black cavities outside the hospital empty corpses compliance ... cries for help getting louder burning flames outside the embassy a soldier protesting blood-stained gown behind the window a gasping doctor ceasefire ... a man in the rubble collecting body parts
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Devika Mathur
Deprivation- The touch was clear. It asked for something else. Something more pure and crystal. Transparent as my sister's fingernail. I create muses in the air and talk to imaginary situations. Pets, people- furniture and sky. I bang utensils on the table and chew table cloth. With shapeless nights and foamy mouth, I say my prayers and chant all the Buddhist sayings. Deprivation—-- a long pause. From the sky like a circular topology. From inch to inch, moving gently to nowhere. Now, I see television and dance to sepia voices, lost sounds or perhaps to kettle whistle. I do not remain a body. Shifting towards a sanguine night sitting on a Jasmine. I discard everything. All and everything. Devika Mathur resides in India and is a published poet, writer, and editor. Her works have been published in The Alipore Post, Madras Courier, Quail Bell, Modern Literature, Two Drops Of Ink, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane's Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave Heart Review, Whisper and the Roar amongst others. She is the founder of the surreal poetry website "Olive skins" and writes for https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/ She recently published her book "Crimson Skins" and her five poems were also published in the Sunday Mornings River anthology and has her works upcoming in two more fierce anthologies.
Poetry from Mark Young
America’s / culinary roots / & Caribbean flavors Ignore the variable sample size, even when there are such influential outliers in the data as the Dearborn Truck Plant, an upscale specialty sandwich concept shop unmatched by any nearby drug store. I have been guilty of eating the odd haute/uberchic/upscale sandwich myself! The Kill- deer & Canadian Geese that nest on its green roof can be dealt with by rule-directed searches through mutation sequence space that incorporate energy production as well as food producing facilities. It will be days before authorities can determine the cause of death. Materialist hermeneutics The oven is a resonant space within which I can move easily. I put an egg & some hotdogs in- to it; what comes out is expanded & dynamically rearranged. Each time it is the event itself which operates against the ego in order to make room for deconstruction; & in doing so, opens a window in which to explicitly address the techno-sexuality of the digital page. Sousa phoned Snare drum undone is hum- drum until rimshot or paradiddle pokes noise into its silence. Such a puzzle, perhaps part riddle. Stick figures giving flesh to frame- work. Is con/ un/drum. Cultural artifice Gerbils are not for- bidden, nor are the latest Broadway refrains, even when played on rubber violins. The conservative Ordnung that guides Swartzentruber practise is still moderate enough not to alienate swing voters. Attracted by it he started back for Cedar City. Rarely is the Toreador's song more successfully achieved. Pectoral No content at the moment but later will be. It's possible the ultimate constituents of the planned structure might consist wholly of senses or concepts but it's more likely to be hot muscle car babes with great curves that love muscle cars & the guys who own them. Surprising how fish survive so well in what must be a harsh & hostile environment.
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
sadness becomes loneliness it's the laugh, the gentle i love you late at night, the warm embrace and suddenly remembering how many years it's actually been how the touch of a woman is nearly foreign to you now hopeless should never come up when you think about sex sadness becomes loneliness before you even realize the world has left you behind -------------------------------------------------------------- start the weekend a thunderstorm before the morning coffee not exactly how i wanted to start the weekend but you're old enough now to know you don't get to choose such things your place in life doesn't allow it -------------------------------------------------------- two vapid souls shuffling down the boulevard a skeleton of a man thinning goatee and hollow eyes holding hands with his woman a soul crushing blonde light years out of his league most assume there are two reasons why she is with him girth and wealth most assumptions are true more than we actually realize two vapid souls searching for a better tomorrow if such a thing even still fucking exists --------------------------------------------------------- a zombie apocalypse the muse believes she can't trust me during a zombie apocalypse that makes me laugh she apparently doesn't understand that i will be dead before any of that ever happens zombies, an apocalypse, or a glorious heel turn more pressing matters are at hand as usual like rent, taxes, a check engine light that always seems to come on at the least opportune times not to even mention where one might be able to find some non-toxic land to grow food or whatever else --------------------------------------------------------------------- a soft rain in the sunshine two loose shits within five minutes of waking up jack daniels for dinner strikes again a stray cat comes to our backyard looking for birds or some food luck never appears in this damn town a soft rain in the sunshine a lonely woman wonders of a better way to die here comes a daydream meant for a better soul the cocaine always runs out on a tuesday night right as she starts to feel ok with doing it for money once again -------------------------------------------------------------------------- J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Black Coffee Review and The Asylum Floor. Rumor has it that he might have a joint chapbook coming out this summer with Casey Renee Kiser. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Poetry from Stephen Jarrell Williams
Think About It Turning myself inside out for you so you can sniff and contemplate if I'm worth a smoke all my jokes meaning more than tears and you're beginning to understand my love is beyond endless and more faithfull as the spin of the earth and beat of stars so come and make us as one.... A Way Home Let's run together quick step and jump holding hands over this nervous world sun tanning our bare backs and rumps easy breathing and laughing with no fear we will be like children long before the aging of flowers their scent stopping time in awe so smack your lips we're going to kiss a sugar dream lasting forever! Flight In the air floating I'm your hero and you're my Goddess clouds soft stopping when we want lying upon them sunset's far reaching fingertips of warmth we dance naked into a night sky of teasing stars. Created And when our dreams melt we will float in the sea under the night with the coming dawn I seeing you and you seeing me soon in heaven where we were created to be. Stephen Jarrell Williams can be found on X Twitter @papapoet
Poetry from Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa
No Love to Go Back How can we go back To what's gone and done It's hard to be blind How our hearts changed Don't know what to do Feelings may've been true All is past behind All is done and gone No way to go back I have known back then The day it begun You said you love me How our hearts changed Don't know what to do Feelings may've been true Case of infamy Life ended the fun Have I known back then Heaven is for us But I did wonder When we're together How our hearts changed Don't know what to do Feelings may've been true There's no forever So I did wonder Is heaven for us I have lost your love Nothing's left for us Knew would never last How our hearts changed Don't know what to do Feelings may've been true All is in the past What else's there for us I have lost your love No love to go back... Pained Memories I tried to go back Through my life story And it's hard to say Hindsight's not a thrill If only you know That it's not funny And I won't complain Though it makes me chill - I've felt ever since Day you came along Said you'd stay a while And be here with me You didn't tell me That you can't belong And I trusted you Believed all you say - Heaven is for us But I did wonder If we're together When we kiss today Love can't ever be There's no forever I cannot insist I get what I may - I have lost the past Knew would never be All that's left for us I wish not to see 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.
Poetry from Graciela Noemi Villaverde
MINSTREL OF WORDS His sayings crashed against the walls His anguish was no more than another new frivolous tape, crowning a brain who played the game of errors Eloquence is not enough The heart oscillates tonight and slides off the edge of an eyelid, Wavering in the swamps of petty goodbyes, Mercy... For the man who passes free from your shadow, free from you Mercy For those who analyze the foam of the underworld Wizards of the spike, Bonfire Bird Embalmers Memory footprint ... Frozen His revolution celebrated the apotheosis of life in decline Meanwhile, she continues to dream of a bed laced with rose petals. She keeps forgetting the reality of her always coming back to a life full of sunshine. GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina. Based in Buenos Aires, she graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, which have been awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers .UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. Commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.