Mended Healing Sky
Claimed by Fear
Wonder upon the Fallen until
Life drawn in Hearts can find.
Strain is echoes of new Life
already Happens Now creating
for the first time, as
Always Was,
always
the tip of the Dream,
A Rocket whose Flaming tail
is History itself.
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Adamu Yahuza Abdullahi
SALVATION IN THE EYES OF THE SUN Somewhere, a boy is digging a tomb of memory and ends up having his head hung between this poem. I don't want to start this poem with memories, with lines that bring me more closer to extinction. So when about to sleep, I'll close the windows to not have a taste of the airs that scents more like my brother, still, they sneaked in and romance me with their roughened edges. I dreamt of salvation in the eyes of the sun, the sun came & pour me her rays; they doesn't taste like scented flowers, like vine ripe mangoes. I ran to the moon, the moon placed in my palms, darkened images. I don't know know where else to search for light, I returned to this poem; I saw the dreams of my sister withered in a flower betwixt the lines. I saw with my korokoro eyes the nakedness of her dreams choking my breath. Tell me how more to starts a day than to wake up in the garden of lilies, everything here pop me up to an emissary of tears. I mean to say, here; I am a portrait of a boy hung on the walls of fate
THRENODY To the souls the ground swallowed To the dreams that got ruptured To the faces been robbed of smiles To — afternoons of collapsed skeletons To the moments that ticks in the chest To the days lived in fear— yesterdays of wailings To the fruits that got plucked off unripened To every kin yanked and slewed at Burma To the dirges— The threnodies To the victims of faulty policies— To the Yobe, the Zamfara— where my brothers and sisters await their death. To the everyday mourning news of the television To the widowed, the orphaned To every blood shed— broken promises To the days, where the goats no longer feed on greens To every agony To every pain To every story that falls blood To every dreams shattered I say, let's put our heads and brains together In spite of our homes been war-torned Let's keep our hope alive— fate like a citadel And our bright steps will once again spring love
Poetry and prose from Jean Eureka
“Let’s dream big and make reality bigger than our dreams, let’s dream together in a humanity immersed in art, science and culture.”
Floating lightness By JEAN EUREKA
Floating lightness, sign materiality
opposite confrontation, unfolded metaphors,
in pacts of stone.
Mythical experience, inherited revelation
light synthesis, sublimation, imaginary.
Whole in quarters, Cloudy in media,
Asleep in thirds, Initiation and ephemeral body,
Wake up.
Alter ego neon, Eternal essence
Induction of the teacher, In silver gardens
time center, inert return, life, sacrifice, resolution
Tlàloc quartz, children, gods, droughts, Abyssal hike.
Resurrection of allegories
Luminous tremors
Idyllic awakenings
Brief review
In decaying inductions
Parasomatic, extracorporeal
Pact accepted,
On mother moons.
Swing bridges
Irreversible destiny.
Here and now
Tomorrow, never, always.
seductive lightness.
---------------------------------------
Drought
By Jean Eureka
The prairie became desert, it was the decisions, the ones that are made, the ones that are forgotten, it was the wars, the pain and the greed. Of green cloaks, now marked cracks. The meadow became deserted, it was the indecisions, the ones that are released, the memories, it was the half peace, the false joy, the feigned detachment. Of blue cloaks, deep cracks. The lush meadow became desert, the sky no longer watered the cloaks, fearful of hypocrisy.
And despite everything, I can still see the light through the cracks.
Betrayal irreversible, death irreversible. Your impact, my impact, our impact ... let's not look to blame if there is no time for solutions.
Does it matter? Did it matter?
Earth resists, humanity ... awake!
The prairie became desert ... arid, hot, and inhospitable.
And we are still here.
Biocorta: The DHC. Architect Jeanette E. Tiburcio, known as Jean Eureka, is a proud Veracruzana. Living in the state of Querétaro for two decades, and the descendant of a great artistic, educational, historical and cultural legacy, she is known in the world as the Mexican Pandora's Box for her fascination with poetry. She is also known for supporting spoken word, for teaching architecture, the arts, mathematics, and science. Also, for promoting youth of all ages, architects and teachers. She began her career with a masters' degree in Innovation and Research, as well as in Neurolinguistics and Accelerated Learning. She has 30 years of experience teaching mathematics in basic education, high school and college, and has more than 150 awards for her activism, awarded in more than 50 countries for her social contributions, cultural, educational, artistic and peace achievements. She has 11 honorary doctorate degrees awarded by different universities on four continents. She is Life President of Mil Mentes por Mexico, Cabina 11 Cadena Global, Eureka, Accelerated Mathematical Learning and the International Rector of the Mexican University of Entrepreneurship. She is also the International Rector of the Children's University, a recent member of the World Academy of Thought, and an honorary member of Teaching Colleges in America. She is the Founding President of Sustainable Reaction working on the SDGs 2030, and the National Executive President for Mexico of the Main Research Institute of India in its general offices for Mexico. She is a member of different peace groups in the world working to forge a better human condition, where ideas are promoted in harmonious freedom of collaboration among nations based on understanding and promotion of universal values and respect to achieve justice and freedom of thought. In 2022 she was named Honorary President of the Hispanic World Union of Writers, which was founded 30 years ago and has a presence in 140 countries. She has two solo books and has participated in 22 international anthologies. She is the Founder of Las Olas del Arte Magazine in Belgium and of Trezz Magazine in Mexico and is the editor of Literature magazine in China.
Poetry from Moustafa Dandoush
Don't Try! You made me cry, Then said goodbye. You ran away, Then come today. begging me to stay, Although you are far away. Couldn't you just be a memory? Since I can’t be near, but only away. Don't I want to stay? Of course, but you enjoy being away. Don't worry, I won't cry, All I want to scream is "DON'T TRY".
Poetry from Lori Minor
***** all my darkness waxing moon *** same shit different day cicadas **** in the name of the lord wolfsbane *** mayflies— my fantasy of someone else *** orchid seeds the dig of his nails into my waist
Lori A Minor (she/they) is a queer, neurodivergent poet and activist. Recipient of more than 15 haikai awards, they are proud to be included in A New Resonance 12 and to have given presentations at Haiku North America (2019, 2021). Lori’s sixth book, Hot Girl Haiku, is now available.
Poetry from Christopher Bernard
The Dragons of Paris (Upon reading Fashionable Nonsense: Postmodern Intellectuals’ Abuse of Science, by Alan Sokal and Jean Bricmont) By Christopher Bernard Once upon a time, in the glamorous, notorious City of Lights that lies across the sinuous Seine like a seductive odalisque of reason and sensuality, beauty, style, good taste, and sense, there appeared a foul and toxic fog, a smoke that belched and bound the town in mental night. The citizens wandered, stunned and blind and crying out in random shouts in words no one could understand: “Le petit a! Jouissance! Différance! Pastout! Afemme! Séméiotiké!” that filled the air all over France from caves deep down in old Lutéce (“Mudville,” once called, now called again), where the Dragons of Paris disbursed, in smog, dank volumes of mephitic breath. The Dragons’ names put terror in the hearts of all good citizens: Lacan le Gros, Foucault le Mal, grinning Baudrillard le Bouffon, Kristeva la Sorciére, Jacques Derrida l’Indécidable, Gilles Deleuze, la Porte Sublime du Dindon de la Charabia, and more, with a host of dragonettes pursuing the work of their dark masters cooking in their dens a glorious madness of chopped dictionaries and tossed charlatanry, spiced with cynicism, that sickened two generations of impressionable, clueless, half-educated youth, most of them – hélas! – American. One day two knights rode from the west – Sir Alan and Sir Jean by name, “Follow the Science!” writ on one shield, “Physics to the Rescue!” upon the other – and bravely stormed the fetid caves whose floors and walls were lined with texts with dragon sweat and guano thick, unreadable, yet cruelly read by generations of undergrads and graduate students until they squealed, “There is no truth, there is no Real, no good not always already a weapon, Big Other, subject, sexual relation (sorry, mom, dad! I never really happened!), no meaning not infinitely deferred, no science, objectivity, facts (“no facts but only interpretations,” as unholiest St. Fritz of Nietzsche said); ‘Il n’y a rien hors de texte!’; no world, nothing whatsoever beyond the Word!” (because, if they didn’t, they wouldn’t get a degree (in English) so they could teach in a nice, respectable university, and maybe someday get tenure – but then, my friends, they wouldn’t even get that – poor dears! – in the end). With a thousand bold strokes, Sir Jean and Sir Alan pierced the hides of the Parisian dragons (“Mathematical gaffes! Scientific misunderstanding! Bad logic, worse grammar, bad French and worse English! Logical dead ends! Arithmetical nonsense! Hang it, just meaningless gibberish!”) and out of the holes in those green slippery skins hot air hissed away in a gale o’er the Seine, and the dragons – the two Jacques, the one Julie, Jean, Gilles, Michel, and a crowd of others – shrieking death cries, flew about in a panic as they shrank like a frantic mob of balloons, gnashing and frothing and hopelessly flying from darkness to darkness – one felt sorry for them, almost – till they shriveled down to what they had been all along: a few inches of thin rubber, with mouths agape, and nothing whatever inside them but air. Sir Alan and Sir Jean, armor dented and scarred, swords flecked with balloons punctured, and smeared with ink, exited the caverns out to the light and the acclaim of a grateful city. “At last!” rose the cry on all sides, “We can again see the sun! We can breathe! We are freed from the impenetrable night that threatened to destroy us – above all, our minds!” The two knights, bloodied, exhausted, but victorious, took their modest bows. “You are really too kind!” Then glanced at each other: it wouldn’t do now to tell these people they were partly to blame for nursing the dragons with their own folly: spare the critic and spoil the intellectual. Don’t get them in the crib, and give them a fight? When (if!) they grow up, they’ll give you a bite! At the banquet that followed, they had stories to tell: close calls with the enemies of thought and light, genuine creation, and piety for the human: intellectual pretentiousness in a shotgun wedding with despotic professional intimidation fueled, on the one hand, by status anxiety and, on the other, by narcissistic delight. Unhappily, they had not gotten all the dragons in the end: one sly dragonette from the Balkans fled, escaping to Slovenia, his innocent home, where he remains, cooking his oracles for the next set of gullible college students, if there are any left! _____ "Christopher Bernard’s most recent book of poems, The Socialist’s Garden of Verses, won a 2021 PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award for Excellence and was named one of Kirkus Reviews’ “Top 100 Indie Boks of 2021.”
Poetry from Yusuf Salisu Muhammad
The Sob of the Masses In day and Night Even if It rains Cats and Dogs Even if The weather has Changed The Masses weep though wars and starvations bedeviling the townlets Oh ! Oh ! Oh! Oh! This is a dime a dozen Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Day by day Their daughters are being raped Jewels or not They pedestrianize to China and wail million times before they could get a drop of water It is the last Straw Of the masses Forwhy Their Godfathers pay no attention to their Woods Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Let us pray to get rid of these Lest We face the Music God Forbid !
The Threatenable Nation Though Poem is not Easy But I Should not be a lazy Oh ! My Country my Country ! Insecurity threatens Our Unity ! Places have been vandalized And We have been massacred Why Threatenable Nation? It's a Nation Without Motion... Why do they always loot the properties of Government Without any development ? No peace in Cities Nor Hamlets But Alas unutilised Talents Oh! My Country My Country ! Insecurity threatens Our Unity In this Country Inadequate Water Supply Inadequate Power Supply All became norms Prosperities are Very rare While Unemployments are rampants Oh ! My Arewa My Arewa ! Yeah ! it's My Province And We lack peace It's indeed time For Us to raise Our Voices Let's Wake up let's wake up! Manna don't fall From heaven And, With no pain no gain Yeah ! There's Kidnapping, raping And genociding it's really not kidding Open defecation and deforestation I'm afraid! They are not Once in a blue moon All this in my father Land In Countries We are third World This Country it's befitting To be called the Threatenable Nation Oh ! My Country My Country Insecurity threatens Our Unity Let the Message be Clear This Country is Nigeria We Shouldn't be in voiceless But in vocalness Oh ! God tackle all Our Obstacles
A Tearful Country
A Large Country,
But less than blue Ivory,
With no blooming tertiaries
rather a blunt Resources.
We Vote Our Leaders
Later We turned to ladders
While we Weep
They sip the elite drink
And left us to our thirst
Oh! Where Is everyone's talent?
Have they lost their craft
Oh! Where Is Our Government?
Let us Save her Beforehand from drought
Else
We would Cry a river.
Short Bio
Yusuf Salisu Muhammad was born on Saturday morning 15/3/2003 in Katsina state, Nigeria, He received His earliest Education at police Children School, Katsina state, Nigeria, then proceeded to Saldefi International School Where he earned a Secondary School living certificate also in Katsina state, Nigeria. He is currently Studying B.A History, at Umaru Musa Yar'adua University, Katsina State, Nigeria. Some of his poems were published at Susa Africa, Hausawa, and Voice Of Northern Nigeria. He started writing poems at 17.