SJ Fowler is a writer, poet and performer who lives in London. His work aims to encapsulate an expansive understanding of what poetry and literature can be – exploring the textual, visual, asemic, concrete, sonic, collaborative, performative, improvised, curatorial – through 40 publications, 200 performances in over 40 countries, 4 large scale event programs, numerous commissions, collaborations and more. His work has been commissioned by Tate Modern, BBC Radio 3, Somerset House, Tate Britain, London Sinfonietta, Southbank Centre, National Centre for Writing, National Poetry Library, Science Museum and Liverpool Biennial amongst others. http://www.stevenjfowler.com
No Xmas Tree
Just an empty bottle
of very good whiskey,
2 women, and a drink
during the course
of a week that ended
with us not speaking
to each other since.
I put a rose like those
I steal from the neighbors
garden in said bottle
as I reminder
there is much beauty
In this world.
Even with the women gone.
The knife one of them
threw at me for looking
at her friend’s legs remains
on the floor where it landed
after hitting the wall and
missing me by a foot.
A reminder that
any New Year’s Eve
even for a man with little
to lose can be more
curious than planned.
I/he does not mind
the things they stole
or borrowed with ill
intent.
Who alone with
all that once was
still reaches for
what lingered sweet
long enough to be
savored.
His wedding ring
lost in a desk
alongside knowledge
she pawned hers.
He places a comically
large Seashell to ear
just to hear the sea
scream for the past
like him
on most days.
She's OK Almost
She says but
her glazed eyes lost
pinpoints of
confusion
tell me different
and her
skin sallow
with track marks
I can't tell if
old or new
just that
they tell a story
I already know
the ending to.
We talk of poetry
we performed
once, together
apart
to smatterings of
applause long
ago. Of those we
thought we knew
under lights
spilling their souls
with captivating
corrupted
vehemence.
But she hasn't
read in years.
Tells me I look
like I'm doing well.
She's offended
when i ask if
she needs
money...
yet takes what I give
waving as she walks
away into the
darkness on
an unusually
otherwise bright
sunny day.
Ex On the Street
Not being invisible
or able to hide
when she spots
me first with
X-ray eyes.
The air, getting thinner
when she hugs me,
as if we’re still together,
as if that fatal night
hadn’t happened.
Then she says
that I look good,
that I’ve lost weight,
but I don’t and haven’t,
staring at her smiling face.
Love demands forgiveness
but losing your lover
& your best friend
in one cruel night
I never counted on.
I say goodbye 5 times.
It’s like she doesn’t hear
my last image of her,
him in her mouth,
in our bedroom, clear.
One of us was in love
and the other escaped
as I do now with alacrity
all shaken and wounded
by a past now present.
Rp Verlaine, a retired English teacher living in NYC, has an MFA in creative writing from City College. He has several collections of poetry including Femme Fatales Movie Starlets & Rockers (2018) and Lies From The Autobiography 1-3 (2018-2020). Rp’s work has been featured in Punk Noir, Ygdrasil, and Runcible Spoon.
from "The Second Book of Job"
I.
Everyone gets to be Job for a year.
Or more. Gets to feel that trembling and fear
of losing it all, watching it get lost.
Everyone learns that lesson. Knows that cost.
You’re not alone when the divorce lawyer
warns about the marital home. Or you’re
not alone, when you learn another boss
governs the universe – and not you. Loss
is inevitable. But it’s what’s next
that no one remembers. We get the shit.
We forget the growth. So never forget
that in the end you might just get a sexed
up mate who loves you more than anyone
who ever did. With all those others done.
*
from "The Second Book of Job"
II.
Job Junior lost the marital home when
He and his Ex- were in arbitration
and this clause became paragraph 3 (B),
in the Clerk-filed dissolution decree,
cause 49 dash 33, CV,
and a “you” and an “I” replaced a “we.”
He transferred thirty-eight thousand dollars,
and he intuited things could be worse,
much worse. Put one thousand books – poetry,
Literature, drama, philosophy –
Into storage. He took the last unit,
next to the dumpster, the only model
not re-modeled. Sat down with a bottle
on the porch. Impoverished and moonlit.
*
from "The Second Book of Job"
III.
Job’s losses left him as blind as Homer
or Milton and now he is the owner
of very little. Someday his awareness
will match that of the poets. He has less
to carry homeward, and has no homeward
to speak of. It’s impossible to look
back without becoming frozen. His Book
is closed. To lose faith, okay, but the Word?
It was lost as well. So at the machine,
for a spell, staring at the keys, the screen,
and his hands, it all came out gibberish:
“NIGHT OLD MAN HATE MONEY WHITE LUSTY DISH. . .”
For now, it was just blindness, no insight.
That spirit of Homer would have to wait.
*
from "The Second Book of Job"
IV.
This particular Job, losing ‘The Word,’
just let it all rip and let it all out.
Typed away. Just squeezed out every turd
that fell out of his mental ass. About
midnight he filled three pages’ worth:
HOTEL BILLS . . . SAME ROOM . . . WEDDING NIGHT . . . HORSE TRACK . . .
ROUTE TO THE HEART . . . MILLIONAIRE . . . HE GETS IT . . .
FREE LOVE . . . MONEY FOR THE PONIES . . . YOU SAY
MORE ANAL . . . TALK ABOUT THE SECOND BIRTH . . .
I WAS NOT THERE FOR THE FIRST . . . TAKEN BACK
IN TIME . . . DIRTY UNDERWEAR . . . ODD DEBTS . . . SHIT . . .
WHAT’S HAPPPENING . . . DO I DOUBT . . . DO I PRAY . . .
HELL . . . PURGATORY . . . PURGATORY . . . HELL . . .
But she was gone. He knew things would end well.
*
from "The Second Book of Job"
VI.
Another Job lost seven days with each
of 2 sons out of every two weeks.
“Fifty-fifty fair” made it hard to bitch
but he did anyway, however weak
it left him feeling. And the Ex- would switch
this day for that day so many days
that he recognized a slow, distinct leak
in his clock, his calendar, in his haze.
Sanity was a thing now out of reach.
There was no point in trying to talk her
into paying back time. This was not her
M.O. And he couldn’t pay the lawyer.
He recalled the man in the coat, the wind,
the Sun . . . that fable would win in the end.
*
from "The Second Book of Job"
VII.
Another Job lost his credit rating.
His wife decided to have an affair
with Neiman-Marcus, or women’s clothing,
generally speaking. A millionaire
was the last affair. It was spending power.
That was the deal. In an icky hour
in a hotel room beneath his pay grade
he allowed her equal status: she paid.
Savings accounts and college funds went down.
He learned her weakness was the winning horse.
Wads of fives and tens turned up in drawers.
(It takes a lot of paint to paint the town)
This Job inherited: a millionaire.
Grew bored with the track. But loved the clothing.
TWO CHEERS FOR TREASON
January 6, 2021
A mob stormed the Capitol
killing five police, wounding over 100.
Some were blindly loyal to Trump,
taken in by his “stolen election” line;
others were simply spoiling for a fight.
But-- despite the gallows prepped and ready,
Mike Pence didn’t get hung.
Despite Senators willing to double-cross voters,
replace electors with puppets,
and kiss the incumbent’s ring,
each state’s votes were ratified.
And despite Trump’s sore-loser grousing,
he wound up a lame duck.
December 12, 2022
MTG boasts to the NY Young Republicans Club:
“I gotta tell you something.
If Steve Bannon and I had organized that,
we would have WON.
Not to mention, it would have been armed.”
Here’s a Representative from Georgia
bragging that she could have pulled off
a better insurrection.
She would have brought more firepower,
blasted her way through those cops.
She would have marched over the dead and wounded,
defeated Congress, and forced their hand.
She would have WON.
Backed by guns and slogans,
she would have awarded Trump the oval office,
perhaps President for life.
Is this payback for Appomattox?
Rebellion not quelled, just postponed?
Trump’s infantry was a mix of malleable misfits,
Proud Boys, Oath Keepers, Q-Anon fruit-loops,
and politicians with an eye to the main chance.
January 6 was the day they’d change the world.
If a cult figure mouthing MAGA
could be enthroned at gunpoint,
kingmakers would hold undisputed power.
We would have won.
January 3, 2023
MTG places her hand on a bible
and swears to uphold the Constitution.
Are her fingers crossed?
She bragged she could bring the US to its knees--
if she led that mob;
if she armed the rioters
so they could gun down law enforcement;
if she took possession of the Capitol
to thwart Congress’ Constitutional job.
Her victory? Sabotaging a presidential election.
It makes one wonder:
should a person who cheers for gun-toting thugs
be running our country?
Should a person who brags about trashing ballots
be making laws?
Georgia’s white, rural 14th District thinks so.
They re-elected her,
despite her off-the-wall statements--
Jewish space lasers cause California wildfires.
Vaccinations are the devil’s “mark of the beast.”
Black Lives Matter protesters are terrorists.
Undocumented immigrants are rapists.
Transgender individuals are predators.
Abortion seekers and providers are murderers.
Democrats are pedophile-coddling Communists.
MTG hopes to be Trump’s running mate in 2024.
Trump, too, thinks his defeat so outrageous
that it justifies suspending the Constitution.
The two are salt and pepper shakers
showering spite and bile on a fragile democracy.
Abetting a taste for hate.
Copyright 12/2022 Patricia Doyne
TRUMP’S VIRTUES
Trump’s gung-ho to run again
in 2024.
He says it wasn’t fair that he
got booted out the door.
Many think him crass, it’s true.
Self-serving. Prone to lies.
But maybe narcissistic traits
are virtues in disguise.
He is, despite his girth and weight,
a physical fitness buff.
Visited golf links 308 times,
spent a quarter of his term on golf.
When shooters shoot up schools and malls
we know guns aren’t for Trump.
Five times he dodged his country’s draft.
Said casualties were chumps.
And family values is a realm
where Trump does truly shine.
Jared and Ivanka flaunt
his regime’s family line.
Forget two dozen rape reports
and Stormy Daniels’ book,
‘cause family pride glows in third wife
Melania’s well-dressed look.
What’s more, he reaches out a hand
to one-time foes. (Don’t groan.)
He sends love notes to Kim Jong-Un,
gets an $18 million loan.
When journalist Khashoggi died
at the consulate in Turkey,
“Bin Salman ordered it,” said the CIA.
Trump said the facts were murky.
And when Trump won, a Russian hand
pulled strings. The CIA spied it.
Said, “Russia, leave our elections alone!”
Shrugged Trump, “Putin denied it.”
Yes, Trump extends a welcoming hand
to strong men he admires.
Sells airplanes, crude oil, tanks and guns
to somewhat shady buyers.
And Trump’s an open-minded man.
When Neo-Nazis march,
he sees good people on both sides,
beneath free speech’s arch.
When Ye claims Hitler’s misunderstood,
and Fuentes flat denies
the Holocaust was real, that’s cool.
“Respect their views,” Trump cries.
His bosom buddies—Roger Stone,
Steve Bannon, Alex Jones—
show how Trump welcomes one and all,
especially pale skin-tones.
He disses “shithole countries.”
He tried to build a wall.
Just goes to show that Trump was true
to MAGA’s siren call.
And Trump’s unique. Never before
a President twice impeached.
He’s going down in history—
for January 6th, at least.
So if you want to bad-mouth Trump,
Please take careful note
of all his virtuous qualities
when you step up to vote.
Copyright 12/2022 Patricia Doyne
Q-ANON MEETS QVC
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
reveal the winner I really am—
not a fat old suit with a long, red tie,
tan from a tube, hair fussed and sculpted.
No, show my base their favorite President--
Better than Lincoln!
Better than Washington!
Show the whole world the superhero
who should have won.
A MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT:
(Drumroll)
Digital Trading Cards!
Only $99 each.
Send your money, we’ll choose your NFT.
Take what you get; what you get is virtual.
It exists in the ether,
like the image, like the “very exclusive community”
I’m selling.
See me in a cowboy hat and duster,
a western lawman.
See me dominate the room in a black tuxedo.
See me suited for space, two feet on the moon.
See me alone on a bleacher-ringed field,
owning that football.
See me speeding to the rescue on a white horse.
See me in a mild-mannered blue suit
ripping open my shirt to reveal a red “T”
and scald the world with laser eyes.
The face is mine, but photo-shopped bodies
are all young and buff.
The world needs superheroes.
But the world’s got me.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
show the world I’m what they really want
virtually.
Copyright 12/2022 Patricia Doyne
Dreams are a way to get into a world where you are happy.
Some people think that dreaming is stupid, others just live with it. Scientists have come to the conclusion that the ability to dream is one of the main characteristics of a successful and happy person. Probably, there is no person in the world who has not indulged in dreams at least once in his life. It all starts from childhood – thoughts about the future appear in our clear heads. Psychologists say that in this way the formation of the child’s thinking takes place, the imagination of a small person develops. They also point out that most children’s dreams are illusions that are unlikely to ever come true. But this fact does not bother the little ones, they have a short memory of blessing and disappointment. Thought streams are formed in their heads, and what is happening now, right now, is important to them. Everything else flows like a river without a future or a past.
It’s hard to live without a dream,
There is a consequence, everyone step.
Good, bad, big, small,
Everyone has their own dreams man
So that a person does not get tired of living, a world of dreams is given to his heart. There is a human race that wants to satisfy the dreams that he was born with every moment. To live in life, only the dream itself is lacking. If you are asked, “What is your biggest dream?”, you will be silent for a moment. I wonder if the dream can be big or small? as it changes depending on how it looks. A dream is not a whim. It is the pillar that has caused humanity to reach the present day. What is the human dream not good for, you say?!
I have heard a lot that “Everything depends on the intention”. As a person grows up, his desire to “return to childhood” replaces his dream. A person with big dreams requires effort to achieve his dreams. As for my dream: Patience to man! If the element of Patience leads a person, then there is one step left to achieve the dream and achieve success!
Dreams,
Dreams that are stretched to the height of the sky,
a rainbow halo
around the bright moon tonight—
somewhere, a dog barks
neighbors’ Christmas lights . . .
Orion reclines as he
rises in the east
cold, dark December—
is that a jet way up high
or the space station?
power lines ripped down
by high winds before the storm—
first day of winter
eleven below—
the two chickens have to sleep
in the humans’ house
silence at midnight . . .
six inches of heavy snow
weighs down the tree’s boughs
-------------
bio/graf
J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poems have appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Nelson’s first full-length collection is in ghostly onehead, published by Post-Asemic Press in December 2022. Visit MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA.
