KARMA, KISMET, PROVIDENCE


To insure the Kismet effect

casino fixers

load the dice and mark the cards:

They rig the game,

annihilate free will.


To achieve a Karma asset,

cosmic accountants

balance debits and credits

of moral worth,

a result called justice.


Gamblers evoke Providence,

invoking mercy

to cancel consequences

that casinos

and accountants require.


But statisticians exclude

Providence, Kismet,

Karma, and all free will too,

Their random world’s

an impersonal one.


THE TREASON OF THE ROSE


A rose is for pleasure

and not for tears, Sir.


No, Bud is not like a rose

though his hair is fiery red

and though his smell pleased my nose.

But he bore no thorns in rows

--a single, fatal, prick instead.


I know now rose’s treason.

Contrasting plant with leaving,

I chose my rose, believing

it would last the season.


So, no, a rose Bud is not.

A rose will stay in its place

or share a family pot,

but Bud forfeited his lot

and left me to deal with the blaze.


A rose is for pleasure

and not for tears, Sir.


THE WHEELS OF JUSTICE


The honorable judge,

a-robed like a hedgehog,

was squatted at the bench

like an endowed lodger.

And that machine of law

read out loud

the preprogrammed sentence

to the court’s turned-on crowd

and the robot condemned,

heads dependably bowed.

The automated guard

led him out.

Next trial was clockwork

as the line moved foreward

till production halted.

Wind-up judge came unplugged,

hedgehog needed a nudge

when it slept.


THE NEW MONTESQUIEU


The factions sort themselves

into the left, right, and centrist

via birthright, and interest,

and contents of bookshelves.


Politicos maintain

the stability of chaos

through civility and payoffs

to competing claimants.


DO THAT HORIZON DANCE


An intimate selfish sharing

of a present timeless instant

of transcendent fluidity.

Your brain and your breath are the key

to its rhythm and symmetry.

You rest and then again embrace

Horizon Dance!


Inanimate, Self-less, shearing,

the present, an endless instant

of transcendent solidity.

Your brain and breathing are the key.

Imprisoned impassivity

unmoves that everlasting last

Horizon Dance.

the desire to even play the game
 

i'm failing at modern life

 

each day i step outside

of the house

 

the clothes, the language,

the gadgets, the desire

to even play the game

at all

 

it's all fucking foreign

to me

 

it's not even being a

stranger in a strange

land

 

it's like my body got

stuck on a planet without

my permission

 

and it's way too late to

do anything about it
------------------------------------------------------------------
hands on his hips
 

watching this old

guy struggle on

purpose so the

young, beautiful

physical therapist

has to help him

 

she has her hands

on his hips

 

and you can

probably imagine

the smile on the

old man's face
--------------------------------------------------------------
standing out in the rain
 

wet feet standing

out in the rain

 

apparently, these

waterproof shoes

are just name only

 

much like most

humans

 

they come up a

little short when

you need them

the most
--------------------------------------------------------------
enough is enough
 

the temptation of

oncoming traffic

 

had a buddy decide

this was the best way

to go, especially after

his wife of over twenty

years said enough was

enough

 

i'm not stuck in one

of those situations,

yet there have been

plenty of times i felt

like i was being

strangled by reality

 

sometimes you have

to get high enough

to create your own

fucking reality

 

now, when that one

fucking sucks your

options are pretty

clear for you

 

prolong or escape...
-----------------------------------------------------------
that inevitable never fucking ending hill
 

wisdom isn't a given

it has to be earned

 

tell that to these

spoon-fed fuckers

that want to run

the world

 

it is an endless

parade of clowns

that only want

what is best for

the given few

 

the masses are

just supposed to

die while climbing

that inevitable never

fucking ending hill

 

imagine true equality

 

the land of the free

 

and all that other pie

in the sky bullshit that

the supreme court will

eventually strike down

as it doesn't do enough

for the only people they

want to serve

 

rich white people

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is stuck in suburbia, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, Disturb the Universe Magazine and Lothlorien Poetry Journal. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

———————————————————–

Roundabout Course

First breath came as wail
Borne out from within
Purged from Sanctuary
Comes collecting pail
All Knowledge poured in
Learn all Mystery
To Fight never Fail
Strive to always Win
Goal for Victory
As one walks Life's Trail
Each Mark to Begin
Yesterday's History
So rises your Sail
Wind storms to Rein in
Journey Soul's Story
Be Strong even Frail
Strength never give in
Why even Worry
Faith and Love to bail
Kindness when all's Mean
Humbly say Sorry
Head tries to catch Tail
Ends where it Begin
Back to Sanctuary
Breathe of Life to hail
Core's Essence's clean
All in God's Glory


I Wanna Know What Love Is

Tell me what love is
Is love truly a disease
One acquired with a kiss
With bitter pill will cease
Tell me what love is
Is love when one you miss
Do everything for love to please
One's soul given as a lease
Tell me what love is
Is love but a carrot to tease
Where dignity must decrease
From moral laws to release
Tell me what love is
Is love a filthy grease
A nest to cuddle fleas
That even an angel flees
Tell me what love is
I wanna know what love is
The world has forgotten what love is
Show me what real love is


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 as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

ABORTION OF A FLOWER

In October,
pomegranates ripen in the sheltered south.

This summer you wanted them to admire the blossoming in the swirling flames of your hair.

One flower became a fruit that never ripened.

Torn like a child from the womb, he dried in the heat
of Herzegovina stones.

No one is an island, as poet John Donne reminds us. We all exist within a unique network of relationships and environmental conditions. This issue explores how we co-create our lives in conjunction with our surroundings.

Z.I. Mahmud explores some of Donne’s works in his analytical look at a selection of British and Indian books addressing (among other themes) social justice and colonialism.

Mark Young also considers our cultural heritage in his narrative essays on how he has responded to various notable works of art and literature.

In a cultural analysis in keeping with the issue’s theme, Christopher Bernard concludes his essay “What’s Wrong with Liberalism.” In this essay, he claims that an unbalanced exaltation of personal liberty above all other social values underlies both neoliberalism and progressivism and paradoxically leads to increasing restrictions of freedom, extreme inequalities of wealth and power, and a sense of loss of control by voters and citizens over the political order as a whole.

Mark Murphy’s poetry also urges humans in industrialized societies to think beyond the pursuit of our own freedoms. We need to ask why we are taking actions that ravage the natural world and indigenous peoples and whether our planet’s future is inevitable.

Jaylan Salah interviews Mel Eslyn on the new film Biosphere which deconstructs toxic masculinity and environmental mismanagement through humor and camaraderie. Mykyta Ryzhykh speculates on who we’re becoming and where we’re trying and failing to find nourishment in an alienating modern techno-age.

Sayani Mukherjee’s poetic speaker asserts that she’s retreating from human politics to discuss the important subject of nature. On the other hand, Elmaya Jabbarova mixes the two topics in her patriotic call to live noble and sustainable lives.

Don Bormon’s piece revels in the fruitfulness of the rainy season and new growth in his native Bangladesh.

Aklima Anthi speaks to a complex, wounded, but unconditional relationship to nature. Duane Vorhees’ poetry mourns lost wildness and wilderness. Noah Berlatsky speculates on our genetic and physical linkage with jellyfish.

Kushal Poddar looks at our relationship to nature on a small scale, everyday encounters with insects and geese. Isabel Gomes de Diego sends us natural scenes of snow, forests, and beaches while Daniel De Culla does the same from a closer vantage point: thistles and trees.

Jonathan Butcher crafts scenes of curated natural and human-built environments, probing memory and decay. Jim Meirose’s story soundscape creates the atmosphere of an archaeological dig. J.D. Nelson’s subterranean haikus let readers glimpse bits of the world, like a child jumping up to a high window. Henry Bladon renders the noise and sounds of a city as music, bending the 90s and today into a dream. Alan Catlin joins words and cultural phrases together into a branching flow of meaning and consciousness while Channie Greenberg’s lines of different shapes illustrate a creative union between natural and technologically inspired aesthetics.

Azemina Krehic offers up a passionate love poem to the stars. Staring up at the moon inspires Mesfakus Salahin’s piece. Slava Konoval creates a poetic romance between lightning and thunder, while also speaking to the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Gustavo Galliano envisions a pandemic that mutates both the planet and human thinking. Graciela Noemi Villaverde denounces war and other violence against children and families.

Jerry Langdon makes that point more personal, illustrating the destructiveness of obsession with power, how it disintegrates a personality.

Many writers address destructive and constructive intimate personal relationships.

Chimezie Ihekuna explores the problems that arise in a marriage when people bring unresolved issues and irresponsible behavior into the relationship. Romantic feelings are not always enough to make things work.

Feruza Abdullaeyva describes the pain caused by a friend’s selfishness, while Richard LeDue mourns the slow death of fading love. J.J. Campbell’s speaker’s memories are interspersed with reflections on aging and the pain of loss and loneliness.

Bill Tope reminisces about a wild 1960s road trip where danger and adventure lurk beneath the surface. Some of the peril comes from fair-weather friends.

In contrast, Mahbub Alam writes of steady and nourishing emotional connections, and Annie Johnson honors a relationship that has grown and deepened over many years. Jasna Gugic illuminates the explicit and implicit connections among lovers.

Yike Zhang evokes a ethereal, intense, and transcendent love while Maja Milojkovic seeks authentic human connection rather than the illusions of empty religious practice. Czarina Daltiles writes of human striving, how the desire for accomplishment drives many of us, yet perhaps our greatest joys are simply being able to share little moments with our loved ones.

John Edward Culp expresses a natural and easy connection between friends, while Emina Delilovic-Kevric captures a simple and calm domestic scene. Santiago Burdon humorously details an encounter where two strangers see through each other’s subterfuge and bare their souls to each other on a plane. Steven Bruce relates a humorous memory of finding grace in everyday awkwardness.

Jasmina Ortikova encourages us to look to the past and honor our elders. Nozima Gofurova pays tribute to those who have helped her achieve, personally and academically.

Some other contributors focus on an individual person, while still clearly illustrating that the outside world shapes who they are.

In Obirija Joshua’s poem, he reflects on his place in the world on his birthday, guided by his grandmother’s prayers. Sayifov Botirali extols the importance of education and personal development, while Mohinur Murodova highlights some women’s contributions to science, technology, engineering, and mathematics.

Bella Angel Douglas outlines the experience of carrying the emotional pain of rejection, while Vern Fein’s work touches on the circumstances of life and death, what gives our lives meaning and dignity.

Finally, Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa reminds us that life is short and we should make the most of the time we have on the earth.

My success

It's interesting... Someone causes every person to rise, grow, find her place in society. I also have such people in my life. These are not one, but four people. 

The first: my favorite mother tongue and literature teacher, Sadiqova Hayotkhan. She gave me her knowledge from the 5th grade to the 11th grade. She shared their knowledge with me in every way, . In a word: she was my ideal woman. I looked up to her, because she was very smart and handsome for her age. It was only in the 11th grade that I really hurt my teacher. Even then, I apologized, only superficially. I sincerely apologize right now. If you are reading this article, please forgive me, my dear teacher. 

The second is Jonuzakova Dilbarkhan, a history teacher. My teacher is so enthusiastic, proud, speaks the right words, has a fire in her heart that passes the lesson with all her heart, to be honest, there are few such teachers nowadays. There were also a few in our school. I thank my teacher for the advice she gave me, the sometimes bitter truths she told me. My dear teacher, stay healthy, I love you. 

The third is Kakilova O'ghiloy. My most honored, favorite, incomparable in beauty, English teacher. I was not very interested in English. Thanks to this teacher, I fell in love with English. Every word my teacher said was a law for me. She used to explain the lessons in such a simple and clear way that she would never forget those lessons for the rest of her life. I even had my teacher's lessons in my dreams. 

My dear teacher, who is unmatched in both beauty and intellect, the whole district and province. I had got my teacher such as clever and picturesque. I love her very much. I respect my teacher. I want her to be proud of me in the future. Teacher trust me. 

Finally, the fourth person. I can't say much about this person. Because the person who made me interested in studying and life in general and taught me to set goals and go towards them is my aunt: Isaqova Sevara. I can't thank you enough.

To tell the truth, My aunt thinks about my future more than my parents. She wants me to be smart, a millionaire and a master of my profession in the future. It helps me in many ways, both culture and spiritually. I am proud to have such wonderful and unique people in my life. My life is beautiful with these people. Thank you all for all this my dears...


I'm Nozima Gofurova. I was born in Andizhan on June 6, 2004. I am a reporter contributing to the international UNICEF paper. 

SCREAMING WOMAN

I was five, taken into Arkansas woods, 
where an old couple lived.
They were distant relatives.
They have no names, just images.
I don’t even remember the husband
or the other men who dragged her out screaming.
I was transfixed, flung into a nightmare.
She was naked, squirming, screaming:
“Don’t take me! Don’t take me there!”
Later I remember asking—Take her where?

To the hospital, no ambulances would
go that deep in the woods. 
She had cancer but refused to go.
Act of mercy, her husband finally said okay.
Like a barn razing they came,
four of them grabbed her, 
carried to the old black car,
screaming and screaming. 
I‘d never seen a naked woman,
never used an outhouse
where I  hid before I threw up
and swore I would never die.

For a long time, it was like a dream,
but Aunt Sallie gossiped 
and my adult mind remembered 
like finding out the monster
under the bed was real.



ELEGY FOR WASTED CHICKENS

We already know the way they do it,
squashed in cages, unable
to stand, move, spread wings
until it is their time to become
Wangs or cordon bleu or parmigiana,
make Popeye and the Colonel richer.

Even the defective tiny chicks 
are gassed like baby Jews,
the yellow from the stars
cover their quivering bodies.

 In the cafeteria, my student shouted:  
“Yuck, throw those wings away.
They’re disgusting; I hate them.”
My daughter boiled chicken,
a fat breast and a leg quarter
for her dog, but it was too fatty,
crunched it down the disposal.

Does it matter if the chicken is eaten?
In Chicken Heaven is there a kind
of dignity if you are consumed
instead of a funeral in a garbage bin?





HUMAN BITES

A mosquito is born, a human is born.
Both destined to die.
The mosquito does not know this.
Mosquitos will never think on it,
no concept of prevention.
The insect will just do its blood thing and die.
That is the difference between the two. 
The human seldom thinks of death.
Eventually, the human accepts reality.
When he does, he doesn’t want to die.
He is against dying but realizes 
it’s a futile thought, a deceptive myth,
numbs himself with myriad palliatives—
an apothecary shelf of addictions.
Why do humans, who know they will die,
devise so many ways to kill each other?
The mosquito might give you a better answer.

A recent octogenarian, Vern Fein has published over 250 poems and short pieces on over 100 sites. His first poetry book–I WAS YOUNG AND THOUGHT IT WOULD CHANGE–was published last year and he has his second one coming out soon. He has no Muse; the world of poetry is his muse.