Bad Habits and Old Addictions Just when I think I've finally lost them Convinced they'd never find me again. There's a knock at my door Heavy fists pound harder and louder Yelling for me to let them in Bad Habits and Old Addictions Constantly ringing the doorbell. The Ding-dongs wakes up my weakness The flaws in my willpower now exposed To the uninvited influence wearing down my resistance Bad Habits and Old Addictions I buried them away years ago Must've dug the grave too shallow They've escaped and returned My resolve losing faith to temptation Bad Habits and Old Addictions Our association never matured into a friendship More of an acquaintance of inconvenience at best Stained with bad blood Not one breath of trust Exhaling air of incessant suspicion Bad Habits and Old Addictions Where do I find the courage to tell them I'm more than the sum of my mistakes I'm not the man I once was No longer devoid of self-respect Or a festering scab on God's face Bad Habits and Old Addictions Now my subconscious is questioning my decision Sending them away may be a mistake What's the harm in extending some hospitality After all they've come such a long way I'll tell you why they've gotta get Because one is too many and a thousand is never enough Now head on down the road get your ass out of town Don't ever think of coming back I've fought a long fight to save my soul Surrender no longer an option Confidence in the faith to stay true to my convictions Vete Lárgate Bad Habits and Old Addictions
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Mark Young
Today the post- woman brought me the Lone Ranger & Tonto. Except the Lone Ranger is now no longer alone because he's got in touch with his inner self, & Tonto is a psychic from the subcontinent & not a Native American sidekick. Damn these shades of gray. What- ever happened to black & white, even when / in color? I blame Alan Ladd, playing Shane with that small man syn- drome. & Coop, Gary Cooper, the tall silent one who learnt to talk & went off to mix it with the likes of Picasso. Wasn't a virgin Quaker bride enough for him? You could see it coming as it neared high noon. The hero as a man in black. Do not forsake me, I begged him. Ob- viously he didn't listen. Today the post- woman brought me an unemployed dancing monkey. Put me down as some- one who can't tell a lymph node from a lung, but I think there may currently be a search on for organ donors. Today the post- woman brought me the winter of our discontent, the Arab spring, & the summer of love. Plus an apology from the bookshop for being unable to fill my original order, “The Fall,” by Albert Camus.
Poetry from Faleeha Hassan
Conflagrations You there, seated opposite me, within reach of love, May I borrow your smile Long enough for a poem? Occasionally my sorrow betrays me, And I see you Sailing off, a resplendently silent prince. You are, simply put, my alter ego. You force me to don my disappointments And strip streets of their astonishment. I live with you when dreaming And quit you while awake, To say: How miserable love is to envy us Till we find no legal lifetime in which to confess to one another We’re lovers . . . . . Many peoples were said to agree on this, and Their most forceful version has been total silence; You find no one who substitutes a drizzle of words for it. . . . . How astounding the results are when you’re the one by whom I measure myself, I, who possess more sorrow than I can expend. Note:(Gardenia Perfume) I say your name and acknowledge your existence, not that of other folk; ………… It was said: a woman once donned confession like a sash And met the wave’s crest to announce: “Praise God Who created me with a tongue to voice my love for you, a heart enamored of your shadow, and an eye that sheds only hot tears. Praise to Him for making you my lover, even if you are separated from me and unresponsive to my plea.” Then the sea appeared to her as a question: “Why do I see you dissolve like a grain of salt that water melts with its sigh?” She replied, “That’s because I gazed into eyes you haven’t seen.” . . . . . . . . . . . . The holy fool, strolling through the bazaars of Kufa, would become enraged when he saw her. “You pawn hearts!” He scolded her. “How is it that plains, which only you turn green, are not you? When you’re always waving farewell to us, Isn’t bad enough that you leave us behind? It was said: She turned away from him and ignored what was rumored. It was said: She garnered what joy she could And inscribed her grand names on a plaque She mounted on the back of Separation ….. In another account we find: The holy fool shunned joy for many ages And began to beg for clouds of tears; It was said: banners raised over the heads of the witnesses Still weep bitter letters. Then blistered griefs crush me. Faleeha Hassan is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq. She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She was a Pulitzer Prize Nominee in 2018, PushCaret Prize Nomination 2019. Member of International Writers and Artists Association. Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020, Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021) One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023 Winner of women the arts award 2023 Member of Whos’ Who in America 2023 SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023 Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
Essay from Qurbonova Gulsanam
REASONS FOR MY SUCCESS If a person achieves some kind of result in the world, his parents, teachers, and relatives will definitely support him. The key to my success in life is my parents and teachers. They have always believed in me and are always by my side. They always support me when I achieve something. My father, being a school teacher, created a lot of conditions for us, his children, because they want us to become mature staff in the future.My father teaches physical education, so I have a special love for sports, especially table tennis, checkers, chess, volleyball, etc.I got into sports through them, that is, I took a step and achieved many results, I got 1st-2nd places at the district level, at the regional level. My father always gives me motivation: they encourage me by saying that you can do it, you can play it.My father is happy with my every achievement. I always try to make my parents smile.I always want my parents to be proud of me. My teachers are also the reason for my success in life.To this day, I have learned from many teachers.including my first teacher Pirmatova Shoira. She is the person who introduced me to letters. She made me interested in knowledge from my youth. Another teacher of mine is Saidov Javlon, a german language teacher. I see this person not only as my brother, but also as my real teacher. Through him, I gained a lot of knowledge and achieved results.For example, in the 9th and 10th grades of German language, I took the 2nd place in the district and region and received a monetary award. In addition, my school team and I won 75 million soums. The main reason why I won these awards is my teacher.I think that these achievements are a great achievement. Even now, I regularly practice german with my teacher.I try to live up to the trust of my parents and teachers. My future goals are that I will always help others in life, find my place, become a professional specialist, and strive to be the child my parents dreamed of.I realized in life that when a person wants something seriously, he will definitely achieve it, because such a desire was born in the spirit of the universe. Every person was created for this reason in life. If you set a goal, you must achieve it, so do not stop working.The whole world is with you, don't forget that. I would like to thank the people behind my success and give them a reason to be proud of having daughter and students like me. QURBONOVA GULSANAM Ilhom daughter was born on April 16, 2006 in Dehkanabad district of Kashkadarya region. She is currently studying in the 10th grade of school 68 in Dehkanabad district. She has achieved many achievements to date: in education, sports and others.her articles are published in international journals.
QURBONOVA GULSANAM was born on April 16, 2006 in Dehkhanabad district of Kashkadarya region. She is currently a grade 10 student at school number 68 in Dehkhanabad district and is proud of the regional German language. She has also achieved many results in sports, table tennis, chess, checkers.
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ the neon nights of my youth listening to an old elton john song thinking of the neon nights of my youth where the drugs lifted me to endless heights where the drinks made me invincible where women seemed to still be interested where the yellow brick road seemed like it was still possible it always existed ------------------------------------------------------------------- drink for courage some people drink for courage and others are trying to cope with the pain of life some like to unwind and others think of the magical powers they suddenly posses i find it more likely these days that i'm drinking to hopefully end all of this way sooner than the powers that be intended plus, arthritis has made it rather difficult to hold a gun or tie a fucking noose so, it's either the bottle or a good hose and some duct tape when the bottle stops helping to write these poems be kind enough to check my garage if you don't hear from me for a few days ------------------------------------------------------------------- the retired life two cups of coffee fall asleep in the sun like a cat i tell my mother to enjoy the retired life she doesn't can't come to terms with getting older and not being able to do certain things alone i'm always there to help even though most of the time she doesn't bother to ask i tell her pride will kill her faster than any disease --------------------------------------------------------- wars have been fought over less soft brown skin years of regret a lover's lament it was us against the world now we can't see past each other to accomplish anything wars have been fought over less and no matter how much either side wants to give in and let the calm set in pride and the ego always get in the way a lack of communication will be the end of us all ------------------------------------------------------- the smallest nugget of joy you ever noticed the death poems come easy but how you languish over the page for love for happiness for even the smallest nugget of joy but death that cold reality the cruel mistress that always laughs at your pain it's the old routine or perhaps you always understood that death was always a part of life just a part that most are unwilling to talk about or even consider
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, Carcinogenic Poetry, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Poetry from John Edward Culp
+
Where nature walks
If a tree falls
but no one listens
then there is no peer review
Sometimes attention catches natural presence,
like flowing water turns the mill's wheel
to bring flour from grain.
The kitchen supplies
find
peer review
at the dining center.
Who's is speaking?
My Heart Speaks!
Love has an invitation open to its Kind.
The peer within
as freelance
expressing
found standing in faith
The forest speaks where faith raises ears
The fallen tree,
Bless Thy Heart
May seed freshen
Soils and sun share the expression!
Where nature walks
by John Edward Culp
Friday morning
October 27, 2023
Poetry from Azemina Krehic
MULBERRY TREE Mulberry trees should not be planted near the house, Not even a walnut tree. Their veins are demonic And if they scatter, the house will ensure to stay deserted... In the morning, the mulberry tree was wounded. Shadow lay dead beneath him for hundreds of lost birds. Only goats ate his flickering tops, Which are until yesterday It could only be reached with the eyes... Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia. Winner of several international awards for poetry, including: Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.,„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020. Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021. „Fra Martin Nedić“ Award, 2022. She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.