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life as a cynical soul
when you
see a young
child smile
you wonder
how long
until that
smile goes
away
as the world
will surely
fuck him
over
or at least
you hope
you weren't
the only one
----------------------------------------------
constant hate
only a child
can believe
love can
sprout from
constant hate
with experience
that child will
learn any love
that comes from
hate is not the
kind of love
you can build
any fucking
thing with
no matter how
many times you
lie to yourself
it never works
-------------------------------------------
a little wooden cross
my mother
has a little
wooden cross
that has
24 7 365
on the back
of it
i believe i
know what
those numbers
imply
but the older i
get the more it
seems those
numbers are
actually how
long you are
up on that
cross
your sentence
handed down
by a faceless
judge and not
a jury of your
peers
i laugh
knowing damn
well that my
peers would
have suggested
the firing squad
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a country song
i used to lick tears off your face
tell you old stories about
rainbows and machine guns
promised you all the good parts
of my heart and my endless love
i remember the day you told me
to fuck off and left with my best
friend
i drank myself to sleep that night
laughing that my fucking life
was now a country song
a few years later the spanish
princess invited me over to
watch some hockey
we traded horror stories about
old flames and harrowing times
she tried her best to save my soul
that night
i snuck her panties out with me
with a little luck
that woman will want to spend
the rest of her life with me
and whatever little i have left
as well
------------------------------------------------------
all of his failures
my father went
to vietnam to die
that was a few years
before i was born
i never knew about that
until i was eight years old
i was sadly well aware
of all of his failures
by then
i was around 13 when he
tried to choke me to death
i was 17 when he told the
sheriff i was driving when
he got into a car accident
i mention all these things
as a reminder why i refuse
to have any children of
my own
the last thing this world needs
is that dna to keep living on
when i die it goes with me
as someone who understands
the cycles of abuse and god
knows what else
this is the most responsible
decision i can make
other than i should have
taken him out when i had
the chance
imagine those poems
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) was raised by wolves yet managed to graduate high school with honors. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Asylum Floor, The Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press and Disturb the Universe Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.
I Wished for You upon a Star
I feel like a blooming flower in the rain
when you kiss me tenderly in the morning
Your hand is as gentle as silk touching my skin
and your whispers are like a prayerful song
When I am near you, I sigh like a schoolgirl
I never tire of you holding my hand or
smiling at me when I glance your way
Your heart beats as fast as mine
when you hold me in your arms
Everyday we live another chapter
in the book that our lives have written
And from the beginning of it till the end
It will always be an epic best seller.
You were my first and will be my last,
because life brings only one true love...
And the star that I wished upon brought you to me... ❤
It May Only Come Once
When love happens, you can't stop it
Sometimes it just appears without you realizing it
You look at each other one day
and you find that you feel better when they are around
Suddenly, life feels a lot brighter and happier
You become aware you are smiling again and laughing
You want to send all your time together
and with every glance there is a warmth inside your heart
You realize that you never want to be without them.
You never tire being around each other
and every morning starts out with a smile.
You trust each other without thought of wrong doing
and never question their loyalty
So, if you are lucky enough to find that kind of love,
hold on with both hands and never let it go
It may only come once...
*****
I Feel You...
Whenever you think of me, I feel you
You'll always find yourself in me, good or bad
We are empaths that feel each other's emotions
When I feel sad, you share my sadness
We both fear loneliness, and it is comforting
that you are here with me when I am afraid
You pass my house in the heart of your heart
And I see you out of the window of my soul
You always meet me right where I am emotionally
Nothing can prevent our unions and meetings
because it is impossible to separate or stop them
In slumber, you create my dreams of you.
And I always know I will wake with your smile.
Kristy Raines was born in Oakland, California, USA.
She is an internationally known poet, writer, author and advocate. She has five books getting ready to publish soon, one with a prominent poet from India which will launch hopefully soon called, "I Cross my Heart from East to West", two fantasy books of her own called, "Rings, Things and Butterfly Wings" and "Princess and The Lion", an anthology of poems in English, "The Passion Within Me" and her autobiography called " My Very Anomalous Life".
Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing and is a part time freelance journalist.
Christopher Bernard invites people to sign on to this letter in the comments.
An Open Letter to President Biden
Dear Mr. President:
Surely you would agree that defending a "rules-based order" when, and only when, it decides in your favor is not acceptable; in fact, it violates the very principle of such an order.
Why, indeed, are we attempting, through legal actions almost too numerous to count, to hold Donald Trump accountable for his attempt to overturn the 2020 election? When a ruling, whether from a judge in court or the voters in an election, goes against you, it is neither morally nor legally acceptable to attack the system that led to that ruling in a fit of pique.
Yet that is precisely what your administration seems intent on doing. The scurrilous response by Secretary of State Blinken to “work with Congress to penalize” the ICC if it merely considers issuing warrants for the arrest of members of Israel's leadership - and your own petulant response (which, ironically, sounds curiously similar to the response by Trump when legal institutions act against him) - are, both of them, indefensible. The hypocrisy of American foreign policy, one of the few dependable truths of world history over the last two and a half centuries, has rarely been quite so blatant.
Israel has been murdering and denying the basic human rights of Palestinians in violation of international law and the U.N. for, not months or years, but generations. Israel has fooled much of the world, and decades of American presidents, into thinking it is the innocent victim when it has been the perpetrator of some of the most heinous offenses of modern times, not least the mass murder of civilians in Gaza since October of last year, and including policies of mass destruction, ethnic cleansing, collective punishment, and the killing of civilians going back at least to the Six-Day War of 1967, itself a crime under international law as it was provoked by Israel, who claimed it was a pre-emptive strike against an impending invasion by its Arab neighbors: a falsehood long disproven by the historical record.
You weep for those killed, horrendously, on October 7. But you have said nothing about the thousands and the tens of thousands who have been massacred by Israeli forces, whose homes have been wiped out, whose land has been stolen, whose families have been slaughtered, whose lives have been destroyed as deliberate Israeli policy since 1948 and before.
We in the United States are guilty of complicity in war crimes, collective punishment, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. And that includes, above all, American political leaders.
You can influence long overdue changes in both the policy and actions of the Israeli government toward the Palestinians if you so choose. You can begin by sending Israel no more offensive arms. The Israel Defense Force has clearly, consistently, and defiantly broken American law in its use of our weaponry – weaponry paid for by American taxpayers. As president, you have the power, indeed the moral and legal obligation to do this.
If you do not reverse your policy of indiscriminate support for Israel, and that means if you do not stop supplying Israel with arms during the current genocidal war against the Palestinians of Gaza – and furthermore, if you do not hold Israel to account for its generations-long apartheid against the people of Palestine – I, and many like me, will find it difficult, if not impossible, to support you for president, despite the truly frightening alternative.
Often I have had to choose between two evils when voting for an American president, but never to the extent that I am being asked to in this election – and I am haunted by memories of 1968, when the electorate faced a similar moral dilemma during a presidential race, with tragic consequences. Choosing between an insurrectionist and an enabler of crimes against humanity I find profoundly repugnant, on moral grounds. I may find it impossible to make such a choice, or I will vote for a candidate who may have no chance of winning but whose positions do not make me feel I will have blood on my hands if I choose him or her.
I sense there are many like me among the electorate, both Democrats and independents, even among Republicans. If Trump wins in November, his victory, which could well be a catastrophe, may be because you made it morally impossible for conscientious voters to choose the only viable political alternative.
Respectfully,
Christopher Bernard
Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai (DOB 07/06/1973) is a passionate Indian Author-cum-poet while a tremendous lecturer of English by profession in the Ganjam district of Odisha. He is an accomplished source of inspiration for young generation of India. His free verse on Romantic and melancholic poems appreciated by everyone. He belongs to a small typical village Nandiagada of Ganjam District,the state of Odisha. After schooling he studied intermediate and Graduated In Kabisurjya Baladev vigyan Mahavidyalaya then M A in English from Berhampur University PhD in language and literature and D.litt from Colombian poetic house from South America.
He promotes his specific writings around the world literature and trades with multiple stems that are related to current issues based on his observation and experiences that needs urgent attention. He is an award winning writer who has achieved various laurels from the circle of writing worldwide. His free verse poems not only inspires young readers but also the ready of current time. His poetic symbol is right now inspiring others, some of which are appreciated by laurels of India and across the world. Many of his poems been translated in different Indian languages and got global appreciation. Lots of well wishes for his upcoming writings and success in future. He is an award winning poet author of many best seller books.
Recently he is awarded Rabindra nath Tagore and Gujarat Sahitya Academy for the year 2022 from Motivational Strips . A gold medal from world union of poets France & winner Of Rahim Karims world literary prize 2023.The government of Odisha Higher Education Department appointed him as a president to Governing body of Padmashree Dr Ghanashyam Mishra Sanskrit Degree College, Kabisurjyanagar.
Winner of “HYPERPOEM” GUNIESS WORLD RECORD 2023.Recently he was awarded from SABDA literary Festival at Assam. Highest literary honour from Peru contributing world literature 2024.
Completed 200 Epistolary poems with Kristy Raines, USA.
(Image of a middle aged South Asian man with short dark hair, reading glasses, no beard but a small mustache. He’s got a plaid collared shirt on and blue jeans and is sitting in front of a tan wall.)
THE WORLD BETWEEN US
In this world of love, songs, and lore.
As I watch you at a distance, my dear.
My heart thrills with joy and pleasure.
I always aspire to the blissful days at the core.
In this world of the sun and moon.
With the grandeur of Autumn and Spring.
We will have a nice time in nature soon.
And make this life
full of felicity in a magical Spring.
This world is full of forces of good and evil.
We must always cherish a positive will.
And drive out the forces of destruction and the devil.
To make this life full of bliss and goodwill.
Oh dear, let us spread our love to all the creation.
For, the world is suffering, it needs so much love.
Let us love the creation and save it all from destruction.
To all creation let us extend, our ardent love and aspiration.
SONGS OF CUCKOO AND OTHER BIRDS
Even if it was not dawn
The sweet symphony of the cuckoo swept into the air
Like a sweet canticle
It was so clear, sublime, and ecstatic,
It filled me with a celestial feeling.
As an early riser,
I sat on the balcony of my house in the countryside and enjoyed it to my heart's content.
It seemed to me that I was not sipping the coffee but the sweet song of the cuckoo.
It was not far off.
Hardly a few meters away from my house.
Again I heard the fascinating voice of a bird.
With this also, the spring breeze was touching me.
It was having a special charm.
It was so enjoyable free, light, and beautiful.
It was near my balcony,
I saw a tiny bird not more
than the size of a thumb
but gifted with so sweet songs.
Being curious I went to see it among the flowering plants adjoining the balcony.
As l went near, it flew away into the air.
But I know, it will again come back and
spread its mesmerizing spell and make the environment happy and
jubilant.
For, spring is existing with all its beauty and splendour.
SILENT LOVE
You are separated from me miles away
Perhaps there is less chance to meet again
But your memory always haunts me
And still, always a subtle silent link moves.
It travels from me to you always
It speaks soul to soul
An inner soul voice speaks to you in silent hours.
It is, as if, you are with me and talking.
I feel the pangs but I transcend it.
A sense of satisfaction I feel.
You can tell it is love or anything else.
I believe, beyond body, feelings transcend
And takes the soul to the loved one.
Beyond body, a true love world exists.
Body attachment destroys, the purity of love
True love is always beyond body.
It transcends and comes back to your shore
DIVINE FLAME
In the far distance on the horizon
There blaze a flower of crimson light
So radiant and bright
Behold it with all your might
My heart aspires to touch the Saviour's light
Under the dew drops deep.
With the blade of grass filled with dew.
Nodding its head and dancing in the breeze
With the soulful fight
I stand to place my ordeal allure.
With all my endeavour
Only for the coveted goal
Nothing can deflate
Nothing can erase
Nothing can allure and detract
Nothing can move me
My attention is on the saviour light.
With determination of ton's fight
My aspiration jumps to an unseen height
To catch hold of the divine light
With the blessings of the heavenly sight.
He is a bilingual poet, translator, editor, and story writer. He writes in English and Odia language.
He has been pursuing his creative writing for the last twenty years and has authored more than one thousand English poems. All of his poetical exposition centres around Nature, God, love, and relationships. Some of his poems have been translated into international languages. He has co-authored three English anthologies of poems with his two friends. Besides he is the co-author of more than fifty English anthologies of poems of many literary groups.
He holds the degree of M.A. in both Economics and History. He has accomplished a Ph.D. degree in sociology from Utkal University. He also holds a law degree from M.S. Law College, Cuttack. He hails from Mallipur in the district of Cuttack, Odisha, India.
His English poems have been published in several national and international journals and Anthologies and have gained worldwide appreciation. He has received so many accolades from various national and international literary groups. He is a recipient of the Gold Medal award from the World Union of Poets, Rome.
Being Alone
Very often I forget the consciousness of death
Although my hands are stuck to the soil of the grave
Every human being wears clothes
Addition and subtraction of demand
A staircase extending from zero to infinity
The galloping horses run into the unknown
The distance radius increases from person to person
People bury dead people and want to escape from death
The time map stops with hands raised
Deeds walk along the path of the past
A dark wind rising from the hole of the grave Hiding the footsteps of dead people
The fragrance of roses, the color of marigolds become like a stranger.
White chrysanthemum wrapped in a shroud
Perception on the leaf is irrelevant
Running from death to survive
Quick exit from the cemetery
Where one day we must come for eternity.
Then being alone.
The Sea
This bay adorned with seaweed
covered rocks, the slight
foam that we avoided,
due to its displacement
among what beauty
we could drain from this
impeccable dullness.
The sand now scattered
with half filled bottles,
the remnants of a planned
weekend piss-up gone
horribly wrong, due to a lack
of hindsight on just
how deplorable this destination
is, despite our longing for nostalgia.
The crack of gulls upon
polystyrene clog up the salt air
inhaled, leaving white dunes
in our lungs, absorbed through
arteries, and bled out across
a beach now devoid of promised
pleasure.
The cliffs now split silently
in two, alcoves that barely
accommodate our disappointment
and slowly close in around us,
as we gradually arise once more
and begin to repair
what is left of our dignity.
The Last Days
The owner of this trough
has simply past caring, likewise
it occupants, who feed on its
contents; their sunken principles
stoop to a new low, like a torn kite
through a vortex, never quite hitting the
ground.
Their breath held tight,
any forward vision now blind
with pride, corpulent
with the grains they have sowed
with minimal toil, and distributed
only amongst themselves.
The tower they deemed
could never be toppled
now corrodes brick by brick,
untruth by untruth,
and slowly falls into this breeze
as toxic dust, which luckily
we finally have the chance to purify.
Perfect Practice
Chattered words in private,
those footsteps practiced
in circles that never decrease,
time I considered wrapped
and protected in this refuge
which offers no respite,
like a barb-wire bird's nest,
cradling nothing but discomfort.
And when the hour strikes,
those shredded nerves now
engulf each limb and muscle,
a sense of vertigo as that
time approaches, teeth grating
against pavement curbs,
the end result is no protection
for a broken throat;
the rehearsal always
ends up the finished product.
Jonathan Butcher has had poems appear in various print and online publications including, The Morning Star, Mad Swirl, Drunk Monkeys, The Abyss, Cajun Mutt Press and others. His fourth chapbook, 'Turpentine' was published by Alien Buddha Press. He is also the editor of online poetry journal Fixator Press.
