Christina Chin / Kimberly Olmtak
a graceful hand
whips the tea
I sip the aroma
the pulled heart on
matcha latte
spring garden
my small balcony
adorned with sweet alyssum
an enchantress bouquet
bees and butterflies
sweet pea
a sunseeker
climbs up the trellis
sea breeze and coffee
on the patio
Turkoglu
The smell of victory comes from the footsteps of the Turk
Listen, talent grows from every word of the Turk
One nation, two states are crying out with your breath,
Burn and destroy those who fought against your homeland,
Türkoğlu! For thirty years, Karabakh has been groaning underfoot,
Our heart is in ruins, our land is in ruins, it cries for help,
Lands full of martyr blood look shorter than you,
Ildirim, go to your troubles,
Turkoglu! Say thank you to the land and give your blood to the land
He who puts on his homeland’s clothes and gives his life to his homeland, Rising willingly to the summit of martyrdom,
Get into the enemy’s chest, indelible mountain,
Türkoğlu! God shared his unshakable power,
You declared your bravery and courage to the world,
Fight for summer history with your blood
Tax the flag to the victory summit,
Türkoğlu! He stands straight like a lion, a Turk’s head does not bend.
It fights to destroy its oil, it knows no fear,
Know that the country is indivisible, know that martyrs do not die
Feel sorry for the court of justice, Türkoğlu!
Poet-publisher, author of five books. AYB and AJB, Iraq Turkmen Writers Union, Central Asia, Yeni Avaz, Historians and Writers Member of the union, from 2018 to 2022, editor of the “Azad qələm” newspaper, from 2023 to 2023 “Literary pearls” journal from the province installer and chief editor. 2020-ci year KĪVIHÍ’s Rəyasət Committee “Poet of the Year” media award by decision, In the 2021 year, Central Asia, Yeni Avaz, Writers and Historians Union’s Əmir-Teymur fund The “Turan Unity” medal he established, In the year 2023, she was awarded the “Heydar Summit” honorary diploma and many other honorary diplomas.
Scribbles
[Written at a Boston-based writing group and included in Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self]
La vie
Ah, la douleur de la vie;
So sorrowful this life can be,
We live in a constant that is uncertainty,
Waiting to awaken each morning can be tiresome,
Waking from a nightmare can be winsome,
‘Til we see the dreadful daylight of reality!
Yearning to sleep;
Daring to wake;
What comes next?
Life is but a haste!
Bird Bath
The mockingbird emerged from its bath,
Singing while in sat on a raft,
Looking into the distant path,
And poised with some sass,
Swiftly flew off in a fit of wrath!
Insomnia
I dreamed I had insomnia
And birds of prey roamed
‘Round my sphere
My heart rhythm’s tachycardia
Abided in a bed of fear…
I dreamt I slept with insomnia
echoes of children
Resounded like nostalgia
My senses somewhat forlorn
Yearning for the years bygone
Wishing to wish away my melancholia
I dream of sleep
Awake I weep
I dreamt i prayed
My soul to keep
I fell asleep
Or so it seems
Wishing to weep
For my esteem
Alas to sleep
Perchance to dream…
What Place is This?
Surrounded by a shadowy grey environ,
Sitting cross legged on some ground,
Looking up in a circular motion,
I wondered why there was no one else around…
Yearning to hear a sound;
Something has blurred my vision,
Suddenly I hear a pound,
Could thunder be a thing I found?!
Alas…The dawning of my wakening,
I am living in a cloud!!!
Jacques Stanley Fleury is a Haitian-American Poet, Author and Educator. He holds an undergraduate degree in Liberal Arts and is currently pursuing graduate studies in the literary arts at Harvard University online. Once on the editing staff of The Watermark, a literary magazine at the University of Massachusetts, his first book Sparks in the Dark: A Lighter Shade of Blue, A Poetic Memoir was featured in and endorsed by the Boston Globe. His second book: It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories is a collection of short fictional stories dealing with the human condition as the characters navigate life’s foibles and was featured on Good Reads. His current book and hitherto magnum opus Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism, A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism explores social justice in America and his latest book, “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” along with all other previously mentioned titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, Porter Square Books, The Grolier Bookshop, Goodreads, bookshop, Amazon etc… His CD A Lighter Shade of Blue as a lyrics writer in collaboration with the neo-folk musical group Sweet Wednesday is available on Amazon, iTunes & Spotify to benefit Haitian charity St. Boniface.
Waves ripple
The dark and the sea
spray surrounds us
as a salt water
sky burst would
We can hear
the rocks below
breaking open
the energy of tides
exhaled from within
plosive as the wind
Iridescent
eyes of wild animals
amid the rain forest
trees
the real ones
and the imagined
carved from wood
or hewed from stone
All the paths forward
are overgrown with
mutating plants
stinging weeds
and poison ivy
pointed stalks
glow-in-the-dark
earthworms are trail
markers showing us
the way
Overcome by weariness
while walking without
a clear sense of purpose
or direction
we sit where the deer
lie down
feel our dreams
become an invasive species
inhabiting all
the exposed places
in our bodies
Lying still is
impossible
Our skin moves
without us
The transition from
sleeping to waking
is inseparable
are two indistinguishable
states
while walking
we enter a maze
of feeling
that seems to be
a physical one
where paths intersect
and lead nowhere
We wonder if there
is a center
if the center will hold
Feral
Other than the argot
infused standing
water
we have had nothing
to eat or drink
for days
Now we know
how it is to be
feral
unsure of what
or when we will
eat next
or if we will be
eaten in turn
We are reluctant
to gorge on wild
fruits and berries
having heard stories
of those who ate them
went mad
and died
We wonder now if any
of the stories
we have heard are true
We will have to wait
for the second act be-
fore anything of import
happens. The open-
ing is purely scene-
setting, inserting a
whiff of color to whet
the tongue, a round of
self-aggrandizement
to pleasure the author.
Under armored
Born
without a
larynx she
could not
call out
to say
she was
drowning
so signed
frantically &
invented
swimming.
Word marinade
He took the word
& left it overnight
in a marinade. Soy,
grated ginger, a
thin-sliced bird’s-eye
chili that he’d picked
from the garden just
that morning. Made
no difference to the
meaning, to the re-
sonations; but, oh
boy, did the kitchen
stink & produce a
steady flow of words.
The / I Ching / in the Fall
There is a
continuity
in the
natural
order. First
the leaves
fall & then
the stems
that they
were form-
erly part of.
Some temp-
oral over-
lapping. The
stems lie
in the pool,
on the path.
Yarrow stalks.
Cast &
counted. Con-
fusing hex-
agrams. Too
many answers.
Too few
questions.
You / could have / knocked me down
The ridge of up-
right hair made things
easy for. Distinctive or
prominent, given to
a number of
guests & held
in a public
manner. Gorilla war-
fear. Gratifying. But
only to those who were
affected by some terminal
payment. The remainder
reluctantly signed
their names to a petition.
The second autumn of the Blockade was coming. Our second house was also bombed. Since it was made of wood, it burned down to the foundation. Not only clothes and some other things were lost in this fire, but most offensively, almost all our family photos and some documents – everything that was saved in the spring from the Petrograd apartment.
After that, we lived with some relatives of my father for a while. I don’t remember this period so much, although it foreshadowed the end of my blockade story.
It happened in a completely ordinary way. It’s just that one day after school, my father told us:
– Volodya, Alexey, we are leaving.
The mother and sister were already aware, the youngest was unconscious after another illness. And we lost contact with Ivan and Leonid a few months ago.
We decided and were going to drive fast, literally during the day. That’s how the Blockade and my childhood in Leningrad ended for me. I didn’t know if I would come back then or not, what my life would be like next. But there’s something left in that city, maybe it’s a part of my soul.
Christina Chin / Jerome Berglund (italics)
calm lake surface
the low clouds touch
white sandy shore
cement truck spinning
weathercock still
the noise
at every house
new swallows
square roots
doll hair
sneezing
cleaning too much,
cleaning too little
why is my house
never clean enough?