Rainy Story That envelope has arrived The news came about the release of Monsoon Mail dry earth melting with juicy touch of water. Monsoon season is busy now thousands of drops are falling reckless cloudy sky is scary with thunder. The wind blows like a river wetting the ground swaying drops dancing on the dance table of mud. Monsoon is tying the waist now jumping against the hot heat in the hot sun Hold on, rain and shine. Monsoon dropped on the swaying leaves under the stagnant water, the vortex is moving Swallowed all the cottage gardens young crops Millions of tears are mixed in the turbid current. The house of love and happiness is floating, sidewalks and bridges Houses and neighborhoods along the river where are you? may this monsoon stay for ever...
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from David Estringel (set one)
Blood Honey (originally published at Fugitives & Futurists) Pulled into breath, lingering and damp under nostrils’ slow b u r n, wet tips of tongues melt, dart, and slide into syrupy tangles, furious with hot spit and exhales, sweet as red pomegranate. Your little gasps (my little deaths) fire cutting teeth and hungry lips, drawing us in, spitting us out— blood honey in a syringe— into the heavenly hell of this hypodermic love—the sugar in my veins. Blue Light (originally published at Terror House Magazine) Against an old Chevrolet on Maudlin Street, I smoke a cigarette—hard—chuckling at the hisses and howls of alley cats beneath the butcher shop’s broken neon sign. They flick their tails and prowl about, pestering fellas headed home to cold wives and cold dinners, straight from the misery of their long evening shifts. Persistent, with purrs and claws—smooth as cream— they graze oily pant legs (and thighs) for want of a rub…or two. Flicking my smoke at the sidewalk—a cherry-fire explosion drawing the glow of hungry eyes—a young, new one to the corner catches my eye, preening her strawberry-yellow hair, distracted by night shadows that stretch and duck in the periphery. Lighting another smoke, I call her over with a “Psst”, motioning with my hand, as tracers from a flaming tip pull heads from her pounce in unison, to and fro. Cautiously, she turns to me, as the sign overhead begins to flicker blue, casting a harsh pallor upon angled faces with its undead light. Motioning, again, she slowly heads my way—eyes shining and features soft. “What’s tonight’s special?”, I ask, as she pulls the cigarette from my newly shaken fingers and takes a drag. Letting out a long sigh, she blows a steady stream of spite—sweet—into my face, and jabs, “A pound of flesh with a side of soul. Hungry?”, looking as if she’d heard that line one too many times. “Nah,” I answered (a burn taking over my cheeks), “not tonight.” Then I turned and walked away down Maudlin Street, wishing I knew her name, loving her. Medicine (originally published at Dumpster Fire Press) You are my medicine when things are fever-pitched fucked-up shit dismantled glitched. When calm disperses like cigarette smoke in fan blades, overhead— tarring popcorn ceilings and textured walls with burns and invisible drops of carcinogenic rain. What better salve for the poundings in my chest— palpitations consternations vascularizations reformations indemnifications of a life, juxtaposed, away from those eyes that mouth that touch of skin, yours, the sedation of cool breath on hot forehead and the combing of fingertips through currents of sweat-matted hair— this world I know. You are my medicine. Neon Gods (originally published at Cephalorpress) Sacred footsteps of pilgrims and street PrOphETS atop piss-stained lottery tickets and dirty hypodermics— like rose petals, strewn under maidens’ tender feet— pave the way to playing card Meccas beyond doors to salvation/damnation, below fiery eyes that cut the night (and souls) in two with gazes and blinks (but never sleep). Quite the price to pay to cross these fickle streams that run sacrificial red with self-severings of thigh bone and fat, savory-sweet and spiced with lotus wine— offerings in want of burning on conjured stages and electric alters for Vanity’s spectacle. How divine the honied stench of auto-vivisections (splayed out for all to see), making followers and the blue birds in flight forget appetites and tastes for eyes (for eyes) and teeth (for teeth)— for the sake of ounces (of fame) for pounds (of flesh)— like cold Lethe and her gentle lapping, smooth, of jagged rocks upon Hell’s bitter shores. Let us pray (for emergence from this opiate haze and a quick flip of the switch). Amen. Discoloration (originally published at Cajun Mutt Press) Hopscotch squares and street flowers, drawn with sidewalk chalk, ‘round castles that sit upon sun-dried patches of brown cloud, stretch across concrete slabs like ghosts of crime scenes pulled from tabloid headlines of an old Daily Post. White with electric pinks, blues, and yellows etch hopeful prognostications (like blades) on crumbling slates, amidst the stink of fermenting cigarette butts and backwash from broken beer bottles— a chill before the storm. How long before the next hard rain that washes away the stuff of dreams in Technicolor runoff for parched gutters, leaving the street, again, to cry lifeless tears, splattering upon stoops and stone-cold petals, that turn brown in the sun?
Poetry from Lilian Woo
SOUNDS OF MIRTH My heart dances with the whispering winds Swirling, twirling and fluttering its wings I enjoy gleefully the soft breeze caressing Listen to the melodies sweetly resonating The blue oceanic sky welcomes all days The glorious sun is shining its crimson rays Puffy clouds billowing above high The eagles are soaring and taking flight As I strolled leisurely in the magnificent park Beautiful landscapes captured my heart The essence of flowers embalms me The songs of the birds serenade me Not far away, I hear the waterfall gushing As I move closer, the crystal water is enticing Drops of water kiss me and splashing The cool atmosphere is refreshing Sounds of mirth fascinate me with pleasure I relish the peaceful moment in leisure Silently, enjoy to the music of nature Reverberate the soul and free from pressure. YOUR GLANCES I read the message in your sparkling eyes clearly Your piercing glances penetrate my heart deeply I want to feel your warmth and embrace you tightly In wondrous moment, I'll never let you go easily You light the spark and my bonfire heart is flickering You have touched my soul like an epitome of spring You mean everything to me and so much more I have found my love, you're what I have been looking for I love you profoundly, no words could ever define You have inflamed the feelings in this heart of mine You have made each day so wonderful, I'll always remember Your intoxicating fragrance drenched me all over Your beguiling eyes drowned me with ocean of love every time Let's spend the rest of our lives the whole lifetime Let the rhythms of our hearts play the music We will sing our love song with romantic lyric Your alluring beauty creates ripples in my heart every day You kindle the passion of flame and makes me sway Your ecstatic elegance stirs my mind blissfully Rapturous love of my soul belongs to you only. Eminent Author/Poetess Ms Lilian Woo hails from Malaysia and is the author of the book 'The Pearl Wonder'. She has received numerous international awards for her soulful writing. She is a Chief Administrator with Motivational Strips, Editor for Writers Tribune, and Chief Representative for the World Nations Writers' Union (WNWU). She has been appointed as the National President in Union Hispanomundial De Escritores (UHE) 2020 for Malaysia and also nominated and entitled H.E. Ambassador General of National Peace Unison ( India), International 2019.
Poetry from Mahbub Alam
Energy Energy, the name of my friend An excellent room to live in the soul How exciting! I live and die The taste of the fruit I enjoy every morning Or like the rose I frequently run and lost in fragrance By kissing and hugging connected in the magic bond Always infatuated by No more suiting than this mystic drug. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 27 July, 2023 Sheikh Russel in Memory It was 15 August night, 1975 Darkness and panic seized around Here and there blood was rolling on Stained on the wall and floor In the 32 Number House at Dhanmodi 10-year-old Russel cried out in fear "Take me to my mother" Russel sobbed on "We are taking you to your mother" The assassins fired him bullets soon The little boy, the innocent cry The lovely flower face fell down to death It was raining then Today the rain pours in every Bangalees' heart The sound of bullet still rebounds ---------- The people of Bangladesh stand up with a vow "Amar Sonar Bangla, Ami Tomai Valobasi" I love you through all. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 12 August, 2023
Poetry from Faisal Justin
Evening Twilight In calm sea where daylight fades Evening twilight paints the world Birds around sing their lullabies The wind whispers the tales of beauty. Nature's creatures join in harmony The gentle breeze carries a scent so sweet The trees sway in rhythm, branches dance They bathe in the evening soft twilight. Stirring emotions as if a painter's masterful art I find solace and peace as the daylight dies The stars appear twinkling, the moon hangs All the worries and troubles transcend, Into peace, gratitude and wonder. The ocean slowly engulfs the evening sun The world turns into dark and colourful Everything becomes a masterpiece in view With gratitude, creatures embrace the night.
Poetry from Marjorie Thelen
Tell me I don’t live in Dystopia Some people delight in weird scary stories about our future dystopian world Not me I read the news and know we are already there How about the proxy war in Europe? How about lunatics threatening nuclear war? How about idiots across the political spectrum running countries? How about hackers that build algorithms to mine our data? Artificial intelligence? How about extreme weather? fires, floods, smoke, heat, monster hurricanes How about the Tigris and Euphrates rivers drying up in Iraq? the cradle of civilization How about finding Indian graves in school yards from a century ago? removing, reviling, turning away Native Americans How about PGA golf getting a billion dollars from the Arabs? How about the civil war we’re fighting? the same one for over 170 years we aren’t going to have another civil war we’re still fighting the same one How about the legacy of slavery? Black people are you free? What is critical race theory anyway? Asian Americans, are you safe? Latinos, are you safe? How about the U.S. electrical grid? scary How about electric cars dependent on rare metals found in rare places? And do we need one more British murder mystery on PBS? How about mass shootings? This is the sign of a sane society? Hot comes faster we scramble to adjust Not fast enough Hot comes faster Disaster follows disaster the world goes to waste for future generations Present generations sit helpless distracted by social media Dictators try to shut us up as we talk and talk voicing no-fact opinions endlessly Who cares? Need I go on? We already live in dystopia.
Poetry from Shammah Jeddypaul
SILHOUETTES AND SHADOWS Earth was a shadow with figures positioned in its ends silhouetted against light, A myriad of hills shrouded in mist, guarded kingdoms shrouded in mysteries, Mortals faced with the Labour of Hercules were covered in a cold aura blazing with the fires of hell, Earth became an ungrateful planet mocked by Mars and Jupiter – they were the most insolent, and Saturn was the gossip The constellation of bitter silhouettes opposed by a clique of dead shadows in a lodge full of damned aquatints engaged in a cloak and dagger with singers hitting a clinker "Oh! How soothing!" Earth defied sanity and welcomed ghostly silhouettes in deification of medieval kings Then, a fierce opposition; Shadows refused to bow By riversides fed with melting snow seasoned with blue blood, shadows got murdered, silhouettes, charred, and earth birthed volcanoes that erupted without warning Saturn chattered, frail Pluto wept in hurt – earth was its bestfriend, 'Death' in dead shadows died, silhouettes became extinct Like a shield, darkness covered the earth, with neither form nor void, Alas! Earth got a visitor, an invincible speaking spirit descended and said; "Let there be light" The Genesis of Genesis.