Poetry from J.J. Campbell

Author J.J. Campbell

Author J.J. Campbell

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) was raised by wolves yet still managed to graduate high school with honors. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Duane’s Poetree, The Rye Whiskey Review, Mad Swirl, The Beatnik Cowboy and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
——————————————————————————————————
louder and louder
the few
friends
i do have
are worried
that my end
could be near
i think they
have noticed
when the
chatter about
suicide gets
louder and
louder
the demons
are starting
to win the
war
———————————————————————————-
a good night of sleep
i probably haven’t
had a good night
of sleep in over
twenty years
and people can’t
understand why
i don’t mind the
thought of death
——————————————————————————
light jazz
my mother asked for
light jazz as the music
for her MRI today
yet another sign that
she’s slowly going
insane
————————————————————————————
a darkening planet
fifty dead
out of fear
as a white
man
i laugh at
anyone
who fears
a darkening
planet
they obviously
are comfortable
with their history
of course, i knew
i needed to learn
the real history
not the bullshit
they teach in
school
——————————————————————————–
an old pair of shoes
i don’t mind being
lonely
it’s as comfortable
as an old pair of
shoes by now
it’s when a beautiful
woman shows interest
that i start to ponder
the thought of change
thankfully, they are
usually guys from
africa hoping for
a payday
so, the thoughts
never last long
————————————————————————————–
J.J. Campbell
51 Urban Ln.
Brookville, OH 45309-9277

Poetry from Gloria Lopez

PURIFIED

Lake Chabot, Castro Valley, California

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

Joan Beebe (left) and fellow contributor Michael Robinson

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

Mahbub, a Bangladeshi author and English teacher

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

Chimezie Ihekuna

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.

 

 

Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope

After The Ride by J.R. Conway
After the Ride is the sequel to Greyhound Therapy and picks up right where the other ends in a very smooth way. In After the Ride we are introduced to Kenneth Boutros who has PTSD and was placed on the Greyhound bus to Sweetwater County to live at his uncle’s ranch. When he arrives he finds out that his uncle had died and another relative paid the back taxes and bought the ranch and does not want Kenneth there. The sheriff finds out the reason is a major chop shop operation. The reader will be taken on a thrilling read that will keep him/her riveted to the very end. This would be perfect for older teen to adult. I found it to be a very exciting read and absolutely loved it.
From Religion to Science by Lawrence H. Wood
This book brings the subjects of religion and science together, from the conception of science as a worldview and how it differs from the basic fundamentals of the Christian religion. A lot of scientists are atheists and can’t conceive of any of what the Bible says as truth. This book is very interesting in that it states how life evolved from one single organism, according to the scientific explanation. This book also gets into the study of the tectonic plates and the movement that causes earthquakes. This book is filled with many scientific facts and explanations. It is perfect for someone into the sciences or just starting them. I, myself, found it very fascinating.
The Future of Nigeria by Michael Owhoko
The Future of Nigeria is an updated version of the original book. It has been updated to include new data on the economics and political forces on the people of Nigeria. Instead of moving forward as a country, Nigeria is lacking in progress. The author goes on to say that Nigeria is encouraging relapse instead of moving forward. The current federation in Nigeria is not working so that the country can progress. If Nigeria does not move forward it could collapse as a nation. The leaders must listen to the people if they want to see any improvement. This is the perfect book for readers who are interested in reading books about other nations.
Bitter-Sweet Sugar by Nowrang Persaud
Nowrang Persaud grew up in poverty in Colonial British Guyana surrounded by his very loving extended family. This is his autobiography, starting from when he was young and living in poverty through his adulthood and how he worked hard to climb out of poverty. He has great respect and love for his mother who worked hard as a weeder on the estate to take care of all of the children and husband. When his father became a driver, they were able to move into an independent house. They finally had floors and a bathroom in their home. This is the story of how Nowrang worked hard and persevered to become a teacher and work for the UN and other very important jobs. This is a very uplifting and interesting story of his life. He overcame so many hardships with hard work and pure determination. I found it very interesting and can honestly highly recommend it.
The Lumpa Rupper by Tina Heinrich
The Lumpa Rupper is an extremely cute children’s book. It is about a Dachshund named Fee Bee but also called Fee Fee who is very mischievous. The illustrations are bright and children will be excited to look at them. They will love the story and will want to have this read to them over and over. I absolutely loved this and very highly recommend it.
The Adventures of Flopsy and Flathead
This is also another cute book by Tina Heinrich. The illustrations in this one were drawn by her son when he was 10 years old. It is the true story of their hen house and the two chickens that made it and hatched. Little children will absolutely love the drawings and the story itself. I also found this one very delightful and highly recommend it.