spinach lego the sheep rock was a milo the salt of the feather that dart is a broth of the coin the true eye of the ironing head the shamrock shoe monster the walter koenig of the island the wheel of the montgomery is the clue the rainbow of the motel meal the wolf warns us of the war a nike of the world is the camel of the brain if this is the green rope in the dollar book of the charmed breakfast the healing episode of the martian letters the corner of saturn’s face the nine of the winter the sun tree of a while ago the clean motel of the raisins the apple of the white squall I’m gargling with pennies cape sanka (the tattle is the bough) in the moon morning thru the window, parmesan a real rain garden is the color of the music I wiggle my toes in the magic sauce when I do nothing to stop that apple of the iron a toad is the now the ankh of the heart of the salmon that hum is the name of the grumble scopey toe, a rowe a glimpse of the sugar bowl the pollen of peculiar pointing this is the shield of the shamrock ceres is my name I plug the draft of the wig I eat the honey of dawn I was standing, understanding that planet is the pear of the game the known world is the suffering noun to learn of the nothing the science is the nearness google a number bio/graf J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poetry has appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His poem, “to mask a little bird” was nominated for Best of the Net in 2021. Visit http://MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.
Category Archives: CHAOS
Screenplay from Chimezie Ihekuna
Title: Christmas Time
Adapted from a book by Chimezie Ihekuna (Mr. Ben)
Screenwriter: Robert Sacchi
Genre: Drama/Family
For reviews, production consideration and other publicity, please contact us through the email addresses below:
– rsacchi@rsacchi.20m.com
Synopsis/Details:
Christmas Time! Is a collection of short stories that reflects the mood of the season-Christmas-as it affects the lives of people who have appreciated its worth. From children to young adults, it mirrors, in the form of stories, the ordeals people go through to observe the yuletide but the encouragement they get, the courage they summon, the inspiration and the motivation they receive leave footprints of happy endings-celebrating the season in delight.
“A Christmas to Remember” tells a story of a certain couple, Frances and Sean, whose over-the-years Christmas celebration routine was cut short by the inability of Ron, Sean’s long-time friend, to pay back his debt as at the time stipulated at the time. His whereabouts weren’t known, and this subsequently brought hopelessness to Sean (though he had some ‘belief’ that something would happen) until the eleventh-hour miracle…barely two hours before Christmas-the 25th day of December. His twin daughters witnessed it!
Chapter Two shows the sudden end of a relationship that existed between Sandra and Grace when a skater, disabled in physique, hit Sandra on their way coming home from a shopping mall, after the purchase of their favorite clothes, Grant’s Designer’s Blouse. This was seven days to Christmas. Grace’s sudden departure from Sandra’s life paved way for James, the skater, whose life experienced a meaning…seven days to Christmas. It continued afterwards…
Chapter Three’s “I Love Christmas” portrays the boy-in-a-man figure in Mr. Ted whose ‘boy-child’ manner was inspired by the statement his five-year-old son, Grant, made, ‘I Love Christmas’. . The way Mr. Ted and his wife celebrated Christmas as their son had fun with his peers, was a scene to behold!
“Your Christmas View” is a play depicting how the long-held ‘tradition’ (yearly hosting of the event-twenty four hours before Christmas and at their various apartments) by Yates and his friends not only ensured the proper view of Christmas to readers or listeners but enabled him and his wife, Michelle, to be in the ‘business’ of putting to proper perspective the view of Christmas in the life of their twelve –year-old daughter, Jasmine using what we recorded the last time the event was hosted- ‘Your Christmas View Hosted by Yates’.
The feel of realness in the stories harmonizing with their messages, and the unveiling of the article: “Christmas: Recognizing its true worth” birth…Christmas Time!
Hotel Eternity by Rus Khomutoff
Hotel Eternity TO EXIST BETWEEN ETERNITIES WILD NOTHING LIKE THE EYES OF THE SKY AXIS INFINITY DICTIONARY OF OBSCURE BLISS COME FORWARD WITH YOUR VISCERA AND VIOLENCE AND SHARE MY WINGS UNLEASH YOUR SPIRIT BENEATH THE RAMJET ALLEGRO TEMPLE OF THE NIGHT SKY A NEED FOR MIRRORS AND COUNTLESS SKIES SHAKE YOUR INFINESSENCE SLOT CANYON HIGHBREATH NARCOTIC ERUPTIONS CLOUD NOTHINGS EXOTIC PULSE A NAME BEYOND DESIRE SEMAPHORE SIN PLAY AT YOUR OWN RISK TALKING TWILIGHT INTO A SPHERE OF YOUTHFUL SYMPATHY RIDES THE THIEF OF YOUTH THIN AIR ADDICTIONS MELANCHOLY BODY SACRILEGE TATTOO HIGHWAY INSOMNIA PUNK TEENAGE BLOOD REPETITION OF A THOUSAND HUNGRY EYES SOMETIMES WE ARE ALL ETERNAL IN THE CONSTELLATION OF MIDNIGHT MOSAIC FACTION MY GREEN UNQUEEN GALLERY CRUSH HYPERRITUAL AUTUMN CRY OPULENCE LIKE A TRIANGLE AND A DUEL SOME TALK TO MEN WHILE OTHERS TALK TO GODS DANCE IT VISCIOUS RIDDLE OF THE SANDS CHAMELEON CHARADE STAR CODE CHALICE ASK THE DESERT ORACLE THESE POISON DECLARATIONS THE REAL UNREAL CONVERSATIONS WITH A NEW REALITY NATURE’S SYMPHONY DRAFT INTOXICATION
Poetry from Mahbub
The Music of Pain The music of pain springs from my face Everyday every moment the rosy brightness fumbles My fly ball dream crumbles I die and hover in the darkness Oscillating to the light or shade Eyes fixed at the faraway ancient days Through the wafts of flowers in the morning air Once we walked together the long line side by side Hand in hand Eyes into the eyes All on a sudden my soul mate slipped away Dashing me into this grave state of mind I would like to find out the answer Why and how? Again and again I get back in silence No reflection from the waves of the river Padma or Mohananda My eyes dropping as the rain from the sky The music of pain springs from my face Everyday every moment the rosy brightness fumbles How scorching the sun of the noon! Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 10/12//2020 Good Bye - Saint Martin Gazing out at noon I turn back again and again Through the window of the ship on departure My loving travel spot I'm leaving - breathing sad on the flowing waves How wonderful the sky! How wonderful the blue water! The ocean blowing the same like that time When I came here a few years ago How change I look to follow The Resort Buildings, the schools, the madrashas or the bushes, the corals, the shops, the life of the people, the palm and other trees Thinking all suddenly my eyes caught up three ocean birds over Saint Martin right at the point where water and the land joins, just one or two kilometers distant water The Three Heavenly Birds welcome me flapping their wings, soaring high and getting down once for all. Where I go, where I come, I do not find the destiny I look out the vast sky, the vast water and look on me O Birds, Can't I reach you? I don't possess the wings to fly to thee, my love. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 11/12//2020 Love Streaming in Rain You are not that rain Touching my face flies away soon A gust of wind leaving me alone Can you, dear? I know, you can't You are my rain pouring in torrent Drenched in love, the land with its glow The new blades of grass and seeds In every season and out of season The flowers blooming in the sun Bestows in happy ending. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 12/12//2020 The Paharpur Buddhist Vihara Thousand -year- history hidden in every brick bond O Paharpur Buddhist Vihara, the rock in the moon The light you spread once all over the South-East Asia continent Still now flowing on waves of the ocean Standing still with the glory of the long past Kissing the shore of the Bay of the Bengal The magnificent building and the lofty head over time All the sacred gods and deities preserved so nicely in the protective glasses The museum surrounded with the beautiful garden beside the monastery The World Heritage Site -people from all over the world Visit and sigh - for all its religious practice, education and astronomy Other sectors of secular arts, culture, science and wisdom Really even at this time when only its skeleton lives A place now fully rural but then a kingly state Shines the kingly body, the gigantic brilliance Aristocratic, splendid and grandiose -it was as it were a dream The king Dharmapala established this kingly monastery (c.781-821) A center for the saints, teachers, bards, and many other fans and followers Pilgrimage as it was, it gained the cultural value with its teaching-learning process The Great Buddhist and the two scholars- Silabhadra and Atisa Dipankara Among many other renound teachers enlightened its atmosphere Every brick and the dilapidated structure seem to cry for the glorious past You stand so high; the pinnacle wants to kiss the sky Tourists come; tourists go but the waves of the vast ocean Never stops to flow. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 12/12//2020 The Kusumba Mosque Bees are swarming over head To enter inside the mosque through the arched door I startled at the sight of the honeycomb Here and there one two three four in this way They are flying and buzzing before my eyes I went through and looked into the time 1558 AD. The reign of Ghyasuddin Bahadur Shah, one of the Afgan kings of Bengal Built by some Sulaiman following the name of the village, Kusumba The interior isles, bays and the half round domes can enchant anyone visiting the mosque The surrounding stones blaze the tradition to generation after generation The large pond in front of and the trees around with the sweet note of birds I think of present and past for those who would come to pray And collect the golden nectar praying to Allah Bees are swarming over head - honey filled in the honeycomb My mind fringed with light and strength. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 13/12//2020
Poetry from J.K. Durick
Family Tree
This time of year I envy the treeless families
Their empty yards, dying and dead grass
Waiting for the winter coming on and
Spring not far behind
But us tree families spend our time trying
To clean up after our family tree
Our ancestry, its ancestry on display
So there we are, rake in hand
Piling up the debris left behind by just being
Being there
My family tree with its high branches
We like to look up to, and
Some low branches, so low I need to
Bend almost in half to get by
And then there’s that part we’ve cut away
Over the years, a regular bald spot looming
Larger and larger
Something I’ve inherited, like trembling hands
And these malformed feet
This time of year, walking backward raking up
Conjuring up connections to this
Mysterious ancestry, piles of leaves
So much to clean up
That
I envy treeless families.
Leafmeal Lie
At 10:06 this morning a leaf fell from the maple
Out front. Saw it from the couch, looking out
The storm door. It fell, it floated down ending
Its season, its cycle on the ground under its tree.
It must have started like the others, a bud-like
Growth, the kind squirrels will eat in the Spring,
But it survived, grew, felt all the Summer heat
And the drought, the wind, the heavy downpours
And then this Fall weather, the chill, the falling
Away of its many companions. Then at 10:06
This morning it ended its cycle, its seasons, it fell
Floated to the ground to await its fate. Perhaps
It will be the mower turning it to mulch with
The rest, or maybe it will blow up the street, mix
With other leaves, get raked, get bagged, get
Carried off and composted miles from here, miles
Away from its tree. Or it could just blend in, lie
Flat, avoid all of my attempts to get rid of it, and
Then lie flat as it gets colder, begins to snow, and
Spends the Winter wet, frozen under the snow
Till Spring returns – and I’ll be sitting here on this
Couch looking out the screen door, waiting for
Something else as momentous to happen.
Cramped
No need for an alarm anymore
Or any of the other sounds that
Used to wake me: the sound of
My sons getting ready for school
Or my wife crashing away, trying
To fix our world before heading
Off to fix the world of her work.
No I don’t need any of those any-
More, this morning I woke up to
Leg cramps. My left shin, or was
It my right cramped into a pain
Strong enough to wake me, get
Me up hobbling around the room
Hoping to end it, to satisfy what-
Ever imbalance that set it off. It
Worked, I was up and the cramp
Toned down enough to walk on.
It was morning and I was up for
The day, without an alarm or any
Of the other distractions that played
That role. Online they say that my
Cramps are common for aging adults
And athletes. Never was an athlete
So I fall into that fifty percent of sixty
Plus year-olds who suffer these cramps.
It’s good to know I fit into the statistics
With about half of my group. I’d like to
Picture a chart somewhere, some med
School showing the percent and perhaps
A diagram of an aging cramped shin
Waking an aging adult instead of his clock.
Final installment of Z.I. Mahmud’s thesis on David Copperfield
Preferences Recommendation To Read Dickens’ Great Expectations As Biographical Victorian Classics
Review questionnaire, documenting experiences beyond memoirs journal entries within the novel, stylistically, thematically or in context comparison, drama rehearsals, photography illustration scrap book exhibition and quotation journal fascinates the readers, critics and the classroom environment. Pandemic outbreak disruption unprecedented radio and television learning experiences will flourish with the reading of the text. Public readings from extracts of magazines by Victorian Era’s Charles Dickens can happen in modern times but virtually through online workshops and seminars or symposiums to maintain physically social distancing. Moreover, Miss Havisham’s cleansing symbolizes redemption or salvation of atoned body and purity of soul depicted in the fire: driving beetles and spiders and destroying the faded bridal dress. [Bridal dress symbolically significance of imprisonment]. Magwitch reunion with Estella cannot be evaluated with subtlety since he doesn’t meet her physically but is reminded of her news that she had been alive. Ending of chastened Estella and readers’ guesses can be the subject matter of another great thesis…Pinnacle of elegant society courtship with the periphery of sub urban community.
Bibliography and Further Reading Or Works Cited Or Reference Guidelines
1. Critical Fortunes of Great Expectations, Richard Dutton, MA (Cambridge), Ph.D (Nottingham), is Lecturer in English Literature at the University of Lancaster.
2. A Teacher’s Guide To The Signet Classics Edition of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, Series Editors: W Geiger Ellis, Ed.D, University of Gerogia, Emeritus, and Arthea J.S. Reed, Ph.D, University of North Carolina, Retired. (Laurie Calvert, North Carolina National Board Certificate Licensed Educator Teaching Middle and High School, 2002 Penguin Group USA)
3. UK Essays Website Analysis of Charles Dickens Great Expectations
4. Death And Inscriptions With Respect To David Copperfield, Great Expectations and Charles Dickens, Anna Foley’s thesis submitted in partial fulfillments of the requirements for the Degree of the Master in Arts in English in the University of Canterbury, 2003.
5. The Analysis of Pip’s Characteristics In Great Expectations, Sinchuan University of Arts and Sciences, Dazhou China, Sino Us English Teaching, June 2016, Volume: 13, Issue No-6, Pages no: 499-504
6. Tamai, Fumies, Great Expectations: Democracy and The Problem of Social Inclusion, The Japan Branch Bulletin of the Dickens fellowship, No. 25, October 2002.
7. Studying Great Expectations, Andrew Moore, UK Coordinator of the European Network of Innovative Schools [acknowledged with the epitaph of “Universal Teacher” from Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem, Forst in May, where the poet recalls his own sterile and punitive education as a boy and hopes for something lucrative for his offspring] *This information of Andrew Moore is extracted from The Guardian’s obituary of “Andrew Moore” by Barbara Bleiman and Julie Blake Wed 12 Apri 2006 21:35 EDT.
8. Criticism of Society In The English Novel Between The Wars, George Orwell’s Essays in Criticism
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
beat me to the punch i got my nerve up once to ask this woman to marry me i never got the chance to find out the answer i guess her wife beat me to the punch and on days like these cloudy, gloomy a forlorn sun dying on the horizon hesitation has cost me plenty in this lifetime luckily, my patience is finally starting to wear thin ------------------------------------------------------------------------- missing the batteries watching the people again got an old john prine song on repeat in my head the minutes slip by like a clock that is missing the batteries i see little glimpses of a dark future in each of the strangers that go by i remember a little boy that never wanted to get old he knows now suicide was the only option to make that possible ------------------------------------------------------------------- these old hands of mine you can cut the tension with a knife her smoldering eyes and these old hands of mine i gave up on these dreams years ago the tragic romantic in me never gave up hope hopefully this one breaks me for good ---------------------------------------------------------------------- flows the brightest open your third eye and sink into the void at the time the neon flows the brightest it's a journey you have to go on by yourself the most beautiful woman of your memories will greet you there and explain your failures in a way that you no longer will find the need to hate yourself -------------------------------------------------------------------- the evil spirits within my imagination likes hard liquor the best anytime the proof gets over 100, the evil spirits within me like to start dancing trace every scar with their tongues sometimes i'll close my eyes and i can come down from the cross and actually enjoy the view
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, Terror House Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review and Mad Swirl. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)