THE NIGHT BOAT

If anyone asks,
I will say it is not an adventure
Setting a boat in an evening tide,
But on a misty morning
With agile waves
With no clear figure
What the day holds in her folded hands is
This is to say that,
It's better to travel at night than in the day
Because, that was how my grandmother was taken ashore 
And she didn't return
And when I will visit the Island in the future,
I pray that I row in a night boat too
Without our soul sitting in the dock, a leg in, a leg out
For that costs twice
To put both legs to sea at once.

HOCUS SCOTUS 
             I'll Ride that
Kangaroo with or without the
                 Gavel.

EASE UP and JUSTICE is
       NATURAL with 
UNCONDITIONAL LOVE 

These poems were composed by means of a deterministic process called Natafero. Birth/death dates are used to create a number sequence which is used to read through a source text in which words, and or phrases, are extracted, creating a found-text poem.
 

delacroix

France,
settings,
saw brushstrokes
looked	for
restrained	Romanticists
turbulent	contemporary
Flemish
The Greek’s Romantic movement :

painting.”

was he
the enduring Delacroix
vivid		lasting		proud
the lions almost decorative

well
lived


 
hopper


had study
Although
styles			effect
was began to

who of work

Railroad,
From whether New
even all-
       night	own
by example
suffused dark
despite
palette,

 
o’keeffe


O’Keeffe
individ-
      ual child
York.

of ideas	friend
Alfred
influential
seen later,
that	personal
promoter
O’Keeffe	stark
of there
inspiration
close-
ups compel
new	the shadow.

the simple austere

'Fist'

Somedays, my anger is like my fist
And believe me it's always clenched.

I'm afraid of opening my hands
'cause I might sprawl a disaster

Most time, I hold my tongue-tied
as best as I can
and believe me I try to stop my speech
and hold my breath
'cause if I didn't
I would have said 
'Fuck you'
a thousand times.

    Adesiyan Oluwapelumi

a passion for life
 
she has this
listless look
in her eyes
 
i once saw fire,
emotion, a passion
for life that burned
like arson
 
the circle is closing
 
death is inevitable
 
only the lucky ever
die happy
 
the rest of us can
only hope to find
something that
isn't too painful
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
pure fucking misery
 
here comes
the rain again
 
a hot august
thunderstorm
creeping along
 
pure fucking
misery
 
one of these days
i'll be lucky enough
to fall asleep in bed
and never wake up
again
 
of course, that kind
of wishful thinking
hasn't got me anywhere
i ever wanted to be
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
hole in the world town
 
i never understood why
anyone would want to
live around a ton of
people
 
whenever i travel south
for one of my mother's
medical appointments
 
i see all the traffic
 
all these overpriced
houses
 
the schools aren't any
better and neither are
the drugs
 
i'll take my little hole
in the world town and
just be fine
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
this is my life now
 
sitting in the car
 
watching it rain
 
insert random
healthcare facility
and any day of the
week and this pretty
much is my life now
 
and i don't want to
come off like i hate
taking care of
my aging mother
 
or that my life would
be oh so much better
if i was the rich one
instead of my sister
 
the way the choices
and consequences
came down were
how it was meant
to be
 
i accept that
 
but i'd be stupid if
i wasn't planning
or at the very least,
dreaming of what
my life will be once
death enters the picture
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
like some math equation
 
not sure how many
times i'm going to
know i'm ready to
die for it to actually
fucking happen
 
even my patience
for that is running
out
 
i wish this was like
some math equation
which would mean
life would be the
answer to this shit
 
sadly, i know that
isn't the case
 
if only...

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is currently trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Terror House Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Misfit Magazine and Mad Swirl. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Shooter Two

Today, another school shooting

imagine yesterday, the nineteen

children were being themselves

ready for school, and this close

to the end of the school year.

Imagine their plans for the new

free time. Imagine this morning

as they got ready for the school

day, their last school day. Now

imagine the young man who was

planning to do what he did and

having some goal in mind. What

was it – to kill a group of children,

or to shock us once more, or was

it some sense that there was fame

to be had in a mass shooting, or

was it an elaborate suicide, a very

public suicide, instead of just going

off alone to shoot himself. It isn’t

hard to imagine the aftermath for

this school shooting. We’ve become

used to it all, the news coverage and

all the politics of them – it’s election

time and this plays well in certain

parts of the country. We’re just getting

ready for the next one.

 

               Shooter Three

At first his plan was to “kill everyone”

but that changed as he planned –

“everyone” would take too long and

take too many bullets, so his plan

came down to killing fewer people

but also killing a moment and a mood.

So there he was disguised and well

armed, well-aimed up on that roof

overlooking their parade, a sniper

like the military snipers he had seen

in movies, a sniper with his private 

mission. After seventy shots wildly

shot from his perch, after seven were

fatally shot and thirty others shot, he

in disguise blended in with the fleeing

crowds, as if he were one of them. But

it didn’t take them long, first his picture

and then the scene, the picture of him

being arrested, driving the car they knew

he would be in. Now he joins the ranks

of recent shooters – Buffalo, Uvalde Texas

etc., a growing list of people and places. And

maybe they will kill us all, the “everyone”

he was/they were originally after.

My Apologies to the Lizard

I, reluctantly, sprinkle lethal crystals or pellets as death sentences for the unwanted to later find –

I sprinkle them onto the floor – along the baseboards…

Creatures that crawl, crawl upon the floor – into my apartment – and they cannot smell the poisons awaiting them –


and I very much wish they did – I wish they could smell the poison – so they’d turn away – and live – and not die – and not die because of me

_____



My efforts were ineffective. So, I call in the expert…



The Orkin man visits my home and I welcome him –

He has a canister that rides upon his back – with a long tube that distributes the poisons –

Spray, spray – and they die – spray, spray, and more die following

He smiles – he’s a nice guy and he’s providing a service that makes it possible for his family to eat


“It’s there”, I tell him, while pointing at the small crack in the flooring that leads to the outside wilds beyond my apartment. “That’s where they come in”.

He nods his head intelligently. He is the professor of execution - a promiser of a pest-free existence (and I cannot help but appreciate him and hate what is happening) –

He shakes my hand and I shake his in return, with a manly grip –

No more creatures smaller than I am –

creatures without a visitors pass or my permission to enter –

I am god, judge most high and a disappointing and ineffective savior for bugs and insects – and I very much do not appreciate these roles

_____



Hours later, there is a lizard on my bedroom floor. And he is not moving

Lizard - I wasn’t trying to kill you – I promise – I was trying to kill something else –


Roaches and mice (not the cute ones at the pet store – the diseased ones that run in the walls) and little bugs that crawl on the floor and in the windows by the dozens – gnats? tics? – I don’t know what they are.


Why did you have to enter my apartment?


The Lizard is dead – Lizard, you are dead

You’re on my bedroom floor –


And I’m using a tissue to pick up your limp body – and I am so sorry -

My apologies.

I know it’s not fair – I wasn’t trying to kill you –


Why did you have to enter my apartment on such a lethal day?

________



My apologies to the Lizard

_______________________________________________



Connections:

Jumping Cows and a Moon Made of Green Cheese

 

I ask her what kind of animal she’d be

if she were not human and was an animal

She says, “a chicken” and I ask her “why (?)”

She says, “she likes to travel” and I like her answer

and tell her I’d be a wolf and she asks me “why (?)”

and I tell her, “Because I like to dress up like my grandmother”

And she smiles and says she understands

 

She likes floral patterns for wallpaper

and I like roosters or apples – at least for the kitchen

Roosters or apples, surrounded by flowers

-         and we both shake our heads in agreement

Red apples, red and brown roosters

and flowers neither red, nor brown

Yellows, blues, and purples – all blistering, bright and brilliant

Illustrated color panels stick to the walls, agreeably

and we smile in unison

 

“I’d be the number 7”, she says, and I ask her “why (?)”

“Because it’s prettier sounding than six with twice the syllables”

she tells me

“I like 7”, I observe – then think of the number 42

I say the two-digit number aloud

and she smiles again. “It answers everything (!)”, she exclaims

and I tend to agree – and return her smile

“If the devil is 6 (?)” I say and she replies,

“If man is 5 (?)” and then we both immediately realize

we are a perfect pair

 

I like watermelon – seedless and in July

and I learn she prefers other melons

throughout the year

-         honey dew and, and on occasion, cantaloupe

 

We, then, slowly walk - in opposite directions

both of us glancing backwards at the other – despair settling in

“If he only liked cantaloupe (?)…”, she pondered

“If she only appreciated watermelon – on a hot summer’s day… (?)”, I questioned

So, I huff, and I puff, and she runs like hell

avoiding the traffic – the best she can

 

I, frantic, run into a tiny house

inhabited by a posse of men shorter than I

and a woman unconscious – in a coma (?)

lying on a bed, frighteningly pale

“One of the pigs is over there”, one little person exclaims

“She likes bricks”, he tells me – and I, too, like bricks

 

So, I begin the short walk to her abode

and will ask her if she prefers pie or cake –

and if she says “pie”, I hope she’ll choose cherry –

and, if she says “cake”, I hope she’ll say “lemon”

 

And, if she then adds, “with whipped cream” or “with extra frosting”,

I’ll gladly listen to her oink –

every day and for every night for as long as we both shall live

 

-         and I’ll never eat her

 

I promise