The Executive Enabler

Working for 18 years
for the best boss ever
a 30-something
hot blonde divorcee
alone in the Big Apple
sent by a headhunter
to a wealthy financier
his team of assistants
lawyers, traders
a masseuse every day
she schedules them
in her private office
in his brownstone
in his home
setting dates, times
travel plans, meals, gifts
girls, young girls
and their friends
her own life suburban
a husband in Connecticut
a baby on the way
a doubled salary to stay
a car, a nanny, a loan
and an NDA the girls
come and go she keeps
arranging payments, visas
flights, schedules
island vacations
very famous men
very young women
she sees nothing
knows nothing
does nothing
says nothing
at her hearing
after the fact.

a fascist is a fascist is a fascist

Night town
white town
deep snow
deep cold
color white
but here we all are
hybrid nation of individual
freedoms blackbooted
stomped and kicked aside
laws, norms, civility
under hard ice feet
glorifying the crush
the masks the heavy arms
bulked up brutality
colorless cruelty
attack dogs clawing
what stands in the way
of a bulldozed morality
while the red rose pools
red  red  red
on the soft white snow.

The Enigmatic Everybody

I am become an enigma to myself.—St. Augustine

Everybody does what everybody does
with a lunatic’s clarity building
the same billionaire bunkers
on green plastic grass
the same shiny luxury cars
on the Italian stone drive
on the razor’s edge
between boredom and suicide
everybody does what everybody does
the same Mar-a-Lago face
under the same blunt cut
the same slink, sassy shoes
inflated breasts and lips
the muscles maxxed
worked up, injected
the same dark shades hiding
eyes without occupancy
on the razored border
between lived and lost
everybody does what everybody does
same movies, shows, media slop
thoughts and conversations
the endless drive for more
attention, goods, money
talking to itself it is all
anyone can do to be
alive, a self, awake
as the lands burn
as the seas rise
as the species die off
as the planet wobbles
on this razor’s edge
everybody does what everybody does
until they do something else.

——————————————————–

the better option

scribbling down madness

before the pain gets to

the point where death

is the better option

there’s that fine line

i have to walk each

day

hope or reality

both feel like a shit

sandwich most days

but if the beautiful

people choose hope

i know i better go

the other way

i was never allowed

in those reindeer

games

i’m not bitter

just lonely most

nights

——————————————————–

tired of the charade

roll over in bed

and both my hips

crack

i believe in irish

folklore that means

i’m going to hell

fifty years at it now

and my hands are

starting to get tired

of the charade

and the latest love

has apparently chosen

either another love or

it was better for her

to become a ghost

just my luck

scary movies don’t

do anything for me

my friend in germany

sent me a text saying

she loves me

i joked, it gets easier

the further you get

away it seems

she laughed and said

i hope you are used

to it

————————————————

a soundtrack

she was the

kind of woman

that came with

a soundtrack

soft skin

glistening

in the sun

i look like every

social distortion

song put into

motion

opposites

supposedly

attract

hopefully one day

she will actually

realize that

time isn’t on

either of our

sides

——————————————-

put me under

the color of

the multi-vitamin

i take now that

i’m fifty is the

same color as

the dick pills

the chinese try

to sell me every

day

kerouac

once said

details are

the essence

of life

of all the things

to remember

and how i’m

applying them

to this crazy

fucking world

now, i only get

good sleep when

they put me under

for a medical

procedure

the nurses are all

stunned when i’m

wide awake twenty

minutes later and

fully lucid

perhaps next time

i’ll bribe the fucker

for some stronger

shit

———————————————-

the next generation of crazy

i see the one in the mirror

and wonder why the fuck

does he believe he deserves

to be loved

i try to convince myself

that’s my father talking

even though he has been

dead for years

perhaps it’s all the dead

relatives disappointed

in me

or just maybe

the next generation of

crazy has finally arrived

three hours of sleep

rinse and repeat

swimming upstream in

a river of cloudy shit

what fifty really means

is you are on the verge

of all the elderly shit

you never wanted to

face

and that is why crazy

is never that far away

the only heirloom

this family has

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is a three-time Best of the Net nominee and a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee. He has been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Yellow Mama, The Rye Whiskey Review, Night Owl Narrative and Misfit Magazine. His most recent book, to live your dreams, published by Whiskey City Press, is available at Amazon.com by going here: https://a.co/d/0eFsH7fe

The Harlot of the East

In the hour when daylight bled into rust,

I saw a young girl dragged through the dust.

Her eyes were rain, her face full of pain,

As humanity drowned in greed and shame.

Her father was helpless with fever and debt,

Coins were borrowed as time was the fate.

Then poverty sharpened its merciless blade,

A daughter’s deal that made her a slave.

I purchased not a body that night,

But only time to stand beside her fight.

A crushing debt that broke a human life,

Turned streets and walls into chains of night.

Before the sun rose and shone,

My messenger returned with coins I owned.

The debt was paid and humanity won,

Freedom was the gift that left her reborn.

Poem’s Note: This poem is based on the story of a poor family, where a teenage girl takes a loan from a powerful man in order to save her ailing father. According to the agreement, she is unable to repay the debt on time, and as a result, she is forcibly taken and pushed into prostitution as a form of repayment. A witness to her suffering intervenes upon seeing her condition and, through financial assistance, helps to free her. The poem portrays a tragic yet hopeful depiction of poverty, exploitation, human compassion, and liberation.

About Poet: Md. Naeem Aziz is a Bangladeshi Author, Writer, Poet, Engineer and Photographer. He is best known for his poems & photography. He was born on 10th December 1998. He is from Dhaka, Bangladesh. (nknaeem14@gmail.com)

Eyes

When l see your eyes, l see heaven

l forget worldly life 

All the sufferings turn into happiness

Pain becomes a fountain of love

All the dreams bow down at your sight

l fly away where love flies 

I search myself 

My ‘myself’ loses identity

Your eyes try to hide yourself

Your ‘yourself’ sing the song of love

I woke up in your heart

My heart blooms becoming a flower

Your smiles make a river

I float there everymoment

I get the fragnenc of existence

That removes thirstiness of world.

I touch your soul through the blue eyes

It is constant to me.

Comfort Zone 

by Jacques Fleury

“A comfort zone is a beautiful place but nothing ever grows there.”-anonymous

Two men are stuck together 

under the subway in the dark,
One man says to the man next to him 

“Since we’re gonna be stuck here together, 

we might as well have some banter…

so what’s your name” the black man 

asks the white man standing next to him
The white man responds,
“My name is Klearly  White…”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. White,  

My name is Klearly Black”
” So… Do you identify as white?” Mr. Black  asks…

 “No, I’m just a spirit inside a white body . ..
How about you? Do you identify as black?” Mr. White asks,

“No, I too am just a soul inside a black body” says  Mr Black,
“So now what?”  Mr. White asks,
“I have an idea! Why don’t you tell me more about what makes you you? 

Tell me something about your humanity….”  says Mr. Black,

“Hmmm” Mr. White tilts his head in thought then says,
“I love walking in the woods, I love being one with nature…”
” What a coincidence!” Mr. Black says  excitedly,   

“Me too! Perhaps we can go for walks together during comfortable weather…”
“Sounds good…” says Mr. white “Let’s exchange phone numbers…”
” Sounds good…” says Mr. black
Then, suddenly the lights come back on 

with one big swoosh and the train sliding doors part open…
The two men say their goodbyes then walk

     their separate ways… 

        One went North, the other went South…

Attn: Updated Bio:

Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured and internationally published Haitian American poet, theater reviewer, educator, author of numerous books of essays, reviews, fiction, poetry and literary arts student through Harvard University. He was chosen among over 4, 000 competitors from 83 countries as the Recipient of the International Naji Naaman Literary Prize for Creativity (2026) and a Certificate of Participation for his “…esteemed contribution of poetry to the anthology Water: The Source of Life (Volume IV) presented by La Fenetre De Paris. 

It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories among other titles are available at all Massachusetts public libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, Wyoming University, Askews and Holts Library Services, the leading library supply specialist in the United Kingdom, The MIT Press Bookstore, The Harvard Bookstore and the oldest poetry bookstore in America: The Grolier Poetry Book Shop (est. 1927)  has hosted great American poets E. E. Cummings and Alen Ginsberg and online bookstores worldwide such as Bookshop dot com, amazon etc…

LET PEACE LIVE — EXTINGUISH THE WARS

Let us all stand for peace across the earth,

let every shadow cast by war lose worth,

let every child enjoy a childhood bright,

let every soul both give and feel love’s light.

Must darkness triumph through another’s spite?

Must goodness fade and yield without a fight?

Do not touch peace, let it forever thrive;

why should the innocent pay so others’ hate survives?

No war has ever brought true good to humankind,

not in the past, nor now, nor in the days we’ll find;

nor will it bring a better dawn tomorrow’s way,

so let us guard the sun that lights each newborn day.

The innocent were never meant to bear the cost,

nor shed blood-stained tears for ambitions dark and lost;

this weary world is thirsty, hungry still for peace,

while people wage their wars and life’s brief moments cease.

People, cease creating wars that choke the human soul,

for they can tear down walls of love that once stood whole;

you entered this world with empty hands, unclothed and free,

and empty-handed you shall leave,why sow such misery?

Do not strike against one another,

do not become servants of the dark and suffer;

serve love and peace throughout the earth instead,

and never steal a single child’s bright years ahead.

Let peace live on, extinguish every war,

do not hate, do not judge, do not wound anymore;

be truly human,what is power worth in the end?

Without it you arrived, without it you shall transcend.

Danijela Ćuk

Croatia

PAEAN

I am here 

I will be here 

Now and forever 

An omnipotent name with its sweetest nectar 

They will come and pass by 

The forlorn chair will read the debonair 

Speaking of my love in splashes of seasons  

In the song of the cuckoo 

In the heart of an oasis 

In the shade of the green

In the hues of a skeleton

There sings the rain, wiping the sore of exhaustion 

And the brewing coffee, comforting the cold 

There remains abandonment in an unrecognizable darkness 

And I set myself free on the other side of the window 

The dove flies here with dust of gold 

And the sun kisses my heart before I sleep this night 

The morning sings its eternal notes 

And I continued to dwell in its sheer brilliance 

Nothing has gone, then or ever 

Everything is there, reflecting in its unique chapter.

FLORA AND FAUNA 

Life was never so beautiful as it is now 

Now in this very moment 

In this stillness 

Silent yet full of foam 

Completely detached, being sure of the fruits to come 

When I chose to forgive my own 

Suppressed in agony of unfulfilled desires

It no more fears 

Just a gentle nudge saying it’s okay 

It’s okay to live in this present

So beautiful, like never before when stuff was chased 

Now a celebration that soothes me within 

With peace and contentment 

There smiles the dew over my green this morning 

Singing an ode to the flora and fauna