in her stanzaic hair toss, tones of lexical marigold,
of holofoilhydrangea? Hair a sensory brushfire?
Amen, announce the birdcall
of her oratory. In torn patches
of evening light, she is interpreter
to Plato’s star, scrunchie sewn
to the circadian coordinates
of her compact sound mirror.
Orgone instructor at mute noon,
her mind on the pitching mound,
baseball’s borderlands her first life.
in the outfield’s scattered glory,
sky spattered like a fresh Pollock,
blown like his sifting static sands
in i grovigli dell’anima. Amen, announce
her birdcall in kairos, white jacket, her
second skin read casually. I know that here
is Woman made manifest, marigold
maeanad, incorporeal; face blazed
on a C-note, sinking in a sleepy jukebox.
her lucid lyric one of sight through
one shock’s refractory tempest.
John Thomas Allen is a 41 year old poet who is interested in experimental poems and particularly speculative ficton and poetry. He lives in Upstate NY, and writes almost every day. Some things he sits back and laughs at.
Loucif is an Algerian writer who grew up in a family of many members and lived in a house left over from the houses of French centenarians in the neighborhood of arches. Her passion began with telling oral stories to her two sisters before bed, her mother realized her talent and she loved nature, flowers and squirrels, she frequented the school library and read novels in French. She dreamed of becoming a journalist and used to take this profession as a child, she used to make her notebook a microphone and talk to some of her family members. Her writing style caught the attention of her teacher, who registered her in a literary competition and won first place at the age of 12.
She published the novel “The Legend of the Squirrel” in 2016. Another novel “Virginia Park” was published in 2018. She published her first short story collection “Aboud Cannot Endure the Whip” in 2021. Her play “Dance of the Puppets” was adapted from her story “The Puppeteer Moussa and the Others.”
The Squirrel was a bestseller with Golden Jerusalem House, which accompanied the author over nine years of participation in book fairs. This novel was selected in the literature of young people through a competition in which the participants of the Ajlana Library participated and in which a boy and two girls won. As for her collection of short stories, she presented critical readings by critics from Algeria and the Arab world. Among her global achievements is the book Together All of America by the American principled writer Kogetim Hadjari, which she considers Turkish in her honor.
Currently, she is a writer and has a fictional novel The Legend of a Squirrel published in 2016 and signed in front of readers at the International Book Fair in 2017, then presented a romantic novel entitled Virginia Park, then presented her collection of stories Abboud does not bear the whip. Currently she works in the field of cultural journalism in Al-Masar Al-Arabi newspaper.
She won second place in the Arabic Story Competition by the “Narrators Sing” club. Her story “The Squirrel” won first place in the “Tell, Scheherazade” story competition. She received honors on Press Day from the Governor of the state of Médéa. She was honored in children’s literature with a squirrel statue for her novel “The Legend of the Squirrel” in June 2024 by Dar Kuds.
I wonder why the Native Indian dream catcher is made as it is.
Does it have a web to show the Complexity of Life,
Yet show all are connected because it is made of a single string?
Does it have a frame of a hoop as the Cycle of Life,
Holding it firm and intact, without a beginning and no end?
Does it have the feathers, for the heart to be always Light,
Dust away all that is evil, all the fears and worries and other negative spirits?
I know not, but a dream to catch I have,
May it be sieved in the web to cast the pride and selfishness away,
May it flow continuously in a hoop of hope,
And may it fly with bright feathers way up high
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.
Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
I remember a whisper I heard when I was seven; a uniformed policeman was addressing my aunt, with whom I lived. “Your brother, Mrs. Allen, was killed in an automobile accident last night.” Aunt Livy’s only brother was my dad, Tom Lewis, Jr. I was named after him, which made me Tom Lewis, III.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and then screaming. I remember worrying about how Aunt Livy was taking the news, but then I realized that the heavy breathing and screaming was coming not from my aunt but from me. But nobody else could hear it. They paid me no mind.
“His body was taken directly to the mor- gue, Ma’am,” said the cop. “There was just no hope. I’m sorry.” She said some- thing like, “Yes, that’s probably for the best; I’ll phone the funeral home this afternoon.” What I thought I heard was: “Yes, indeed, Tom should bring around $1.49 per pound at the butcher’s; and I’ll see to it that Mr. Lindsey doesn’t put his thumb on the scale this time!”
I startled, stared disbelievingly at Aunt Livy but her face was the same as always. The conversation between the policeman and my aunt continued for several more minutes with no further surprises. I took a deep breath.
“I’ll get out of your hair now, Mrs. Allen; I know you must have just skads of people to contact.” What my aunt then said was, “That’s correct, Officer: his ex-wife, our parents, his work, there’s just a hundred things to do!”
But, what I thought I heard was: “That’s correct, Officer, I have calls to make, invi- tations to send out, caterers to call, for the huge party we’re giving in celebration of my brother’s passing. You and the misses should come, too.” I didn’t hear his re- sponse but she added, “Don’t bring a thing; we’ll have noise-makers, balloons. I think we’ll even have fireworks.”
As he turned to leave, the policeman swiveled round to me and said, “Take care, Young Man, things are going to be alright.” Then he smiled and left. But, what I thought I heard him say was, “You little shit! If I catch you out after curfew, for any reason, I’ll tear your heart out!” Then he grinned grotesquely and left.
When the cop had gone, Aunt Livy, who had been my guardian all my life, since even before my mom and dad split up, said, “Well, I guess you heard most of that, Tommy. I know it’s not easy to lose a parent–or a brother–but we’ll manage somehow.” She smiled sweetly at me.
But, what I thought I heard her say was, “Now I’m stuck with you, you little parasite!” She drew her finger to her chin, thinking. “But it might not be all bad: I could get his house!” And she smiled sweetly. It was at about that time that I began in earnest my life-long love affair with Lithium and Quaaludes.
