Gimme Some Pope Bone                                         

Welcome, James Mason. What moves you to come sit with us today?
I am looking for funding to allow me to deal with the current crisis involving the pope. 
I, uh—we have no knowledge of any current crisis involving the pope. Please elaborate.

Sure. The pope’s not only the head of a very huge church but is also a fish of the perch family, with a greenish-brown back and yellow sides pope and pope underparts pope pope pop po p pe poe pope ope pe e pop po pop p’pe epop pope pope pope. And also, its no coincidence that the hard whitish tissue making up both pope’s skeleton bones is called bone pope bone pope bone pop bon po bo p b pe be poe boe pope bone ope bon pe bo e b pop one po ne pop one p’pe b’ne epop enob pope bone pope bone pope bone lasso.

Okay. But, I’m a bit lost. Back up and elaborate. 

Sure. More’s that the fish-pope’s diet mainly consists of small aquatic bugs and larvae meat chops steaks cognac and wine such masses of which are consumed daily it’s as though theses popes are constantly crying out gimme some more pope bone gimm som more please pope bone imm om pop bon catholic chicken is imme ome po bo mme me roman guitar p b gim so pe be gime soe poe boe im’e soe ‘e gumbo pope bone ‘e me ope bon e m’ e b m’ gm’ pop one om’ po ne gim’ som’ pop one gimm’ some Charlie the chicken p’pe b’ne gimme some epop enob gim so pope bone imm om pope bone gimm ome more pope bone gimme some gimme some deep acceleration please pope bone gimme some pope gimme some bone gimme but some the popefish gimme some do you see now, lasso lasso?

It's coming along. I think I might see, but, the viewers might need more. As in some games’ big Cuba. Popular hereabouts. So; go on.

Absolutely. In some aquatic environments where they’ve been irresponsibly introduced the popes have become so damaging to their environment that scientists have been frantically searching for a way to bid them a final bon voyage, as Dr. Matthews-son, biologically academic big shot frontman has put it bon voyage pope bone n e gimm som b v pope bone on ge imm om o ya pop bon on yag imme ome bon oyag roman hard catholic skeleton gumbo po bo b’n vo’ge mme me ‘on ‘oyage p b nob egayov bno gim so oyaeg obn pe be ovyage ob gime soe ov-yag b’ poe boe oyage’ non im’e soe ‘e e-oyage vo pope bone yage b’ ‘e me on ope bon no eg’ e m’ ban vayoge e b nib yivoge m’ gm’ the goal is to kill off the species b0n v0yage pop one b om’ =n vo=ge po ne bin viy’ge gim’ som’ von coyage pop one bob voyagw gimm’ some simmering cooked roman gumbo anna chicken from electric buzz buz bln vl-yage p’pe b’ne cpo wpzbhf gimme some opc fhbzpw epop enob ‘p’ ‘ya’ gim so the goal is to kill off the species entirely bon voyage pope bone bon voyage imm om hey hey entirely bon pope bone hey hey voyage pope bone hey hey hey gimm ome while the gumbo is simmering remove church tissue from the danger site more pope bone hey entirely bone the gimme some cooked chicken quick and slick gimme some pope bone hey hey kill off entirely gimme some pope gimme some bone gimme but some the popefish gimme gimme remove church tissue lasso from the lasso lasso from the danger site, lasso. 

In fact, the pope is the first invasive species to have been classified as a nuisance by the non-indigenous nuisance prevention and control program. As such it needs to be killed off entirely. So, do you see? Do you?

Oh, yes—but this non-indigenous nuisance prevention and control program you mention. I have not heard of this. What of it?
What of it is; it is me all over. 
All right. So then—

And that’s why I need money. To begin work on a solution. An this work gimme money must bon voyage gime mony begin immediately pope bone gimm mone n e imme oney gimm som mm ne b v gime moey pope bone on ge imm because om o ya pop bon on yag imme ome bon oyag po bo b’n vo’ge mme me ‘on ‘oyage gmme mney p b e y nob egayov bno me ey gim so mme ney oyaeg obn imme because man is oney pe be gie mey ovyage ob ge my gime soe g y ov-yag b’ gi ey poe boe gim ney oyage’ non gimm oney im’e soe gimme money ‘e e-oyage gimm oney vo pope bone gimme money yage b’ gimme money ‘e me because man is in the forest gimme money on ope mm ne bon no gimme money Bambi hey Bambi eg’ e gimme money pope bone hey hey gimme some because man is in the forest Bambi gimme money because man is in, because! 

I am sorry, but. Can you repeat that a bit clearer?
No; it’s as simple as pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone—
Stop! Hold it—you—

—pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone pope bone—

Mister Mason, Plaese!
—pope bone pope bone pope bone—
Hey Sal! Cut the juice right now!
—pop bone pope—

Okay Jack, you’re the boss!
—bone.
Jesus Christ, thank God.
 
Whew.
Lights out.

                 Neighborly

This is a neighborhood of gardens

garage sales and lawn art and, of

course, slogans, like “black lives

matter” and the ones that bring

together a set of slogans covering

all the bases, black lives again and

something about women’s rights,

immigrants, and gay rights, and they

remind us that love is love. Now

there are an endless supply of flags

some U.S. but mostly Ukrainian. We

live the times and capture the mood,

flowers of various shades and sizes

and now since it’s primaries time we

set up lawn signs endorsing one or

another of the candidates, Becca

seems to carry one street and Molly

another. We divide up along liberal

lines, signs, slogans and flowers, and

people sitting in lawn chairs trying so

hard to sell off things they no longer

have a use for and a few cars pull up

looking for a bargain. This neighbor-

hood has never been much of a bargain

basement but an easy spender of words.

                                     In Line
Perhaps it’s instinct, perhaps it’s one of those cultural things

That grow up with us, become part of us through training and

Discipline, something passed on, parent to child generation to

Generation. We all know the rules, what we must do, and what

We must not do if we want to belong, fit in, like everyone else

Around us. We gather and quickly learn our place. This is what

Lining up is all about. It’s time passing, it’s standing and waiting

For something, the something we must believe comes next. This

Is how we belong, become members of the group, the group in

Line for the next show at the movie theater, in line waiting to

Check into our flight, in line for the cruise ship, in line for just

About anything we see as an objective, and they have the ability

Thwart our desire or need. They depend on our instinct and on 

Our willingness to go along and be part of a group lined up in

Order, first come, first served. This keeps everything so civilized,

No crashing, no pushing and shoving, no demanding attention,

None of those things. Now we are in line, and we wait. We might

Complain but never too loudly. We were trained to do this and

Half of our lives will be used up this way.


              Airport Waiting
Standard advice says arrive two hours before
Your flight, but in a small airport

The advice seems ironic.

Here we are two hours early

And now we wait

Collect in surprising numbers

Sit together by the assigned gate

And wait

Are we being set up?

Set up for a mass shooting?

Can’t we picture the gunman going by

The TSA oddly enough still armed.

The news will say something about our group

Husbands and wives, parents and children

Friends and relatives

All there

Following the standard advice

Two hours early, so why not become big news

We listened so carefully

And so here we are

Sitting ducks wanting anything beyond

This two hour wait

Two hours we’ll never get back!

J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, Black Coffee Review, Literary Yard, Sparks of Calliope, Synchronized Chaos, Madswirl, Journal of Expressive Writing, Lightwood, and Highland Park Poetry.

the shrill wail

of a siren


skinny bodies

the place fills 

with ghosts







head bowed

she lights 

a candle


at the tomb  

footsteps in the mist







a shadow crosses

Mary's stone face


mourning moon

the bare trees 

spread skeletal arms







two saucers of milk

for mewling cats...

the witch's eyes


a corner spider 

you cannot see







I try to reanimate

his old stories

bones in the ground


his soul has left

this body

Not Quite Stories


1.	My name is Sampson. Chester Sampson. People call me Sampson.
	“But how did you know about me and Danvers?” the conniving little blond called back to me, as they were taking her away.
	“It wasn’t difficult, sweetheart,” I told her. “Considering.”

2.	Daisy hadn’t given him a second thought, yet there he was, on her doorstep, carrying a potted plant.
	“Remember me?” he asked.

3.	“Things was hard back then,” the old man told the visiting nurse. 
	The nurse, who hadn’t asked a question, didn’t bother to wonder when “back then” was.

4.	The brothers hadn’t seen each other in over 20 years. Identical twins, they’d had a falling out, and they lived far from each other, on opposite coasts. This particular day, Tom had gone to shop for khakis at the Banana Republic in the mall near his home. When he entered the store, all eyes turned to him. He wondered why. 
	Tim came out of the dressing room to look at himself in the full-length mirror, in his new khakis. As he looked into the mirror, Tim noticed Tom behind him, in the distance. 
	Tim wondered how the reunion would go, but to his relief, still staring into the mirror, he saw Tom turn around and leave the store. 

5.	My son-in-law found me in the kitchen, after my husband was gone. I asked him if he wanted a cup of coffee. He sat. 
	We sat together at the table, drinking coffee. Not another word passed between us.

6.	“It was after the war,” she told him.
	“So, all of a sudden everything changed?”
	“No,” she replied, “not all and not so sudden.”

7.	After weeks of indecision, Cora finally decided to call that number. She pulled the piece of paper out of her purse and made the call. When it connected at the other end, she was surprised to be greeted by one of those pre-recorded menus. The choices were very confusing. She relied upon her instincts to tell her which path to choose. Unfortunately, it was the wrong one.

8.	“Mr. Thorndike will see you now,” the secretary told the man sitting on the blue-upholstered bentwood chair in the anteroom. The man’s palms had been sweating, and he’d been rubbing them along his slacks above the knees.
	The man got up and knocked on Thorndike’s door.
	“Come in,” Thorndike yelled, in a neutral tone of voice.
	The man went in.
	He never came out.

9.	He was driving. On the freeway. He looked up at the sign, above and ahead. Belford 20 miles, Grainger next exit. He got off at the next exit. 
	She’d just have to wait.

10.

Self-Realization

Gaurav Ojha

My quest towards understanding the concept of self-realization ran along circles of debates, discussions and doubts before I read the writing of Jiddu Krishnamurti. Before my encounters with the works of J. Krishnamurti, I also used to think of self-realization as a spiritual experience of the inner spirit or soul that culminated in the eternal spiritual quest of a seeker. And, as a free thinker with my non-theistic world-view, I was always a bit skeptical of all those ideas that relate self-realization with inner spiritual awakening.

However, J. Krishnamurti’s insights on self- realization emancipates the concept of self-realization from the narrow dimensions of significance it derives from religious dogmas, spiritual exercises, mystical experiences of spiritual seekers, and from spiritual masters, gurus, saints, sages and their esoteric interpretations.

With the radical insights from his works, I have come to realize that it is utter nonsense to think that one can know one’s self significantly, completely and fully, through isolation, exclusion, through regular practice of some kind of spiritual exercise and introspection in some solitary state away from all the hustles and bustles of life.

Similarly, it is not at all necessary to be a religious or a spiritual person, practice renunciation, give up your social life, live in caves and monasteries, and perform ascetic rituals regularly to comprehend the notion of self-realization.

To put it in the words of J. Krishnamurti, self-knowledge is a process, not an end in itself or a conclusion; and to know oneself, one must be aware of one’s actions and reactions in one’s relationships. Further, he argues that you discover yourself not in isolation, not in withdrawals, but in relationships: in your relationship with society, your wife, your brother, your mother, friends and family, and with other beings. Hence, self-realization is neither a spiritual achievement nor an isolated mystical experience; rather it’s an endless process of learning and re-learning where one becomes aware of one’s own self in relationship with others. Therefore, it’s nothing more than a self-illusion or ego-trip to transform your identity, take up a spiritual title and boast one-self as a self-realized person.

Besides, nothing exposes us wide open than our relationships. Our relationships provide us a mirror to observe our being along with its pretensions, denials, fantasies, inner torments, selfish desires and unconscious motives, inner insecurities and repressions by allowing us to see the projections of these hidden aspects of our inner lives in our relationships.

Hence, it’s our relationships, how we relate with our self and with others, and how we unveil our thoughts, emotions, actions and reactions in our dialogues and encounters with others that truly allows to us discover, acknowledge and understand ourselves better than any form of spiritual exercise, solitary meditation or religious escapism. 

Yes To Life

Gaurav Ojha

 Being a one-world and one-life person, I don’t like to think of my life as a rehearsal or a preparation for something better, behind or beyond this world that awaits me after I die. As a biological creature, I know, I am not going to be here forever. Hence, before death removes my character from this world, I want to play my part, become more conscious of this world and its exhilarating beauty, pursue knowledge, understand myself better and improve my character.

And, finally, when this brief drama of my life comes to its close, I wish to depart from the stage without leaving behind a sack full of burden, guilt or regret.

Human life is utterly transient. Hence, my life is only a brief spark in this vast universe, and soon the spark I am carrying will flutter and fade away. But as long as the spark lasts, I have promised myself to carry on with my passionate commitment to taste all the impulses of life in its utter recklessness.

I have come to realize that I am part of a universe that is utterly unpredictable and indifferent to human concerns; however, I can’t remain indifferent because for me my life, my search for knowledge and especially my relationships with other people really matter to me. Life has been unfair to me many times, and there are those usual days of languid confusions and vast sorrows, but I keep up with my constant solace knowing that the universe lives its life with me.

Moreover, human life is rather plotless. And, with all the tumbling experiences of life bubbling around us, we might feel that our human life is utterly meaningless without the presence of another world or an afterlife beyond this world. Similarly, we imagine a supernatural being that constructs and directs the narrative of our lives. And we also like to project unscientific, superstitious and meta-physical beliefs like destiny, laws of karma, sins of past-life, God’s will or grace, damnation and predestination to make meaning out of our lived experiences. 

However, our life only appears to be meaningless only if we consider the source of meaning to be outside of us. Whereas, our life is a continuous dichotomy of joy and sorrow, gain and loss, presence and absence, perfections and follies put together in a single package. Human life has poured itself out from this world, and it also passes away here. Hence, to live, enjoy and understand our human life authentically, without mere pretensions, prejudices and projections, we need that courage to say yes to life in all its shades and shadows and also embrace its utterly transient, random, unpredictable and contingent nature.

Waking Up

Gaurav Ojha

Many people are languidly happy with their religious beliefs, superstitions, hollow and insensitive rituals, hence it’s rather difficult and at times even dangerous to challenge and question their unscientific and irrational assumptions about human nature, human life on earth, laws of nature and about the mysterious universe. Therefore, I must confess, it’s not easy being a naturalist, humanist, free thinker, skeptic or non-religious in a culture context where many people take the concepts of spirituality, religious values, beliefs system, rituals, myths, astrology and the esoteric ideas like reincarnation, liberation and salvation for granted without ever doubting or making an inquiry over their validity.

Our universe is outside-less, and we human beings are finite creatures placed against a vast, infinite and mysterious universe.  I find it rather ridiculous to believe that we get thrown into the infinity of additional existence judged from our less than a century of human life we spent in this tiny speck of dust among millions of galaxies dancing in the sky. We human beings like to expand the briefness of human life with the concept of eternal life because we are still too afraid to confront our mortality. Without our fear of death and nothingness, it seems rather unconvincing to argue and believe that our finite human existence and its experiences, errors, memories, imaginations, actions and reactions, choices and decisions have those lingering impacts that last infinitely.

There is only this flux of life and nothing else apart from the sparkling sensations of being alive. I find myself living in an ever-changing world that is vibrant and alive. For those people who wait for eternal realms, heavens, Shangri-La, mystical worlds, paradise and other spiritual planets after their death, human existence may appear less meaningful to them than their ultimate destination. However, I recognize my death as my final destination. Hence, for me, the journey of my life is far more meaningful, exciting, vital and vibrant than my destination. 

As a finite being, I want to live my life with utmost care, joy, gratitude, creativity, courage and understanding, as I find little pieces of delights that keep on pouring out from the immediate experiences of my life. There is always music, dance and poetry in the organic rhythm of life. Whether it's paradoxical, complex, confusing, mysterious, painful, unknown or overwhelmingly beautiful, nothing can be as delightful as to wake up from the slumbers of our self-conscious delusions, to express our thoughtful love for actual life and to be alive, here and now.

At the first meeting of a fiction workshop
with Lydia Davis, one of the students asked her if
she believed a short story could consist of three
sentences or fewer.  Lydia said, “Yes, I do.” He
nodded, stood up and without a word walked out
of the classroom and never came back.  We all wondered if something happened to him.

	
	Fact or fiction?


 
Dark comes early in the mountains. They were climbing up there, bushwhacking as they went. Their headlamps cutting zig zag patterns
into the night. Gladys gave me a corkscrew once.
She insisted, “You never know when you might need of those. Tonight, was one of those nights.
 
In the wake of the storm, the night was charged by downed electrical wires. The streets sparked and the few remaining trees ignited shooting fingers of flame along the branches. The air smelled wet and feral, alive like an animal no one had known of before.

 
	
536-

Tour Concentration Camp   Erased

	I have carried
The United States          the gas chambers of Auschwitz
A splendid visit

		small white-		wood oblong
mausoleum			   white oven knobs

				       switched off
lights.  Darkness killed as much as the gas.

		I went in

					Right away I
   Attempted to escape
			Hid in a niche
I veered
the crowd climbed			, doubly mourning
yesterday’s anguish

				everyone joined in a sad
funereal picnic

		Helene Cixous
 
538-

Random. Boring Post Cards. Phaidon.
Atomic Post Cards. The Lochgelly
Centre Complex or SAC Headquarters
Offert Air Force Base. White Rock Los
Alamos County or Actual Pictures of
Dreaded Bomb Blasts. Frenchman’s Flats,
Nevada. Convalescent Home Broadstairs.
Looking Across Solway Firth, Silloth
(With coffee ring stain) The City of the
Atomic Bomb: Cedar Hill Elementary School
Oak Ridge Tennessee. Dead Men Reading
Post Cards.
 
558-

Dream on with Joseph Cornell

The Parkway Dream. Utopia that is.
Film strips. And air guitars. Monsters
in a Box. Neither black nor white.
Gray. Domestic tableau. Not an 
American Tragedy. My Brother’s
Keeper. Dreams of old toys. Broken
music boxes. Jack (s) in. Scrapbooks.
Vandalized, 1906 Sears Catalog.
When is a Franklin Stove not a Franklin
Stove. When the canary from the coal
mine escapes. Sings. Like a jailbird.
Vonnegut. Shoeless Joe. All those
boxes filled. Many times, over.
		


561-

Back List Book Titles Arranged: a found poem

If Night Is Falling. The Moon Rises
in the Rattlesnake’s Mouth. Night Farming
in Bosnia. Weightless Earth. Carbon Dating
Hunger. Infinite Days Teaching Bones to Fly.
Travel Over Water. The Sky’s Dustbin. Light
from a Small Brown Bird. Blue Swan, Black
Swan. Kissing the Bee. Painting the Egret’s Echo. 
Reembrace of Water. Ancient Maps and a Tarot
Pack. All the Beautiful Dead. Bitter Oleander.


		562-

The perfect fiction is reality.
(Life). Gilbert Sorrentino asserted.
In a book of poems.  A day book.
Of sorts. Perfect fictions. All. 
A deck of 52 involved. Not 
necessarily playing Cards. Weeks.
Are. Not in an Orangery for sure.
That book with the word orange
embedded within. Not a rhyming 
Simon, he. El Gilberto. Le gran 
orange. Trusty Rusty. Not the poet.
The ball player, “Everything invented
is real.” Flaubert.