Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Gloria Lopez
PURIFIED
I took a walk around the winding path of Lake Chabot,
and all at once, I left myself behind and found myself.
My skin soaked the sun’s warmth
as easily as the mountains were expelling excess water,
as easily as it found comfort in the shadows of the trees.
I walked in the silence of chirping birds,
the serenade of mating ducks,
and the lullaby of buzzing insects.
The roaring echo of distant streams came and went
as it washed every thought out of my mind
and the taste of fresh shrubs replaced them.
I witnessed the wind making love to the treetops,
in fundamental harmony,
as the lake’s water rippled in envy
and the soft, white clouds caressed the sky.
I inhaled the dampness of the fertile earth
until my lungs had had their fill,
and my soul had been purified, breath by breath.
I surrendered completely to the beauty and the magic
that engulfed me in its wake,
until liberating, creative forces ran through my veins,
until photographic stills resembled living art,
and this writing wrapped itself around me.
I lavished in this power
until all the shattered pieces of my soul
came together in the serene, mending fire
and I saw myself whole,
reflected on the water.
©
Gloria E. Lopez
Poetry from Judith Borenin
From the Ashes
For over a week curious swellings converge
and disperse just beyond the scope of my
sight. My cat has seen them too – halting in
mid play – her golden eyes dissolving –
drowning in black pools.
Yesterday I stood beside the wharf assimilating
as much of the sea as I could without drowning.
Beside me – the scarlet remains of a small bird –
intestines strewn around it like some forgotten
sacrifice – hollow head wells of two black holes.
I refused to look away – steeling my veins to be
stoic in the face of such inevitable decay. On
the other side of the wharf a squalling gull
rode the rigid back of an unwilling mate with
a ruckus of white capped flapping wings.
This morning the fog enfolded the wharf with
a distant echo of wings. The little bird was gone.
Canoers – orange jacketed – in synchronized
strokes floated by – shoulders – fingers – oars –
oiled engines dipping in and out to stoke the sea.
Veins a honeycomb of absence – I sit beside
this window watching wildfire smoke and fog
descend like a hungry mouth. I wait here at
the bottom of this well – the cat curled – purring
on my chest. As I bury my cheek in soft black fur
a familiar fragrance lifts – almost solidifies – as if
she had just come from someone else’s arms –
absorbed their heat – its rekindled embers rising –
infused with the aroma of your hands.
Little Lives
The eyes in the dark – the hands
that cling to steering wheels
like scarves wound around
throats caught in the spokes
of speeding tires.
Each little life passing –
cumulous – snug as a tourniquet.
Multitudes of voices – a choir
of laments sung in secret.
The groaning globe strains
to stay afloat on its axis.
It’s for the wounded I weep –
the cuts – the bruises running deep –
the pain that won’t relent – the cruel
voices that won’t
still or repent –
the lies that were invented to keep us
all afloat while we watch the honeycombed
procession of holes buzzing
in the bottom of the boat.
Every expectation slices
knife like within – the blood let
rejoices singing hymns with such
sweet acceptance as it blooms –
luminous and resigned
across our howling skins.
We were spewed into this world –
clawed out way out of pits a spade
could never comprehend. Paced
empty rooms – reclined and rose
up again – turned in twisted sheets
waiting for long and ravenous nights
to end.
With grifter hands the wind rakes by –
its stiff fingers slapping tree trunks –
an old jazz man strumming on fence posts.
What it shakes falls – what it takes crawls
the tattered skies – shuffles down like blue
notes on all the little lives.
Mirror Image
In the bus shelter beneath the thumb of sun –
weighted – pressed down – we wait – seated
reflections in the glass – for the bus to come.
Beside me sits a small bearded hill – soiled
clothes mud caked around him. With each
breath he takes a fetid aroma flumes. We
share hellos. I wrestle with the urge to wait
outside but I straighten my back and remain.
When the bus cuddles up to the curb I take
a seat and a deep breath inside next to a
dirty window and close my eyes. The next
stop a man who spends long nights inside
his clothes steps on and sits beside me as
his fragrance travels on taking a seat at
the back of the bus. Conversations nose
up and down the aisle as if thrust from a
vintage machine. A stray gnat settles in for
a nap on the lap of my white capris. I sweep
it away wedging gnat limbs deep beneath my
nail and on my pants a last breath of crushed
green. On worn blue seats we follow a seam –
stopping at well marked stops – propelled
by a familiar but distant driver who calls out
their names – treadles to start us all up again.
I could ride here forever – the world falling
away in folds like printed fabric – growing
fond of even this aroma of decay. Alone yet
not alone – a face fading in an eternal loop –
a vanishing reflection upon a glass pane.
Poetry from Joan Beebe
A 4TH OF JULY TRIBUTE
On this special day of celebration
We raise our flag in freedom once more
And watch parades with banners flying.
Old soldiers are there too and some are crying.
But we go on with thankful praise,
Because we know the sacrifices made
Some will sing our anthem of old
Then thank our God as the day unfolds.
We love our country so as we look at the stars
On the red, white and blue
And say once again how lucky we are.
To live in this country so beautiful and fair
And we end our day with a special prayer.
We stand as a people diverse in many ways,
But we stand united together under our flag.
Because America embraces all who made
This country so grand and what it is today.
So may America, the land of the free and the brave
Be a symbol of peace to all people of the world
And our flag will stand proudly as the years unfold.
A FATHER’S LOVE
I am watching a father lift his very handicapped daughter
From her her bed-like stroller. This child looked to be around
9-10 years old. She was extremely thin and her
Arms just flopped by her side as well as her legs.
The father cradled her head in his arms as she
Couldn’t hold it up by herself. She was unable to
Talk as well. But the gentleness of her father
Brought tears to my eyes. He looked at her in
His arms and you could see the light of love
Being given to her. Her large dark eyes looked
Back at him with the brightness of the stars
.
Every minute or two, the father bent over her
And kissed her. It was as if the two were one
.
In the father’s look there was no one in the
World except for two human beings in their
Own world of love.
Poems from Mahbub
The Victim of Erosion
Dreams are floating on the river
Cries are pouring in the rain
It is the erosion of the river
Takes away the heart of the people
Transferred from this place to other
A place to the unknown
This is the land of rivers
All goes dry in the summer season
Have been filled with silt and sand
Go full to the brim in the rainy season
Water spread around
Devours the ground
Losing the land and property
Lament for lying in open sky
Not to find any food and shelter
Years after years this going on as usual
We are the only silent visitors
No step to remove the disaster
O dear, come and see the condition
How people pass their time in such miserable condition?
The sky calls to mingle with
Try to fly away with the wind
But they are to remain at the place
As the stagnant water
No way to pray for
Nor way to die for
No way to run for
Ah! What shows the life here?
Always cry out in silence.
The Days Gone By
I can reside on the glorious past
Those moments are not only the moments
Shows the light in my heart
It was the rainy season
The silence of time sweeps on the water
I caught the fishes from the ponds with the fishing lines
Oh how glittering blazed the light in my eyes
Rushed to my mother
How tasty cooked or dried!
I arranged the team at afternoon
Playing football, cricket or badminton
Came back home at the evening and took my bath
How fresh it was my mind and body
How sound the sleep slept!
Now sometimes my heart beats so high
Like to reside on the moments
So sweet, so blissful the days gone by.
Give Me
Give me a glass of water
I’ll quench my thirst
Give me a hand or heart
I’ll cross the bar
Give me an eye for love
I’ll find the way to run
Give me a chance to watch the world
I’ll feel fresh and it will remove all the darkness
Give me the way you don’t mean
I’ll find the right track
Give me a voice soothing or loving
I’ll sleep and find you in my sweet dream
Give me a shade to rest in
I’ll gain the power to live in the green
Give me your dictation
I’ll fill up my blank page
And try to follow them for future
Sound me the mew
I can be conscious to move
Show me the water you flow around
I’ll surely die on the vast world where
The creators will compose so many stories or novels
We’ll quench our thirst for ever.
Death
Death is the cloth spinning to infinity
Over the body it rounds the white piece
Removes the darkness
Death is the vortex of systematic race
Death is not the destruction
A condition to take rest
A nice farewell
We came from the unknown
We leave for the same
I want to be naked to my soul
I want to find my peace to the goal
O lord, deaths are waiting so hungrily
Through me out
Don’t cry for me, dear
We are at the same station to get into
We see ourselves in the middle of swirling wind
A certain place
I do have my belief
Our Almighty will turn us back
Getting together we must lead a peaceful happy life.
The Connection Tower
Facing the sky to the revolving world
You are always busy to connect us
You make the whole world together
O Tower, you catch the voice floating in the air
I am here
You are there
Not at all
We always abide by very near and dear
As lying in the same bed reflecting the image
Both paying loving eyes face to face
We all united one
O dear, you are so near my loving figure
We take our breath sighing together
Stand together, sit by, lie before the same mirror
Folding the physique, imagine the practical
Draw the virtues
Not hundred and thousand miles away from each other
We all walk hand in hand, lie in the same bed
Wake up in the morning under the same sky
O Tower, you soar to the sky
Bound our breast connecting all.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
02/07/2018
Essay by Chimezie Ihekuna
DECEPTION 4
As men, we ought to give into sexual advances to women, whether married or not
If the statement is put this way: As women, we ought to give into sexual advances from men, whether married or not, the male folk will unequivocally have problems with it. Ironically, in loose terms, men generally tend to key into this deceptive assertion. Hence, one of the reasons for male chauvinists treat their spouses less than second fiddles and simultaneously gratify their sexual thirst with other women, irrespective of relationship status. They fail to recognize that the women they “cheating on” have rights to take part in what they seem to derive pleasure from. Without a doubt, the statement “equal rights” irritates them!
Granted, men are moved by what they see and women are moved by what they hear. However, self-control cannot be excused for giving into sexual offers. Some men claim that the reason they give into sexual advance from women is due to the response of “the manhood” to sex-tuning offers from women and assert that the ‘seat of womanhood’ cannot be noticed and hence, women should not ‘enjoy’ such a right as they do. What an alibi!
The statement has two interpretations, that is, “As married men we ought to give into sexual advances from women”. And “As bachelors, we ought to give into sexual advances from women”. Therefore, we will consider them.
“As married men, we ought to give into sexual advance from women”
If you on advocate of this statement, do you believe in the efficacies of marital vows you swore on the altar? Do you know that from the moment you took those vows, you are entitled to sexually submit yourself only to your wife? Are you aware of the fact that marriage is a life-long test of your fidelity? Also, can you remember how sincerely passionate you were about committing yourself (Sexually) to your wife? Have you forgotten that marriage is an institution where sexual, physical, emotional, spiritual and other important requirements are needed for its longevity? If you think that as a married man, you could give into sexual gratification outside your marital convenience, then where have you placed self-control? Apart from that, how would you react if your wife says: “As a married woman, I ought to give into sexual advances from my male admirers”?
It is a generally sorry-case for men who get married without having the necessary knowledge of staying married. Ill-equipped with the necessary skills of managing one’s sexuality, they stumble into the institution, apparently believing their youthful exuberant tendencies will come to a halt but the reverse is the case. No wonder most exuberance – driven men cannot be sexually committed to their wives – they fail to really put to a full stop their care-free sex lives of their youth days.
In a way, this statement has made married men believe that there is practically no consequence. What a shallow thinking! If nothing, think about the guilt you will live with for a very long period of time. Of course, thanks to your judge, your conscience!
In all, if you really want to confirm how deceptive the assertion is, try self-control.
“As an unmarried man, I ought to give into sexual advance from women”
Because you do not have a spouse doesn’t permit you to have “unlimited” sexual pleasures. Some bachelors would say ‘we are for the fun of having sex, since we are unmarried.
By observation, however, they would want to settle down and commit themselves to their (would-be) wives in future. Unfortunately, they fail to build the entirety of their personality; sexually (exercising self-control) and goal-oriented. Instead, they gallivant in the name of youthful exuberance to seek for sexual gratification.










