The Best Poem

The most efficient way to write a poem

Is to find another poem and take out the heart.

Leave the other poem where you found it bleeding out.

If it were efficient it would have survived 

like the catfish deserting a sinking ship.

After it has sunk, they crawl about the bottom

chewing on the rats and the hands

that didn’t get out.

That is natural selection.

 

 The best poems are the poems that are here.

They persevere through merit.

They go to Burning Man to find more truth.

Shelley has built a Byronic hedge fund

of virtue and innovation.

It stands naked and peeing in the night of wisdom.

And where its urine spatters test scores rise

like manly locks shaking in the storm of cost benefit analysis.

 

 This is the poem that ate your heart.

This is the poem whose heart was eaten.

We need less blood and more Human Resources 

if we are to go into the dark of genius

and emerge with the light of anthology.

KARST ON A SISTER HEAD

Karst on the head of a sister

Like a denudated surface of a home

Silence sings her name in a flying universe

She’s still a crawling baby with a portraits  

of a cracked verse on her palms

She’s  a sister in a carved star breathing 

fire 

When the stars reborn  she will be a 

diamond  castle of a new dawn.

               WISHES WERE DEAD SONGS

    I wish darkness was never a  dead song 

                           Of night….

    I wish it has never painted my mothers 

                tongue like a city of grief….

    I wish it was never a colour  and symphony 

                           of the dead…..

    I wish darkness turns white like paradise

                           on earth…..

    I wish it never swallows a brother in

                         his new world…..

Rahmat A. Muhammad is a poet from northern Nigeria.

The Three-Toed Sloth

Even when 
refurbished 
to incorporate 
beautiful en-

suites or worn 
with denim 
for a smart 
casual style

property derived 
from things from 
nature is a step
back in time.

The Bull Moose Convention

at Chicago is the successful result of the praxis of a fused group, unlike the states of antiquity & the great tangle of Marxist thought. It is a complex & powerful reiteration construct, its symbols fashioned from a bicycle seat & a set of corroded handle-bars with minimalist turn signals, its own words of power based upon the repetition of a handful of major triads, its rituals aligned with the cycles of withdrawal & return in morphine-dependent mice.

Seeking meaningful employment

The meatless meal was
really professional & 
serious, a combination 
of heuristic procedures,
anything but boring. The

dislike was the algorithm  

it produced, a nested 

while-loop which included 
three inner loops, crispy on 
the outside, soggy within.

Tax credit for home buyers

We’re always getting lack-
luster troubadours. What I
want is an offensive magician
who can, by exploiting
luminescence spectroscopy,
turn late afternoon tea &
scone parties into a world
tour by Gogol Bordello.

A Mammoth Task

Obsessed as they are

about big hats &

big heads, most

consumers have a

difficult time over-

coming their reluctance

to stop the world from

moving into warmer

climatic conditions. They

want to know how

much it would cost, &

would they get a Dog

Bone Charm or other

keepsake if they

ordered now. By the

halfway answering

point their interest has

shifted anyway to what

funk-punk-thrash-ska

shows are coming up

& would the discovery

of ancient elephant

skeletons randomize

women as well as men.

They conveniently forget

that each one of us, in our

place & time, is in balance

with everything else &

we don’t need to do any-

thing alone any more. That’s

why they consider it

inappropriate to speak ill

of the dead, & why today

feels like a milkshake day.

Peace

Prayers for a peaceful world

I dreamt about it

I closed my eyes years ago

I saw children playing with dolls

I keep my eyes closed

I am afraid to open them

Because when i opened my eyes, dead bodies exist everywhere

No schools

No home

No toys

I keep my eyes closed

I live peacefully

Eva Petropoulou Lianou 

Critical Appreciation: “Peace, Prayers for a Peaceful World” by Eva Petropoulou Lianou

In the realm of contemporary poetry, Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s “Peace, Prayers for a Peaceful World” stands as a powerful and poignant masterpiece that pierces the heart and soul of humanity. This poem is a profound exploration of the human experience, delving into the complexities of war, violence, and the longing for peace.

The poem’s central theme of the speaker’s dream of a peaceful world is a powerful metaphor for the universal human aspiration for harmony and tranquility. Lianou’s lines, “I dreamt about it / I closed my eyes years ago / I saw children playing with dolls,” create a vivid image of a world where innocence and joy reign supreme. However, the speaker’s reluctance to open their eyes, “Because when I opened my eyes, / dead bodies exist everywhere,” is a heart-wrenching reminder of the harsh realities of war and violence.

One of the most impressive aspects of this poem is its use of imagery and symbolism. The image of children playing with dolls is a particularly striking one, highlighting the ways in which war and violence destroy the innocence and joy of childhood. The contrast between the peaceful world of the speaker’s dream and the harsh reality of war is also noteworthy, underscoring the ways in which violence can shatter our hopes and dreams.

The poem’s themes of peace, war, and the human condition are equally compelling. Lianou’s lines, “No schools / No home / No toys,” speak to the ways in which war and violence can destroy the very fabric of our lives, leaving us without the basic necessities of human existence. The speaker’s decision to keep their eyes closed, “I keep my eyes closed / I leave peacefully,” is a poignant reminder of the ways in which we often try to escape the harsh realities of the world around us.

Throughout the poem, Lianou’s voice is characterized by its lyricism, depth, and emotional resonance. The poem’s message is both timely and timeless, speaking to the universal human aspirations for peace, harmony, and tranquility that transcend borders, cultures, and generations.

In conclusion, “Peace, Prayers for a Peaceful World” is a masterpiece of contemporary poetry that deserves to be widely read and studied. Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s poem is a powerful exploration of the human experience, peace, war, and the longing for a better world, and its themes of hope, resilience, and the human condition will resonate with readers long after they finish reading.

India  BHARAT

January 24, 2025

Dr Ashok Kumar from Baraut BAGHPAT UP INDIA BHARAT

Beginnings

The day began simply enough,

cigarette in hand, bitter black

coffee, wadded up tactile pubs,

two tablet devices after I was

jettisoned from the warm

welcome bed. You were there

too, sipping your herbal tea,

glancing about for an early

tin of biscuits. You wanted to

debate the meaning of [our]

existence (as though there may

be any), but I couldn’t at that

moment for so many reasons

never to be understood. Still,

outside the birds sang – no,

warbled – to each other and

we as audience –  words of

great wisdom in clouds of

the finest smoke. A mob of

blue jays descended on

a hapless bird feeder and

the light started to resemble

glistening peaches and cream.

If there are lessons to be

learned here and gauntlets

left to run, if you

become

attain

maintain

retain

remain

ARE

holy, the seeds will be taken

right from your hands.

Drive – III

In order to be with her,

I’d fly from L.A. to Dallas,

high over endless desert,

blue skies blinding,

releasing, then blinding

once more.

In order to be with her,

I’d fly, over and over again,

to Nevada, Georgia, Ontario,

Wisconsin, Oregon, Maine

and New Hampshire

over and over again,

each time holding my

breath as though with

that simple motion, I

could again feel love. Or

just feel … something.

That’s been gone,

was jettisoned,

and replacing it

was my burden, my

challenge. How to

go on, what choices,

where the journey,

so with few answers

I drove on, hugged

the earth, traversed

new realities,

sought new meaning,

any meaning, some

purpose Sartre would

approve of while driving

here and yonder past

husky cornfields and

viscous pastures,

past city skyscrapers,

through college towns

and onto university

campuses, toward

federal labs, national

parks, art galleries,

cathedrals and casinos.

 I drove at

• Albuquerque
• Boulder
• Tucson
• Pittsburgh
• Athens
• Sedona
• Chattanooga
• Syracuse
• Cincinnati
• Reno
• Gatlinburg
• Asheville
• Baltimore
• Berkeley
• Charlotte

and more places

than any other list

could ever hold,

in order to

locate

find

search

learn

grow

know

live

finally be

at one

with myself

in my selves

as myself.

Lamenting

Bulbous clouds stream by

the scarred window. What

happened down there?

Did shiny political rhetoric

slide down your legs again?  

How hearts are broken,

the many different ways.

You cried out in your sleep

again last night, steel toe

boots dancing through your

head, reaching for me.

It’s raining now and no

one cares. But after this,

does it really matter?

Palmetto trees stand

guard outside. He died

last night, actually 6:25

AM today. Did you hear

the gunshot? Loud as

hell, really echoed. Did

you hear her screaming

his name? She knew and

couldn’t do anything.

You didn’t hear? I’m

glad you could sleep.

Some might have felt

a little guilty having

gone down there with

that note. But I don’t

question that. I just

wonder will you cry?

Will You?

Dog Paradox Equation

Two dogs ran in front of the SUV ahead and the lab took it viciously to its side at 50 MPH. There was an ugly thud and then the dog’s hideous screaming. The SUV stopped hard while the lab struggled to right itself, side ripped open, intestines pouring out. That driver then went unthinkable, cluelessly backing up over the dog as I honked and honked. Right then I wanted to kill that driver. ‘Cept it could have been me or anyone and I knew it.

The slashed-up dog dragged itself to the side of the road and tried to throw itself into the bushes. Why’d I’d leave my snub-nose home? The dog wouldn’t recover, wouldn’t live. I didn’t want it to suffer, but what to do? If I went back, grabbed my piece and ended things, I’d be “saving” the dog but what trouble awaited if anyone misunderstood? Nix legal troubles! But if I drove off, how long would it suffer? If I tried to forget things, I’d be a bastard and even more tortured. But doing nothing? Frozen there stuck in a dog paradox equation.

I decided to…

No, instead I called Sandi and cried like a goddamned baby.

Scott C. Holstad has authored 60+ books & has appeared in the Minnesota Review, Exquisite Corpse, Pacific Review, Long Shot, Wormwood Review, Chiron Review, Santa Clara Review, Southern Review, Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Kerouac Connection, Processed World, Dream International Quarterly, Sivullinen, Nidergasse, Gangan Verlag, Ginosko Literary Journal, Ink Sweat & Tears, Hidden Peak Press, Mad Swirl, Bristol Noir, PULP & Poetry Ireland Review. He holds degrees from the University of Tennessee, California State University Long Beach, UCLA & Queens University of Charlotte. He’s moved 35+ times & currently lives near Gettysburg PA. 

https://hankrules2011.com.

X: @tangledscott 

IDEAL

Ideal? 

Was it what I was looking for.

No it wasn’t. 

Neither it was my plan to be someone’s ideal. 

As I had rejected myself 

A thousand times. 

 I knew my place was thus in a room, and not a house. 

          I misunderstood my unruly soul. 

 I went a step ahead, 

Breaking my small room’s wall into a stranger’s enormous house. 

The stranger let me enter the house and as well welcomed me. 

But I mistook that with an invitation. 

I lived all in peace thinking it was an ideal place for me. 

But very soon the stranger made me realise that I was just a mere guest. 

I could not but leave. 

My heart within was bound by the magical thread of the house. 

It was entangled and bleeded when I tried to detangle it. 

It hurt and I was helpless. 

I had nothing to do. 

I carried the magic of the house with me, 

I welcomed the merciless torment of the house on my heart, 

But it was the heartless house that never welcomed a mere guest like me.

————————————————————————————

bitter cold

and here comes the cold

the kind of weather that kills

the homeless on the streets

the kind of bitter cold

that makes the hair on the

back of your neck stand

up at attention

and here i am

a winter coat and shorts

on

walking down to the

mailbox wondering

which bill is going

unopened today

enough damage has

happened to my legs

over the years that i

really don’t feel

anything on them

anymore

of course

it helps to be

slightly crazy

as well

———————————————————————–

a train out of baltimore

she kissed me and asked

what happened to your

soul

i told her it was stolen

from me on a train out

of baltimore

she chuckled and started

to run her fingers through

my chest hair

all gray now

you sure you aren’t ten

years older than you say

you are

i laugh and start to play

with a gray hair on her

head

she laughed

and we started to kiss

i’m sure she was thinking

of someone younger

and i was thinking about

that train out of baltimore

some crazy woman that

swore she had the blood

of edgar allan poe

a few drinks later

a disheveled poet

finally gets to

go home

———————————————————————–

david lynch

she cried in my arms

when she got the news

that david lynch was

dead

we met watching

blue velvet years

ago

we both knew

this day would

be devastating

i held her tighter

with each sob all

the while wondering

what flavor of gum

was she chewing

and if one thing

leads to another

is she going to

take the gum out

put it in my mouth

or keep chewing it

as she travels down

my body

i started to laugh

she looked at me

funny

i told her just a

little daydream

of my body hair

and a tragic piece

of gum

she smiled, pushed

me away

as if…

————————————————————————

trapped in our machines

and here we are choking

on common sense

blaming instead of doing

anything about anything

lost souls trapped in

our machines

better realities where you

never have to face any

consequences

we never age gracefully

anymore

kicking and screaming

29 until i die

yet another avoidable

tragedy

there is no laughter

anymore

no smiles, no sunshine

everything is going to

kill us

someday

and you know that fucker

in the corner is making

money off of your misery

is it his fault or the system

that created the chance to

begin with

no one likes change

unless it benefits the

one they care about

———————————————————————————-

always a good time

the muse called the other

night drunk, always a

good time

to more or less tell

me goodbye

detailing her escape

and all i could think

about was how the

marriage and kids

she wants

i am ready to give

but that doesn’t

fit her timeline

now

just my luck

two russian bots are

in love with me

i know they can’t be real

how many fucking single

women had their parents

die in a plane crash and

now live with a cousin

and just happened to fall

in love with a poet in ohio

i know my lack of luck

better than anyone alive

i think of it as a gene

from my father

yet another fucking gift

but all things come

to an end

love, friendship, dynasties,

peace and eventually

understanding

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is stuck in suburbia, plotting his escape. He has been recently published at The Beatnik Cowboy, The Dope Fiend Daily, Disturb the Universe Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash and Yellow Mama. His next book will hopefully be out sometime in 2025. In the meantime, you can find him daily on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)