WIDZENIA

Dwa lemury na drzewie… 
Rozumiemy, rozumiemy. Podłoże 
psychosomatyczne, 
czyli zespół 
wyjątkowo niespokojnych 
paznokci. 

A swoją drogą, czy ma pan jeszcze 
widzenia? 
Gdzie pan właściwie był, 
jak pana wśród nas 
przez tydzień 
nie było? 

Jak to gdzie? Odebrał sobie życie 
i po powrocie 
pije, 
stał się oszczędny i unika 
filetów z atlantyckiego dorsza. A jednak 
smażenie! 

Proszę podawać trzy tabletki 
na dobę. 
(Dwa lemury na drzewie…) 
I ma nagle negatywny stosunek 
do służby 
wojskowej. 

W takim razie cztery. 
Trzy po posiłkach, 
a czwartą jak znowu zacznie sikać 
po żywopłotach. 
Jeśli już raz odebrał sobie życie,
nie pozwólmy mu teraz żyć.

Sight

Two lemurs sat in a tree and chatted.

“We understand, we understand.

The subsoil is psychosomatic—

filled with a team of nervous nail-biters.”

“By-the-way, do you still have your sight?

Where were you? We didn’t see you

for a week.”

“How so?” He had taken his own life

and after reincarnating he drank heavily,

became unusually frugal, and avoided

eating filets of Atlantic cod

(even the fried ones).

A doctor advised him: “Please take three pills

each day.”

He returned to the tree; suddenly

developed a negative view

of military service;

so, the doctor upped it to four—

three after a meal and another

after urinating on the hedges.

“If he already killed himself once,

let’s not really let him have a life.”

NAD STAWEM

Psy zaczynają na siebie
polować.

Jak padnie ostatni,

nie będzie już kogo
jeść.

By the Pond

Dogs have begun hunting

each other.

When the last falls,

there won’t be anyone left

to eat.

NA DRUGIM PIĘTRZE

Mieszka mięso.

Ciepłe, tłuste
mięso.

Zwabimy je psiną
i wysuszymy

na haku.

On the Second Floor

lives a piece of meat—

warm, fatty

meat.

We’ll lure the doggies in

and dry them

on a hook. 

ŚWIEŻE MIĘSO

Jest lepsze 
od solonego.

Przyszłość 
nie ma smaku.

Fresh Meat

is better 

than cured meat.

The future holds no

flavor.

Filling the Hollow

resonator grotto

pushing headline disinfectants

devised a renewed pastiche

liminal fury for taint collectors

brought a binge pot dilemma 

its crude invective 

untamed the clot’s brand name

ghost fangs mental vending

threshed spotless reverb egress

past sound regrets tangled dry

as a flattened root 

plying the sharpened tonic grab

contortion clangs against vibrato

trembling with a haunted verbatim

in search of a breaking tremolo

to gambol freely

against the chamber’s echo points

Below the Land’s Bottom

pealing at robotic speed

the stranger left a missing hieroglyph

sleeping under the sinkhole

swamping the mendicant 

sporting a bearded vantage boast

where street invention

gaped a landmark palpitation

                     2.

verbal carnage soaring

vigil haze fattened the coming 

joggle a rough descent

retread derision encased 

any sidewalk dream plots worn

to comfort the decimation

with a congregation of friction studios

                 3.

lout fight a slow obstacle 

included fans of glower problems

fighting apprehension daze

reprobate misses figurine

torpedo grieving well black ending

rapier predispositions stick

bygones target simulacrum remover

Seeing Four Times

 1-

Hopper boarding house:

lights on behind each

window, a story in every room.

 2-

Hands framed like O’Keeffe’s

in black and white. Age spotted

and arthritic now. Two handled

coffee cup nearby, steaming.

 3-

Burchfield snowscapes surreal

as sun behind snow burdened

trees. All the walls inside

papered with dreams.

 4-

O’Keeffe’s night sky.

clouds over the desert.

Windows open to let

the stars in.

Seeing Five Times

 1-

Loud noise startles-

crows rise from

Van Gogh’s fields.

 2-

After the shipwreck-

Turner recreates

the storm.

 3-

Light clarified-

Monet’s out of focus

flowers.

 4-

Shadows brushed by light

at sunrise-new eyes

are needed.

 5-

Inside the cathedral:

sunlight through stained

glass. Hopkins’ pied beauty.

Seeing Six Times

 1-

Windblown sun against

window glass, a study

for a landscape.

 2-

An arrangement of summer

squash on a picnic table

by size and height;

almost art.

 3-

Rock formations where

mountains abruptly end.

Rising mist envelopes

lost climbers. Nowhere to go.

 4-

Felled trees carved

Into animal heads.

A man with a chainsaw.

Making art.

 5-

Dawn in the mountains.

Fog layers a lake.

Last night’s rain still

on trees.

 6-

Landscape with sunset.

low slate gray clouds

underscored by dayglo

red on the hills, windows

reflect bits of color.

Seeing Seven Times

 1-(Durant)

Last flourish of sun

over white mountains.

Shadows cloud still

water. Nothing moves.

Not even the light.

 2-(Hokusai)

Snowcapped Mt. Fuji.

Red sun sinks.

The sea on fire.

 3-(Cropsey)

Fading clouds last

reflective glow on still

water, sun tainted evening

mists drift towards shore.

4-(Hokusai)

Draws perfect circles,

one inside the other.

Then the Great Wave.

 5-(Church)

Low ridge of black

clouds. The whiteness

of a snow peak. A full

moon rising.

 6-(Hokusai)

Musing. Travelers hike

curving paths bearing

burdens on their backs,

where one trail ends,

another begins.

 7-(Self-Portrait)

Deeply furrowed flesh.

Collapsing facial lines.

Tired eyes still laughing.

The White and the Blue and the Black Three Times

 1-

The sky bleeds 

where sun meets

the sea

The slow tide

of night that

follows after

 2-

Lilacs in full bloom.

The white and the blue.

A purple Iris border;

Spring’s tone poem

 3-

Before the storm:

dead calm of still

black night

The island drawing

lightning from the sky

Wind chimes sound

the alarm

Les Preludes: Ted and Sylvia, One Each

 1-

Fluctuating sea breezes,

sky changing from

blue to gray to black;

hawk in the rain

 2-

Dead fall amid winter

trees; matted grass where

the deer lie down

————————————————————————–

boring is good

all the madness has

been drained from

my desire

it is all simply day

after day

same old shit after all

the other boring shit

it was explained to

me as a child, this

was life

that boring is good

and i’m stuck here

wondering if i am

even alive

but the sun will

come up again

the birds will shit

on your driveway

the stray cat will

piss on your porch

flowers and weeds

good thing i wasn’t

using that hour

just a little crack

in the misery

happiness always

gave me the creeps

———————————————————-

a touch of genocide

and here come the clowns

angelic devils sent to torture

young children

imagine all your birthdays

had just a touch of genocide

that yellow brick road

has been covered in

blood

just an endless war

to feed the rich

trapped in suburbia

knowing all of this

is futile

she gave me a handful

of dead flowers and said

like everything else, they

were once beautiful

all we have is nostalgia

you know,

when eggs were priced

less than a body part

porch cigarettes

and a bottle of jack

must be spring

———————————————–

murder mystery

a valley of sadness

a b movie on a saturday

night in the sticks

murder mystery

with a tv dinner

they still sell

salisbury steak

at the local deli

a red x through

all the days

calendar after precious

little puppy calendar

you like cats better

because all assholes

stick together

another empty

for the floor

death is in the air

crushing pills so the

alcohol still shines

wake up two weeks

later in the hospital

forgotten your name

but don’t worry, they

always know who will

be paying the fucking

bill

—————————————————–

in this vapid wasteland

sometimes it isn’t

even the pain

being tossed to

the side of the

road

wasting time trying

to find love in this

vapid wasteland of

unmarked graves

and declining

statistics

dead skin

sleeping on the floor

waiting for death like

a whore on christmas

one last glass of scotch

and some blues on the

radio

the shotgun in the corner

may get some action tonight

more than i can say about

the rest of us

—————————————————————————

the beauty of a few drinks in

her neon eyes caught

my attention from

across the room

all those curves in

all the right places

yet another one

way out of my

league

but the beauty of a

few drinks in is there

is no limits in a drunken

mind

first rule,

always make her laugh

i’m not sure about the

second rule as i never

had much success with

rule one

i bought her a drink

asked her name

and told her she

was beautiful

she said you can do

better than that

i laughed and explained

to her about disappointment

and sometimes you should

just enjoy the compliment

and free booze

the younger ones never

got those lessons about

honesty

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

Fairy Queen

Fairy queen 

Where are you going?

I am in everywhere 

Far and near

My love is everything

I want to read the stories of your wings.

Your every step touches my world

You are not without me

Please come in

My arms are safe and divine

My eyes are ever green

You can’t skip from my imagination

I have spell bounded you 

With the fragrance of love.

Flowers can’t betray with the spring

Birds can’t stop their singing

Except me you can’t do anything.

I see you openly and silently

ln the window of my poetry 

Every word of my dream touches your jingle

My happiness removes your darkness

You will shine.

I want to take every breath from you

I want to make my endless sleep

keeping my head in your lap

That is a part of heaven.

Death will make another bridge for us

We leave this world but will make another one

Where everything will be possible

Every moment will be memorable

We will overcome time factor

Never go far away from each other

Don’t fly from here

We will compose an endless poem.

Three Prominent Poets of Contemporary Literature

In the realm of contemporary poetry, diverse voices emerge from various corners of the globe, enhancing literature with their unique perspectives and distinctive styles. Today, we spotlight three remarkable poets who embody their respective nations: Mexico, China, and Greece.

Jeanette Tiburcio Marquez from Mexico

Jeanette Tiburcio Márquez stands as a prominent figure in Mexican poetry. Her oeuvre is marked by a profound sensitivity to human emotions and a close affinity with the culture and traditions of Mexico. Through her verses, Jeanette delves into themes of identity, love, and resistance, providing a compelling voice to the everyday experiences of her surroundings in support of the children and youth of the world.

Ma Yongbo of China

Ma Yongbo is a distinguished Chinese poet whose oeuvre encapsulates the cultural richness of his nation. With a remarkable talent for merging the traditional with the contemporary, Ma Yongbo explores themes that span nature and philosophy, infusing his poetry with both ancient wisdom and a modern outlook. His work encourages readers to contemplate their surroundings and their role within the world.

Eva Petropoulou Lianou of Greece

Eva Petropoulou Lianou is a Greek poet celebrated for her capacity to encapsulate the essence of Greek mythology and history within her writing. Her poetry is rich with vivid imagery and symbolism, guiding readers on a journey through time and space. Eva employs her work to delve into themes of hope, transformation, and the resilience of the human spirit, advocating for childhood, evoking values, and inspiring those who engage with her words.