the eiger sanka

thinking tonight
I am not this brain

in the darling garden
eating cowboy bread

in this underlined winter
I am the burrowing owl

scrabble tile: alpha
a noise now nothing


---



plum (understood)

combo

shampoo your skull

I use the same salt as the funneling crow
I am that old gold senator from the moon

combo


--


the promise of a new marvel team-up

the absolute reality

we were
went worm

para
keet

the moss inside
I went through the wrong door


--


crabapple could-be

& yes
I know

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* (Post-Asemic Press, 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.

[surrea(list)]


 what if telepathic rain filled boiling cold cedar streams of dancing ash that rolled upward in incandescent tides to sweet fragrant sloughs of blood-black ammonia rimmed by deer sitting in beach chairs discussing ones-and-zeros in unpatterned rhythms with venomous violets in ancient Aramaic as ticks stalked great hawks mid pyroclastic flows while boldly grinning ferns with Marilyn Monroe hair hummed derisively in tangerine shade beneath turquoise gums dropping warm lavender snow during any season when snakes reproduced into laurel bushes bearing giant red acorns sprouting thorned orchids that softened the forest floor with pearls of conscience while being serenaded by schizophrenic gnats to the meter of pine bombs whispering in the silence of a chaos so loud that the sky deafens the leaves and betrayal was the norm until the belligerent sun separated into vapid sonnet-spewing starlets cheered on by the dumb and the thunderous applause of the handless as the world became a single-celled virus on the tip of a needle plunged into nothingness and infecting the void and what is real is surreal and surreal is so real that everything is relative and relational in an amalgam of disturbing perspective in perception subsumed in a line of poetry born on the wings of a great moment written between hell and whatever describing life and death and death becomes the purgatory of unfinished business and life reveals how stupid it all is and confirms that the poet is the prophet that will become one with the universe
****************************************************

[poetry]



singing in the silence of beats

while words

 

 spin

 

            on

 

                        trapezes

 

deliciously catching

                                    thoughtsinmidair

above uncertainties

                                     highwiring

without nets

 

miraculously

                                    afloat

 

until the roof

blows

off

 

and the fog

 

lifts


*****************************************************

[poetry]


finding lyricism in chaos

listening to the speech of color

seeing the shades of wind

feeling the tingle of time

kissing the memory of was

touching the excitement of is

sensing the truth of now

tasting the world of wow

THE CINNAMON-SKINNED GIRL

I said goodbye to her,
The cinnamon-skinned girl with eyes
As black as coal,
As brown as the earth beneath the earth.
She said goodbye and she was gone

While here I stand,
Drinking from an empty glass,
My tears falling into this endless fountain that spouts
Up into the nothing-at-all;
Looking into eyes as black as coal, as brown as the earth
Beneath the earth
That do not look back at me
And are not really here.
I rest beside the cinnamon-colored skin,
I feel the coolness and calmness for just a moment –
Knowing fully that what I feel is phantom.

I remember the kiss that sealed us.
The kiss that told me that we were us forever:
Just us.
The kiss was a lie but I can still close my eyes
And feel the shape of her lips surrounding my mouth,
So passionate, exquisite:

I still see the eyes as brown and black as brown and black can be.

I can taste her tongue and feel the shape of her lips;
Soft, dangerous, incongruous.

I still feel the skin that bound me to her and, now,
A lifetime of not her.

The skin that bound me to nothing.


CROSS

The memories of us
cling to my back
like the old rugged cross.
The splinter of your lonely figure at the bus stop,
the heaviness of the words I left lying
on the bedroom floor,
the downcast doom of that day
dragging us up to Golgotha,
to the inevitability of our death,
the uncertainty of our resurrection.
 
The memories of us
nailed up above my bed
like that little wooden cross I had
when I was five years old.
I pray to it at night and nothing happens
except a small drunken warmth in my belly
as my eyes leaden
and time keeps going forward anyway,
the bastard.
 
Driving past the church
I spent so many hours in as a boy,
in the choir, as an acolyte,
holding that chalice that the pastor
bent to the lips of the liars and the skullduggers
and the gossips and the philanderers,
Philistines all.
The cross at the top of the church so fascinating,
not ornate but so beautiful, regal, like a still bird,
snow falling whiter than white around it
like a feather crown.
I think of the time
before I knew you
and how happy I was because I didn’t know then
what little I had
like I know what little I have now.

THE LAUGHTER IN THE RAIN

I could hear the laughter in the rain
As it fell to my houseless head

The rivulets as tears falling down my face
The pools of water ever forming at shivering feet

Clothed in rags, dragging bags
Pitiless, eyes cold, manic, gleamy twin coins

Listening for a single gasp of sympathy
But hearing not a sound in the wind

Except the rain, the laughter in the rain,
The run on complaints of the street

The crackling of the moon
And the silence of the stones:

Wet, shining, waiting for my stumble
and my blood

Their faces as impassive as dead hands
And stilled hearts

Their hardness, their uncaring
To be my final bed

PERSON OF INTEREST

Tonight I am of interest to you.
Tomorrow I might die alone.
It’s been like this for me for a long time –
Long before the night not long ago
That I met you.
It’s funny how important someone seems
On a Monday afternoon:
How you can’t wait to get home and call them,
Find out about their day –
And that same person is not even a thought
Just 10 or 20 Monday afternoons later.
I think of all the people I’ve mostly forgotten
And I know that even more have forgotten me.
I remember eating cheesburgers together,
Tucked into that corner of the restaurant;
I remember it now and wonder if she remembers it
Or even remembers my name.
We were together off and on for a year or maybe more –
As time ticks on the measurements get hazier.
She’s living with some guy the last I heard,
Her divorce finally final for a while.
I was just trying to remember what it was like to have sex with her,
How many of my proclivities I exhibited,
How much nonsense I admitted,
What we talked about in the honesty of the dark.
I remember a little but not much.
I don’t know why I’m telling you this.
It sounds like a portent of doom
But it’s on my mind.
There have been so many Monday afternoons already
With different people waiting for my call
Or perhaps at the point where they were dreading it,
Ready to avoid it.
The Monday afternoons to come are less and less.
Hell, it could happen to us in just a few months –
I haven’t heard from you in a while
And I’ve forgotten you
Or, maybe,
You’ve forgotten me and
I’m still waiting for your call.


THE POEMS ARE LIES

Life is nothing like
An early frost upon the grapes
Or
Even
The life cycle of
The honeybee drone.

No.
It’s eating pretzels alone
At midnight
While listening to Enrico Caruso
And knowing that soon,
Too soon,
You will die.
Poetry lies.
You’ll be dead
Someday
And it will always be
Too soon.

The poems are lies.

Life is just like death –
Essentially one on one.
You contemplate and love
And hate and battle with
Yourself.

What you’ll regret most
Is all the lies you told
And the lies
Told
To you
That you
Believed
Were true.
Nothing about honeybees
Or grapes.

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

Finally Over

He’s getting divorced,

Remotely,

Very 2022,

And doubting that,

They ever,

Had a chance,

At least,

He’s keeping,

The dog.

Never Finished

He’s had a good,

Morning of writing,

Several poems,

Hundreds of words,

He’s probably done,

For the day,

Even though the work,

Is never truly finished,

Because when you’re writing,

What needs to be written,

There’s always,

Another line,

Or lines,

Another poem,

Or poems,

More thoughts,

And feelings,

More joy,

More pain,

And the blood,

That has to be wiped from the page.

Taylor Dibbert is a widely published writer, journalist, and poet. He’s author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset,” and the forthcoming poetry collection “Home Again.”

BAGGY GENERATION

I need no canoe to sail back into

The past, the day my grandfather

Read his adage into every growing ear

Only a puzzle in my brain, & this all

Would re-appear in fresh flesh

We grew up with this adage becoming

The owner of our heart-

The okra herb never duels for height

With its cocky.

As my mother’s tongue has also attested,

My mother’s mother would sew her a cloth

Of pair-able size to her petite nature-

Cutting her cloth in accord with her cloth.

Err NO for this baggy generation

A man’s shoe size is a thousand and two times

Grey-haired than his leg

Every being opine to what isn’t yet

Visible in their weak muscles

A child wants to talk before birth

And run before he crawls

A boy with two teeth is wearing the

Words of fatherhood in his mouth

The beards like scattered mop strands

Beneath the bottom of a child’s mouth

Has been robbed of the esteem of his father.

The baggy generation of

Fat clothing in big thin bodies

makes them another phrase

For a swallowed pill.

Baggy heads yet thin of sense

Everything is baggy! eyes, mind, mouth & motive

On crossed legs, this generation wants

To reach the peak of an alp.

Calypso lives as a goddess of immortality and youth upon the Ogygian island and she entraps and encharms Odysseus until the divine cosmic intervention of Zeus averted her into succumbing this lusty temptation as embellished in these lines, “By then, good bye to him, since no God can evade or thwart the will of Zeus.”

When Odysseys felt homesick remembrances of Penelope haunted him, Calypso’s immortality makes her more superior in her form, stature and appearance compared to Penelope. Odysseus’ choice of being paramoured by this enticement seemed to be foreshadowing Penelope’s susceptibility to time and decay, as metonymic for the realistic human condition he prefers unlike ‘ageless youth’ of Calypso. In this behaviour Odysseus’ choice deprioritizes
idolized beauty.

“A cruel folk you are, unmatched to jealousy? You gods cannot bear to let a goddess sleep with a man, even if it is done without concealment or she has chosen him as her lawful consort.” Calypso become disillusioned by the boorish heraldry of Hermes, the giant slayer and Messenger of God; Zeus, the Lord of Hera and Thunderer doesn’t relish the fact of her conjugal union with Odysseus
and thereby she releases her captive.

Odysseus cannot but be suspicious of villainous trickery of Calypso, who in intercession, chants breathtaking rhetoric, pointing Odysseus’ crafty mind. “What a villain you are to think of such a thing! It shows the crafty way your own mind works.” This happens, however, that the nymph Calypso becomes intensely emotional and elevated with sensational feelings for the hero proclaims in ingenuity of her fairness of being tender hearted soul.

“For I, after all, have some sense of what is fair; and my heart is not a block of iron. I know what pity is!”

Describe the cosmic and divine interventions of the anthropomorphic Gods in Homer’s Odyssey.

Or
Justify Odysseyean narrative in perspectives of man’s responsibility rather than divine malevolence

Or
“The companions yielding to reckless folly invokes the wrath of the Gods. Explain in the light of the commentary.

Or
“That is the God’s work, spinning threads of death through the lives of mortal men…” Explain and justify the perspectives of Alcinous’ speech through the light of divine intervention and cosmic role of gods and goddesses.

Poseidon Lord of the Earthquake and Earth Girdler incites a thunderous rivalry with Odysseus for murdering Cyclops, the mountain giant. In vengeance and vengeful spirits, he shipwrecks Odysseus as manifested by these inferences to these dactylic hexameter, “So I had only to go to Ethiopia for the Gods to
change their minds about Odysseus. And there he is, close to the Phaeacian lands, where he is destined to bring his long ordeal to an end. Nevertheless I mean to let him have his plentiful of trouble yet.” In a nutshell, Poseidon is cast as the blocking force of obstacle or hindrance to Odysseus’ return and to Zeus’ will. Odysseus attributes both destructiveness and helpfulness to Zeus when he
describes the culminating disasters of his travels and the shipwreck off Thrinacia.

Throughout the narratorial omniscience poaching of animals renders
impending doom and life threatening stance. Zeus’ animosity of lightning thunder to strike Odysseus’ ships reflect the divine justice of his companions’ doom and furthermore, Zeus’ prevents Scylla’s reappearance. Both Teiresias’ and Circe’s re echoing of stock advisory imperatives entails foreboding apprehensions with incurring the wrath of Poseidon or Helios’ against killing their sacred cattle:

“And if you yourself contrive to escape, you will come home
late, in evil plight, with all your comrades lost.” Athena aids in the favour of betterment for the future of the Ithacan kingdom and she exclaims, “I knew in my heart”.. “That you would return after the loss of all your companions, but I did not want to fight with Poseidon, the brother of my father, who has put anger in his heart in wrath because you blinded his own son.”

Athena’s magical divinity and wondrous marvels have been a boon for Odysseus’ and Telemachus’ accomplishments. Nestor exclaims after the disappearance of Mentes, that, she [goddess Athena] For never in my life have I seen the Goddesses display such open emotion as Pallas Athena had shown for the championship of Odysseus. For instance, Odysseus was blessed by a divine
showering of radiance by Goddess Athena upon his brine crusted ascension to shores of Scheria from Ogygiaian isles. Arrogant and hubristic beasts such as Cyclops Polyphemus have been bestowed by Zeus’ showerings of torrential downpours for the fertility and productivity of grapes and grains in mountainous caverns, which Odysseus feels loathsome. Nevertheless, Zeus’ retributive justice
to invoke wrathful vengeance in collaboration with Artemis to disenfranchise maidservant for entrapment of Eumaeus is vindictive justification.

Evaluate Nausicaa’s character as a feminist threat of the Homeric epic Odyssey.

Or Explain the significance of Nausicaa’s feminist character in Homer’s Odyssey.

Or
Describe Odyssus’ journey from Ogygia to the island of Scheria and
eventually acquaintanceship with Phaecan princess Nausciaa. Illustrate your answer with references to family, marriage and conjugality.

Or
“Good luck, my friend, and when you are in your own country, you will remember at times, since it is to me, before all others, you owe your life.” Explain the incidents of the episodes at Scherian island with Nausicaa.

Or
Odysseus’ and Nausicaa’s can be considered as unrequited love in
canonical literature. Explain with textual evidences.

Seafaring wanderer Odysseus acquainted himself with Phaeacian princess Nausicaa. If Homer hadn’t intended Odysseus’ eventual homecoming then this folk tale romance would evolved as a ‘tragic artistic blunder’ linking conjugality of Odysseus with the Phaeacian princess Nausicaa in the isles of Scheria. The princess attends neither courtly royal affairs, Phaeacian palace games nor
Odysseus’ eventual departure. Their solitudinous solace of final meeting renders romantic anticipation. Odysseus’ impetus of Phaeacian episode falsehood rechoes to safeguard the image and reputation of the princess in King Alcinous presence. “My lord”, replied the resourceful Odysseus, “your daughter [Phaeacian princess Nausicaa] is not to blame for that [ushering Odysseus
along with her attending maidens’ accompaniment], and I beg you not to take her to task. She did tell me to follow along with the servants. But in my modesty I shrank from doing so, thinking it possible that you might be annoyed at the sight.” [VII 303-307].

Nausicaa’s tactfulness and vigilance in espousal of shipwrecked foreigner Odysseus infers the imminent danger of tarnishing
reputation amidst Phaeacian sailors and noble suitors Princess Nausicaa’s demeanor possesses a considerable appeal to influence Odysseus’ future prospects through the cherishing of a royal wedding and sovereignty of a dukedom.

Nausicaa is a divine deity as envisioned by Odysseus’ in spellbinding
admiration of her grace, beauty and statute. “If you are one of the Gods, it is of Artemis, the daughter of Almighty Zeus, that your beauty, grace and stature most remind me.” [VI 49-52]. Odysseus’ pitiful appeal for a rag to shroud and wrap his nakedness and storytelling of the winds and tempestuous waves of
island of Ogygia ensues within this phenomenal meeting. Even Nausicaa’s is hailed to be a female of wonder and veneration for a seafaring voyager like Odysseus. Furthermore, Odysseus’ prayers for Nausicaa’s future blissful conjugality assures something charismatic. Since home, husband and family will be confounding their enemies and delighting their friends. In the end, Nausicaa’s feminine persuasion, graceful eloquence, charming beauty, youthful
intelligence exalts Homeric artistic triumph and Odyssean resolution.

1. Nausicaa: A Feminist Threat, Authors: Nicolas P. Gross and Nicholas P.
Gross, Source: The Classical World, February 1976, Vol. 69, No. 5, February
1976, pages: 311-317
2. Poor Polyphemus: Emotional Ambivalence In “Odyssey” 9 and 17 , Author:
Rick M. Newton, Source: The Classical World, January-February 1983, Vol. 76,
No. 3, pages: 137-142.
3. The Role of Telemachus In The Odyssey, Author: M.J. Alden, Belfast,
Northern Ireland, Source: Hermes, 2nd Qtr, 1987, pages: 129-137
4. Narrative and Rhetoric To The Odysseus’ Tales To The Phaeacians, Author:
Marianne Hopman, Source: The American Journal of Philology, Spring 2012,
Vol. 133, No. 1, pages: 1-30
5. The Reunion of Penelope and Odyssey, Author: Chris Emlyn Jones, Source:
Greece and Rome, April 1983, Vol. 31, No. 1 , Pages 1-18, Cambridge
University Press On Behalf of The Classical Association