Mobile Phone In hand it rests, a portal bright, With every tap, it brings delight. Sent, calls so clear, The mobile phone, our modern seer. From dawn to dusk, it never tires, Connecting us with all desires. In a frame, a world's embrace, Our mobile phone, a magic space. Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade nine in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
The creek runs behind my house so regardless of my underuse and has come to disrespect my distress with tall leggy weeds ____ Feasting flurries come lordless and scintillant, picking clean ____ Scream you ever and long from earth no reply but echoes feel right or wrong ____ Presence and a knot -- design intimidates but this strand inviting ________ It gave a gurgling gasp. It would be I purported to have done that … as anyone might. My ground I stood. Yes, I remember. I knew in my current state that the now silent apparition did not beseech; it was only ending my life by mocking the beginning of my death. It had no more to say. Well, now. Hadn't I always said, Death, when it comes, is bound to find me cooperative? The old man that I was began to affect something like a fit of the ague and at last to summon a ghastly utterance of his own, but— And this, dear reader, brings us to present. ~~~~~ Noel Pratt is an editor and writer who finally had it and moved to the country. Most of his schooling has been in theology and theatre, each equally marketable. Pratt also spent time in India and lived to take a fiction-writing course at Santa Monica College.
Never thought there’d be such
variety. All spacious enough to fit
two sleepers, a linguistic search
engine, & several large-sample
latent-variable structural equ-
ation models. Now all I need is
a sports car with a big enough
boot to keep a mid-life crisis in.
suffering solenoids
After rebuilding my bongo,
dry patches appeared on the
once-lush lawn. That’s an
ongoing flaw in poppet de-
signs based on a mother’s
behavior. We often suffer.
KUWTK
Such attitudes are not always
apparent; but the Scottish position
at the Glasgow Conference on
climate change was that vision
of a car driven by a 76-year-old
woman who mistook the gas
pedal for the brake & plunged
into the waters of an obviously
chilly Loch Lomond was actually
shot on a tropical Caribbean island.
audience / ordinance
Capote is dead, a process often
favored by humans. We will
all need to adjust to reap the
benefits. Carbohydrate is in-
creasingly vital, as is prevent-
ing the introduction of foxes to
new areas. Ensure good light.
Insularity is a wasting disease.
statements like individual faces
The premise that the
disciplines of religious
studies are owner-occu-
pied by Taylor Swift is
a redundantly coded
attempt to explain away
any dormitory party
whose theme is structured
around a hypertensive rat.
Count down the fall
Falling There lurks still fall---fall!
And—it keep on to where it stops.
Out fr’ dunder-dee clouditry.
Really? How come?
whack
D’ deh kwyte vertrical roarozontinal fast falling nature of these spouse’s present.
whack
( ) whoooooooooo down past—Top-mayor there?
Where it folds under itself down as far as it can and because’s where you’re fell to.
137 {milliseconds into the fall} nd down in this here clear air no don’t look down ( ) the wind 133 {seconds into the fall} past—log pole’s t-phone factory? Scrappo’s? Did’st thou say—Skrappo’? ( ) of the earsplitting kind? pantography Human nature to just keep on same but; all’d gone and all fall. 128 125 {milliseconds into the fall} Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Bac—
Wow!
Isn’t this game great, great fun?
Yes it’s fun!
—k! Catch! Squeak! St—! Fl’ g’ y’ ss’ is’s—the end—the end—could the end be—really really near? Hot hickory [pillo] Hot hickory [pillo] 105 100 {milliseconds into the fall} there be pillows arranged all out for the falling? There be pillows arranged for the out falling out? [pillo] It bends under its ‘neath and all’s gone and all fall. All stop looking ahead. Human nature. 95 93 91 89 80 {milliseconds into the fall} I trust them they got brains they won’t let that ug uckily happen where on Earth are we destined for That is what happened to this town you know. 75 69 60 {milliseconds into the fall} [pillo] stormbushery’s roll’d over after all floods Pop Cubanore? This that b’ Pop Cubanore? 45 40 {milliseconds into the fall} hast not never seen my Pop Cubanore to dis day [pillo] why you do dis to me Gimi [why you do dis {pillo} to me] eh? Why shmush up me birdhouse, Gimi? Cab Krackelefish’d fer tunas just like deep down off that picture see Gimi just like deep down off that * esh?* This council. whack where on Earth are we destined for b b b where on Earth are we destined for That’s you. 35 22 22 {milliseconds into the fall} Pop Cubanore? This that b’ Pop Cubanore? upcmpashoosh this here tablesplat so; prepare 20 17 15 Why shmush up me nice l’il birdhouse Gimi? Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Back! Catch! Squeak! Step! Fling! Fly! Pop! Bac—
Wow!
Isn’t this game great, great fun?
Yes it’s fun!
—k! Catch! Squeak! St—! Fl’ g’ y’ ss’ please promptly prepare thy d-d-daily 10’s, {milliseconds into the fall} 8’s, {milliseconds into the fall} 7’s, {milliseconds into the fall} and 5’s {milliseconds into the fall} “suh”, prepare thy whatever soooooooo splat hast not never seen my Pop Cubanore to dis day whack whack whack
You stopped watching what’s coming.
SPLAT! SPLATTER
Speakers in S. Rupsha Mitra’s Smoked Frames submerge themselves into intense experiences, questing to understand their true selves beneath waves of devotion. The collection begins with journeys into the physical and emotional self, where we “dream the fetish, to be wholesome, to grasp things together, piecemeal, not smitten by delirium or defences” (Self-Portrait As Navigating Consciousness). Others among the first few pieces explore the heady energy of youth (Springs) and the awkwardness we often feel within our physical bodies (Alien Skin). Mitra finds a sense of peace within her body with time, though, comparing the experience to taking comfort from a religious practice. She becomes able to accept and integrate her body into her whole being. Later, Mitra depicts mermaids as mythologized in various global cultures. Usually half woman and half sea creature, a mermaid straddles (or swims across) the two worlds, and so to be at home in and proud of one’s mermaid existence means being content as a hybrid who defies easy categorization. And Mitra’s mermaids are strong, lively, and confident: Suvanamachha, the Asian Mermaid enjoys pure love with the god Hanuman and blesses the entire world, while Melusine, the European Medieval Mermaid has “free pinions of pride” and “breathes of emancipation.” The poems following delve within the intricacies of the body and its nervous system, the physical underpinnings of our experience of the world. In "Knowledge of the Body", the speaker reflects that she has wronged her physical self through being overly critical and now wishes to “to strip the skin off the ribs and peer at its striking beginnings” and “flourish in this writhing extravagance.” She later applies this deep curiosity to psychology as well in "The Gestalt of Memory" and in "Defence Mechanisms", where she speculates on the workings of the ego she has sought to transcend. Within the book’s final section, Mitra’s speakers journey to sites of historical and religious significance in India and engage in more traditional religious practices. We reflect on the goddess of wisdom, Saraswati, during a puja ceremony, and enter the golden temple of Amritsar, shoes off out of respect. Yet this section also includes the speakers’ personal and family memories and heritage. In Lost in Murshidabad, she listens again to her parents’ recounting of their love story: “an unconditional love that embalms us in the midst of history.” In A Return at Saraswati Pujo, she recollects an argument that became very vulgar before apologies and resolution, but her anger dissipates as she observes sunlight and is “forced to admit that the world is very beautiful.” The titular piece, “Smoked Frames” resides near the end of the collection, among these remembrances of cultural and personal history. It deals with framed photographs, so many and so old that they have been put away in drawers and the exact moment of each scene forgotten. Mitra transcends the personal here and moves to a broader meditation on where and how we will find truth: “would it come as a mystic in orange robes…or as the mad whirlwind of samsara? … or as emancipation from wild enjambments?” She speculates on the divine being “distant yet so close, quite near, within me, (yet unseen within)” in an echo that calls back to the prior pieces on probing the interior of our bodies and the depths of our feelings and psychology. Once again, she is seeking out her truest fundamental self by embracing and accepting the mystery of everything she sees and experiences. S.Rupsha Mitra’s Smoked Frames collection offers us heady thoughts and reflections through the elevated languages of science, courtly romance, and spirituality. The poems become meditations on the search for how to love ourselves and each other through seeking out and understanding ourselves. S. Rupsha Mitra's Smoked Frames can be ordered here.
The Unlucky Sun Forest bandits weave dreams in the eyes of the river The noise of civilization robs the fish of sleep The hearts of the far-near roads are wounded The tree stump is now an ammo Shadow walks on a bullet-ridden leg A changing climate attacks the world of clouds The fetus of poison vapor is in the womb of the sky Discrepancy of seasonal cycles is on the horizon The language of blood in the chest of green grass The Mathematics of Dissatisfaction is on Butterfly Wings Democracies of defeat in seven days of the rainbow Inventions in fresh account books kill themselves Nerve cells in the brain melt in the reproductive system Vascular blood vessels in clotted lesions The calendar is defective in the clutter of days Intellectuals are bought and sold Sometimes the sun itself seems unlucky .
Neven Dužević Southwest of the center Southwest of the center is my neighborhood I went to school there and had a start There was also a cinema there After the second shift I had time there He imagined her and me in the last row All the movie scenes themselves But those are old days More or less, only on the same route Only the Tram knocks He only hides his name What was and is no longer They still walk there My dream mates Boys lost in the years They are looking for Peter Pan They talk about drinking Ribicija and black maca Southwest from the city center It's Trešnjevka...