearing changed some of Ms. Cheney’s words, making funny phrases, but I understood enough.

Wanting to escape into another world, another time, another place, the third book I’m listening to is a non-fiction scientific exploration of Neanderthals, our much-maligned ancestral cousins.  The book is advertised as taking sixteen hours to listen to, but the charming lady scientist author/narrator sets the scene for each chapter with a richly descriptive tableau of life hundreds of thousands of years ago, and that sends me off to dreamland, and then it’s back to backtracking, so I expect the book will take many days to read.

But am I reading?  Reading with the eyes is work.  Listening is also work.  I’m reading.

Oh.  I’ve developed tinnitus.  My particular noise from this affliction sounds like a heartbeat listened to with a stethoscope.  That drumbeat, and the itching, and the warping of words, might end my adventure with audiobooks.

The Neanderthals, though, I’d like to know how it ended for them, or, rather, how at least bits of themselves managed to survive.

Sure, I’ll take it, what’s the worst that can happen?

Wha’— no-nope hands clasp hard up o’er face and Top-mayor la mayor royam oya y {in any case zink!} gut gone down     e         e   dark ee         dar’       ‘k n’         no never no’        ‘o, ‘t zink      zink down back      Go.      Go        go                d   s  a  o     go         go        how     when       the truth is was once     ‘t       did seem       seme that    back no further and farther to where its so far the black’s not  bl’     why the h’   what’s the worst that can happen   ak’s not black     did things       come    to        ‘ome   ‘t  c’ ‘o this this  n  n n n n n n n n n n n go

—child, what                Sure, I’ll take it, what’s                        child           car        e        di     n’t  car;                                                                ukelele

p                                                            ppp

plump       you ought to be wanting to make something of your life     you I did I don’t matter no did I or not, matter DON’T!   N’ don’ MATTER don’t do as told boy in the field out that side throwing pretend  spear out’s s’ far as possible run over mark run over turn mark back boy ‘d pretty  next contestant Sure, I’ll next contestant    up comes our very next contestant     there’s the window where she’ll be mother will be Mommy Oh Mommy there’s the window where she’ll be okay there they are step’d up back the spear psych up and Throw  there we are back the property line here we’re back in the earliest rock-hard truth we know, b-but NO maybe no hands – what’s the worst that can happen what’s wrong what’s wrong let me help you let us help yo SLAP the hands hot up the face back-snap the head maybe yes maybe no No I am not really here any more how can you help me its a lie you can help me ‘cause no I am not no more here any more I am over there now or maybe back there too but certainly most certainly not here any more can’t you see can’t you see God it’s not even the same now every new now’s every new; G’ how stupid are you see my face see my face   —   b’b the spear’s been thrown no she’s not calling from the window not yet no not yet run there mark the spot and yes yah contestant two is now in the lead GOD its a ‘ow game of competing with myself no no no no no no no there are various selves involved don’t you see no no spear one has been thrown there see it there and then with spear two I have beaten myself no no NO no no NO each spear’s very different if each’s thrown by you and your same the distances would be IDENTICAL would they not be IDENTICAL no no no take your questions away who are you you are spoiling my game bu’ but NO you cannot play a game made for many with just you and yourself yes I can no you can’t {Is mom in the back house shed window to save me (as she saves me out the end ‘f every Hot ‘ummer ‘fternoon +is she or+ is she not or) maybe she is and can’t just be “seen”) oh ma ma Gimi, here I am down here under where in the Ground what the Ground no no rise from the ground get your ass in that window to save me as at the end of all summer afternoons crickets and mice no no no be there but no you are living a lie no no no no NO! I ! won  eoki !!  WON EOKI does not exist! Why’d you lie what’s the worst that can happen why you be always lying no no no no NO! I ! kmer  sdUnnehb sdUNNEHB does not exist! Either stop lying stop lying into me there she is she’s there calling lying into me last she’s calling into me at last cut the damned lying where’s the dinner yet mommy can I escape into the dinner what dinner that dinner every day there’s dinners to put on hide inside of grow fatly all over meistercheives meistercheived he he ha ha don’t blame me blame yourselves, was YOU brought the World Books ‘ Sklyklupedias  in here said read your fill Gimi, read read read up your damned Greed-swillie fill like you do get fat read more Gimi, Uh! read more Sure, I’ll get m’ fatter Uh Uh ! !!!!!!   @crysyalline’s shit-marine’s great bug back’d leatherneck of a Nora-class         GREAT BIG DEMOLITION   charge there that grey barrel  there’s more than one in there too soldier so be doubly aware PING poor    the sun look the Sun is still high but who’s saying

ping

ping

ping

ping

baby  Sure, I’ll take it, what’s the worst that can happen? Come on in, Gimi, it   what where no—the window is empty  no no no it is not time to run throw that spear find the winner got to get to the winner before getting called in why’s that so important oh it is it just is {like don’t step on the cracks (up that long hill up Washington + even when gagging up Coke foam drunk too quick much too [from that machine {in the police station | and do not bounce balls on the way on up Washington : while gagging up Coke foam & not stepping on cracks ‘! cause “ the ball may bounce wild = run you out in the road  <off balance got to get it ^ but off balance Go Down ‘fore > go down ‘fore = go down ‘fore “  the car Great big Dodge eh ‘ great *come on in Gimi* big black blunt old school Dodge bullnose : too late hit the brakes | too late screech the brakes Sure, I’ll *it is time to eat Gimi come* ] too late eh + too late eh eh he hee to ) too two late – Pinc-nez poooo*on*oooooooooooo*in now*oo } out from under there way out from under there all the way what’s the worst that can happen *Gimi come on* out of there Gimi! oh Gimi!  I lost the spear game again God damn it God Come hell in I been calling!       *its time*

God!         

 Why the hell’ve I lost the spear game again God !!

Why the hell you not come in when called by me, Gimi?

I did not believe it was you calling, Ma. I was—

No? Why the hell you not believe it was me, Gimi? Did you not hear someone yell, Come on in, Gimi?  You were back there. I saw you. There’s no way you did not hear it, Gimi. No way!

I did not think it was you Ma.

No—why not? Who else would it be?

I I don’t know Ma someone tricking me ma ma now who ma would be please no ma be lying ‘bout being no no no Ma being Me, Gimi?

Why you lie to me Gimi?

‘aheeeeeeeeee  (0)

Tell me now answer it why the hell dare you lie?

Oke. = Sure, I’ll take it, what’s the worst that can happen? ‘re s i ts in ets in sets in twa’, walls, ellll, lick = mamago, hessss, ARK; gell-ding, nag th’ allereg Canada!  ennacer n’ lipronancer, eh, What? MA! ‘s, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregennacer n’ lipronancer, eh, What? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregennar MA! n’ lipronancer, eh, what? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregnacer MA! n’ lipronancer, eh, What? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregennacer n’ lip MA! nancer, Canada!  eh, What? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregennacer n’ lipronancer, eh, What? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ allere MA! nnacer n’ lipronancer, eh, what? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregennacer n’ lipronancer, eh, What? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregennacer n’ lipronancer, eh, Canada!  What? Yes, gel- MA! ing, nag th’ alleregennacer n’ lipronancer, eh, What? Yes, gell-ding, n MA! alleregennacer n’ li MA! onancer, eh, what? Yes, gell-ding, nag th’ alleregennacer n’ li MA! onancer, eh, What? Yes, MA! ding, nag th’ allere MA! er n’ l MA! e MA! t p MA! ‘a MA! an pl MA! ast MA! e MA! MA! r MA! o  Sure, I’ll  Wishes? what’s the worst that can happen MA! Yup,    Yes, wishes.  Plasterdna-uno wishes. Com wishes. Com wishes, Com-wishes com com com com com Canada Canada Canada Canada comma com-wishes! Plasterdna-uno wishes. anada Canad  anada Canad Done wished for. And wished for.   Plasterdna-uno wishes.  anada ana  anda-a ana B’ never. Bu’ ‘ever. But ‘eve’ never.  Never on never on never on never up-so up-so uo-so nandabunne down’d, no. NO! Always a nope from them from them always a nope on my wishes  Canada!  {Brigg’s Peter}

Bring that here now.

Do as you’re told,

Brung that there them those over here now!

What no three hands? Bah!

Dancer? Just do as you’re told bring all those ones o’er there here top me yes right now!

Yah big Dancer. the worst that can happen? Here’s the real nut of it = problemninmanialle’d up, steam sighhhhhhhhhhhh ook. (Burns) ‘roblemninmanialle’d up, steam sighhhhhhhhhhhh oo’. (Burns) ‘roblem0inmanialle’d ‘p, steam sigh=0=hhhhhhhh ‘o’. (Burns) church parklot’s cellar ahhhhhh! ‘robl=m0inmanial=’d ‘p, st=m sigh=0=hhhhhhh ‘o’. (Burns) up the badmen call the cops! ‘rbl=m0inmanil=’d ‘p, t=m sih=0=hhhhhh. (Burns) yup yup yup planners what we need’s seed some planners seed planners got to seed us down some great big planners what ‘nners? yes right now! whip? No! Th’ Spanish pers near yurk city playce-taaaaaaa B! place t’ be that’s the God damn big best darn-tootin’ place to be ‘f ask me my and that register on the table over there ain’t she a beauty WOW ain’t she a beauty WOW beauty AH beauty AH ain’t she some PAN PAN PAN PAN terrain pull UP terrain pull Up pull UP terrain PAN PAN PAN sort of beauty? Now that’s what we call a beauty herele dish spaces {know ye what ye mean, Pilgrim?} No don’t ye know what ye mean never no, Bimbo! Pilgrim? what the hell’s wrong Bimbo! Pilgrim? wrong with you can’t make up Bimbo! Pilgrim? make up your mind why Bimbo! why the hell can you never make up your mind GIMI Pilgrim? GIMI oh Gimi, why the hell for Bimbo! Pilgrim? for old aunt Petunia even you never seem to Bimbo! Pilgrim? to be able to ever finally what’s the worst that can happen? and Bimbo! and o’ finally make up Pilgrim? Bimbo! make up yer hoooooooooot’n mind, Pilgrim?

Why’s that?

No don’t lie!

Why’s that?

No Don’t lie!

Don’t lie!

Don’t lie!

Never l’

AH!

yes right now! yes right now! yes right now! yes right now!

what?

Wake up you were dreaming = you were dreaming so wake up oh oh

RIGHT THE HELL NOW! sop askin stop asking please stop ploose oh stop all the asking!

MA!

No

Party

Party

Party!

Ah.

Writer’s Block

When I try to write
I sense that millions of readers are
Crowding the paper’s edge,
Kneeling, genuflecting, and lifting their hands
To pray for my poem’s safe arrival.
The moment it looms on my imagination’s horizon,
Gazing at the concept in a diaphanous gown of metaphor,
Young people smack their lips—craving double entendres.
Meanwhile, with piercing glances, the elderly scrutinize
Its juxtapositions and puns.
Then the concept smiles shyly, dazed at seeing them.
On the paper’s lines both young and old meet for a discussion,
But my words resist
And erect walls of critical theories.
Then the paths of personal confession contract,
Contract,
Contract.
My imagination calmly shuts down,
And the conception retreats inside my head.
At that hour, it afflicts my world with
Bouts of destruction.
Workers refuse their paychecks.
Farmer let their fields go fallow.
Women stop chatting.

Pregnant mothers refuse to deliver their babies.
Children collect their holiday presents but
Toss them on the interstate.
Our rulers detest their positions.
Kings sell their crowns at yard sales.
Geography teachers rend their world map
And throw it in the waste basket.
Grammar teachers hide vowel marks in the drop ceiling
And break caesura by striking the blackboard.
Flour sacks split themselves open, and the flour mixes with dirt.
Birds smash their wings and stop flying.
Mice swarm into the mouths of hungry cats.
Currency sells itself at public auctions.
The streets carry off their asphalt under their arms
And flee to the nearest desert.
Time forgets to strike the hour.
The sea becomes furious at the wave
And leaves the fish stuck headfirst in the mud.
The shivering moon hides its body in the night’s cloak.
Rainstorms congeal in the womb of the clouds.
The July sun hides in holes in the ozone layer,
Allowing ice to form on its beard and scalp.
Skyscrapers beat their heads against the walls,
Terrified by the calamity.
Cities dwindle in size till they enter the needle’s eye.

Mountains tumble against each other.
My room squeezes in upon me, and
The ceiling conspires against me with
The walls,
The chair,
The table,
The fan,
The floor,
Glass in the frame,
The windows,
Its curtains,
My clothes, and
My breaths.
The world’s clarity is roiled.
Atomic units change.
I vanish into seclusion,
Trailing behind me tattered moans and
Allowing my pen to slay itself on the white paper.
.......................................................
by Faleeha Hassan
Translated by William M. Hutchins

She is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.

She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is the Pulitzer Prize Nomination 2018, PushCaret Prize Nomination 2019.
Member of International Writers and Artists Association.

Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020, Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021) One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023 Winner of women the arts award 2023 Member of Whos’ Who in America 2023

SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023
Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com