mother nature is the best squatter
she doesn’t ask permission
she doesn’t fill out any paperwork
she doesn’t care about regulations
all she does it tap tap tap gently at the windows
so softly that you in all your busy human hurry may not notice
if there is no answer, after a time,
she lets herself in
she fills your empty corners with webs
she sends a green tendril in, like a quiet poem, through the window crack
she comes in & sets up shop
soon it will be a secret garden again
like it was before
she makes herself at home
like the once & future queen
she is
Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope
Exit Lives by Jamel Gross
Exit Lives is a short horror story about a couple who plan to go on a trip after the husband’s grandparents died. The man’s grandparents told him stories that were so horrible he went to a doctor and was prescribed anti-psychotic meds to handle the delusions. On their way to the airport they meet someone who stops to help after their tire goes flat, and that person also tells them horrible stories. This book is a fast read and a must read for fans of the genre of horror. I highly recommend it.
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
——————————
up against the roof
sometimes on these
nights where i can
hear the rain pounding
up against the roof
i lay in bed alone
and wish to die
i know it’s not likely
but a boy can dream
though, i have no
interest in seeing
my funeral
i don’t want to start
off my death with
yet another
disappointment
Photography from Jim Zola
These four photos include what I call the Georgia O’Keeffe Tree (a tree directly outside of the O’Keeffe Musuem in Santa Fe, NM) — a broken Christmas ornament, branches reflected in water, and an installation art piece made up of donated ladders.
Jim Zola has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for Deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children’s librarian. Published in many journals through the years, his publications include a chapbook — The One Hundred Bones of Weather (Blue Pitcher Press) — and a full length poetry collection — What Glorious Possibilities (Aldrich Press). He currently lives in Greensboro, NC.
Poetry from Akinmade Abayomi Zeal
A Whim to Lie!
Ogun, hear my plea,
I have a whim to lie.
Oh, Venerated one!
You boast a largeese of oceans
Yet choose to bath in pools of blood.
Ogun oooooooooooooooo!
The mighty man of valour,
Custodian of the sacred oath,
Keeper of sanity.
The mighty king of Ire.
He boasts a chubby wardrobe,
Yet, swagger down the street in fonds.
Ogun,the dreaded one!
It is you I humbly worship.
Who dare dab his palm on your sword in dare?
I pay my homage to you,
So, do not put me in turmoils for my whim.
I would lie when I come.
Ogun, tilt your most potent ear towards me,
Hear the sins I cannot mention.
Hear the truth that plagues my heart :
Bitter than galls.
How shall I mention our fertile soils to you?
How shall I tell you Ikoyi spouts legal tenders?
I cannot! Let me hold my peace!
I will hedge when I come.
Oh, Sango!
Mighty man in battle.
Do not roust your venom for my sake,
For I will lie when I return!
I would tell my sanctimonious lies!
Give me your words,Sango.
Vow to spear me for my holy lies.
Let Ogun alone be privy to this,
Vow to spear me should I tell the goings on:
Our maidens Are barters for bandits!
Obatala ooooooooooooo!
The dexterous god,
Maker of lifeless beings,
Do not admonish my lies.
They are nothing but holy lies.
Oh, ‘Yeye Osun,
Sengese Olohun Iyo, ‘
Foremost river goddess,
Custodian of virgins,
Queen of queens,
Purveyor of sumptuous fishes.
It is you alone I greet.
‘Iba’ for your majesty!
Foremost mother,
The truth in my heart will inundate you,
So, steel yourself for my lies!
To tell you our damsels bare their breasts for Bigger Brothers is more than I can say to you.
They have thrown the pride of motherhood to dogs.
These are facades of the truths I lack the temerity to tell.
Venerated gods,
You who set us forth:
On the darker part of the world,
On the hinterlands of the West,
On the hottest parts of the soil,
Forgive our trespasses
Though we err our trespassers!
It is the evil one,
The lone one,
Esu Elegbara,
The Evil one who feeds himself in a labyrinth-
Where the roads tangle.
‘Esulaalu Ogirioko’
The evil one who incites pandemonium in time of bliss.
Esu the hostile one,
The cursed soul.
He helps to make cases where there are none!
Esu Elegbara,please,do not hypnotize me!
I beg you with your mealies,
I place your palmwine in the labyrinth for you!
You have never known Esulalu
The damned soul.
The one who cries passionately than the bereaved.
The bereaved whimpers in silence,
Esu exacerbated his problem for him,
Weeps blood to inflate his worries.
Blame our evils on Esu!
It is he who brought evil to our holy hearts,
Made us profane.
He came to our sacristy and polluted our monks.
Ha,Esu Elegbara, I know you well,
I dare not incur your venom.
I know you, Esu!
The dreaded evil known as Latopa.
Venerated gods, I plead you forgive our evil,
Cast Esu to your furnace for us.
I would tell these lies when I come to report how the world fares!
A. A. Zeal, 2017.
Poetry from Michael Robinson
Mirror
Have you seen my soul? Do you see what I see when I look into the mirror? Seeing my soul is seeing the woodpecker at the feeder with its black and white body nesting in the morning sun.
Newness
He wanted to write a poem of the mountains only to describe his own success for words created on the page. Each letter, each word, and sentence was a reflection of newness found.
Salvation
The winter snows did not freeze my awareness of being a Fresh Air kid. My essence has been refreshed by the summer sun. Only the mountains could have restored my yearning for salvation.
Obsession
He noticed her perfume smelled of love,
Her eyes floated like waves in distress.
In the shadow of the moon,
He saw her soul dancing.
Poetry from Joe Schueler
Sole Courtyard
With soulless lows
With arms tight,
When burning rage
When stealthy might
Open the shackled pass that follows your dreams
Can I see your world from under the seams