consumed with death
they say i talk about
death too much
that all this doom is
not good for my soul
that makes me laugh
my life has been
consumed with
death since i was
four years old
imagine understanding
the concept fully before
ever going to kindergarten
don't get me wrong
i love love
love women, especially
the ones that love me
i would do anything to be
consumed by that but i am
not a lucky soul
i know my number will be
pulled soon enough
i don't have the money to live
like tomorrow doesn't exist
if that changes, oh boy
i might finally know what life
is like living by the seat of
your pants
----------------------------------------------------------------
cigarettes and cheap booze
fell asleep last night to
nina simone singing in
my ear
calling me a white devil
and making me laugh
under the piano in some
bar in paris
cigarettes and cheap
booze in the air
longing for the days
twenty years before
i was born
only for the music
though
i have no use for the
caveman thoughts in
humans
give me some chaos
of jazz and my animal
feels the only comfort
it finds possible
-------------------------------------------------------------
in early march
three dead after a tornado
hits indian lake in early
march
imagine that
a bunch of idiots that
don't believe in climate
change get hit by a
massive tornado, but
not in the summer
my empathy is getting
harder to find
--------------------------------------------------------------
across from the bathroom
sitting across from
the bathroom in the
waiting room here
at the hospital
if i was a junkie
or if i was in rehab
for being one
i can imagine this
could be quite the
test
for me, i'm just
hoping i don't
have the need
to take a shit
the waiting room
is getting crowded
-------------------------------------------------------------
for a rainy night
the old songs of leonard cohen certainly
set the mood for a rainy night
she had the longest legs you had ever
seen on a woman
fishnets, she must have read the poems
she would dangle her foot up against
my knee, hitting it playfully from
time to time
i whispered in her ear, as seductively as i could,
that if she kept this up, she was going to get
in trouble
right then, her husband called her name
from the kitchen
i laughed
she came back and handed me a glass of scotch,
whispered in my ear that she wasn't wearing
any panties
i licked my lips and took a sip, playfully placed
my hand on her thigh and started to slowly
investigate
she was telling the truth
i put that finger in my mouth and told her
she tasted like the morning dew
we slipped out into another room
and started to kiss
her husband found us right before all
the good shit started to happen
he asked me to leave before
he found the shotgun
i took the scotch with me
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Black Coffee Review, The Asylum Floor, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review and The Beatnik Cowboy. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Forty Days of SadnessPsalm 16:1-3
1 Keep me safe, my God, for in you I take refuge.
2 I say to the LORD, “You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing.”
During the past forty days, I experienced the loss of a friend, and not for the first time. I knew of children in my community whom we had lost at an early age. Jesus was my friend, and I talked and prayed, knowing he was there for me. In my early childhood, I had come to know Jesus. We talked, and in my innocent child's spirit, Jesus was alive.
During Lent all was going to change. He was to be taken to the Cross to die. I was an altar boy during that period. I witnessed Christ's suffering and death at the Stations of the Cross. His death was real to me at that time. My friends who had passed didn't come back to me. Serving each Station of the Cross Friday night for forty days brought sadness within me. I knew how this was going to end. Jesus was marched to Calvary to die.
Each Friday during that time was a reliving of his suffering on his way to the Cross leading up to the black Friday when he died. The whole forty days were darkness for me, not just during the Friday evening service but throughout the week.
I spent time in the church praying as the candle flames flickered. There was a realization that my friend Jesus wasn't there to share my life. Easter Sunday was so far away without my true friend Jesus.
I knew Jesus was real because there was always a feeling of comfort when I talked with Him and felt him beside me. My foster Mother talked about how Jesus was alive to her. I, too, felt that Jesus was alive. She was convinced of Jesus' presence. Those good Fridays were indeed challenging because we remembered the end of Jesus' life. I knew that on Easter I would get new clothes to wear to church for the celebration of Jesus' return.
Come Easter Sunday there was a feeling of having my friend come back to me. On Easter, when I talked and prayed, it brought me great comfort and peace.
XƏTRINNT OF MY LOVE
Let me bend my love into your love,
Let it not be based on the pleasure of my love,
Let me give up on love, let me not hear,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
Take away the ovary of my heart,
Your capacity is abundant, remember me,
Let it snow, rain, shine in the sun,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
You are my hearth of hope, my trust,
O poet to my life, I know the feeling,
Everyday the wind blows into my soul,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
Let me close your eyes, let me look at you,
From the demand, you become bored, you become embroidered,
My dear, let me be your blessing for life,
Don't let it be based on the pleasure of my love!
ISTURUM, MY OWN COUNTRY, WHERE I WAS BORN
Yad, I have no eyes on Özzgən's soil,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
O I who turn back and forth in the land,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
I don't want grapes, hazelnuts, pomegranate vineyards,
The heart desires the sky plateau, the mountain of shish,
The land to which I speak, my shadow falls,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
Flowers would grow on my lawn,
There the nightingale sang more loudly,
My thighs would kiss my lips,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
Əsən mehi shallow pull telimə,
Its origins are sometimes different,
Waterfalls rose into my slice,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
At the end of the article, we would flee to the pasture,
We had learned to bala-yaga, to ski,
The tulip gave color to the cheeks,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
I was a mother, my mother was there too,
My will was sensitive to my eyes,
My prince would wash my feet,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
I was valuable in my hand, and in myself,
That's why I said "homeland",
Wherever I look, the sign is in my eye,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
Quickly turn away, let the son go to longing,
My heart is in need of attention, compassion,
I'm sorry, what's your name, fame,
I want my own homeland where I was born.
CARRYING THIS SPIRIT
WE ARE NOT COLLAPSING A NATION
Envər Pasha of our Turan army,
Look at the power of his love,
His love is across the seas, over the mountains,
This spirituality is only Turkish!
He gave great importance to the nation and the country,
Joined in jihad, escaped from the flames,
“Transformation as a victorious commander,
Or let me be a martyr!” - choose your slogan!
Time colliding in the room,
The letter he wrote to Nacibé Sultan,
Even though the sultan's heart was saddened at that moment,
It has become a source of pride for a lifetime!
“I love you, my praises
Raise me with my job!”- he wrote,
“Write the names of the villages in history,
Martyrdom is a mark!” - wrote...
“To protect our country from the enemy,
Mustafa Kamala, possible help,
The day that should be from him,
“One dimension, my sons!”
The one that comes to life before your eyes,
He kissed her gentle fingers and left...
The one that makes hearts happy when you remember it,
He entrusted tomorrow to God...
A mill carrying this spirit has collapsed,
And your truth guides, the path they follow!
It precipitates the oil, but it does not absorb much of it,
As long as there is one mill and two states!
He joined the Turan party,
Now what kind of Pasha has arrived?
The great men of Great Turkestan,
Come on, Victory, our heads are high!
Rüxsarə Adilqızı (Həsənova) – Çəmbərək (Krasnoselo) rayon of Qərbi Azərbaijan, born in Qaraqaya, the secondary school in the Çaykənd city of the same region, in 1987, the current Baku State University.
She graduated from a faculty of science and started his labor activities. She received her doctorate of biological sciences in 1996, and her degree as an academic in 2005, and currently works as an assistant professor at BDU's Faculty of Ecology and Natural Sciences. 100 provinces of BDU (1919-2019) were deemed worthy of the Jubilee Medal of the Republic of Azerbaijan, in the name of the "Giant of the XXI Century".
Member of the Azerbaijanis Writing Union, she is the author of the poetry books "Roads lead me to the land" (2012), "My beloved homeland award" (2021), "44 days that write history" (2021), "Mirror of my heart" (2023), in her poetry anthologies, She was featured in literary and literary magazines and was awarded with the "Qızıl Qələm" Media Award Laureate Diploma and the "Union of Turkish Peoples" medal of the "Çukurova International VII Turkish World Poetry and Music" festival.
She has a family, two sons and two daughters.
Some Postwoman Poems
Today the post-
woman brought
me the riddle
of the Sphinx. I
walked out to
get it; but on
the way back
tripped on the
packing tape
which had come
unwrapped in
transit & had
to crawl like a
baby the rest
of the way. The
ankle wasn't
broken, just
sprained; but I'm
using a walking
stick to get around
for the next few
days. Feeling fine
otherwise. Now
what was that
question again?
*
Today the post-
woman brought
me a satellite
navigation system
with Bob Dylan
doing the voice-
overs. Worked
fine until we hit
Highway 61. Then
it stopped giving
directions & started
asking me "where
do I want the
killings done?"
*
Today the post-
woman brought
me a sacrificial
pig. Looks as if
lamb, like most
red meat these
days, is too expen-
sive to be used
as anything more
than metaphor.
*
Today the post-
woman brought
me the shade of
Dylan Thomas
who stood in the
hallway & kept
on farting. Now I
know what was
meant by that
"when I was a
windy boy" thing
even though he got
the tense wrong.
*
Today the post-
woman brought
me a bridge. I'm
waiting for my
ship to come in
so I can open it.
VOICE OF SILENCE!
Silence has a voice; listen to it
Do go down the memory lane
My time still stands erect there
Silent are my awkward moments
My silent words I face everyday
So much pain and agony dominate
The sea water keeps dead silent
Million hidden silences beneath
There is a silent rise in every fall
Listen to utter silence sometimes.
THINGS REMAIN UNREAD!
You tread this way everyday
I often meet you on your way
In silence we speak together
Feelings said but a few unsaid
With a little shyness in your eyes
And cherubic smile on your lips
Some haughtiness in loving ire
The butterfly and flower can't play
You must have penned those thoughts
Might have torn them apart many a time
You're bashful in front of your friends
Things of two hearts remain unread.
WHEN I BREATHE!
When I breathe none but you realize
Every moment even if it is far away
You're mine ; can't think otherwise
I know not how the moments 'll pass
Miserable me ; life sans you all void
I've come to the world for you only
I'm leaving the whole world for you
Clouds in the sky connect the door
There is you in the sunny shade rains
In the recommendations of the Lord
Crazy me, crave to live &
EDGES OF MY MIND!
How to tell you what you are to me
We'll walk together to cross all hurdles
I 've come to you and I find myself lost
Edges of mind 've had penalty of love
Me standing alone in the world though
All my nights are restless to see you
If I don't see you ever,I 'll be nowhere
My destination finds myself at yours
Many miles I 've covered to fetch you
How to tell you what you mean to me.
Dr. Prasana 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 The Rahim Karim 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.
"How Long Till..."
How long do we hide
ourselves?
Do we ever come out
in the open?
Or are we just shades
in our own prison light?
I long for some truth in self,
don't you?
But with all my years learning
to be more than I am,
is there any way out?
Do I become
a boneless bore?
Can I stretch a few
rubber bands before they pop?
Gads,
this is ridiculous.
I think I'll quit for now.
See you tomorrow
when I run for president.
"The Dream Keeper"
Today I step out
to run the real race.
I hate weasels
with egos
Why can't people live
without telling lies?
I loved the first girl I ever kissed.
I know I was too young
to think of the future.
But are dreams really only dreams?
"It's Me Again"
One last song
under the full moon...
She was all I ever wanted.
More than I deserved.
But isn't that how it is?
At least in the beginning?
Only Time Will Tell
Time is nothing that can be touched
It can only measure how long love lasts
Love can not be measured by a watch on a chain
For it is timeless and is a feeling that lives or dies
My love for you was born in my heart like a child
Painful at times but grew into something beautiful
Your gentleness never fails under any circumstance
And only you understand what this heart needed
I will hold your hand through every turn in life
from this moment in time to the next
For as long as the watch on the chain keeps ticking
Like the beats of our hearts, only time will tell
how long you should wait for me…
Things Two Hearts Left Unread
We walk the same road every day
You walking one way and I another
We need rarely to ever speak when we pass
because we can read each other’s looks
What is never said speaks the loudest
We know what is there, and what is not
You poke at me and I play along
I get silent and make you wonder if I am mad
We play this wicked game but laugh under our breaths
But we do complement each other like the butterfly and flower
I have written these feelings down many times
Although, many times have I had to rewrite them
I need not brag to any friends but keep quiet
about things that two hearts left unread.
I Will Now Tell You
I always want to be the blooming flower of
the glittering touch within your dreams
Like an illuminating fairy that enters the forest of your thoughts
Do not be bothered by the poems that now vanish
because beautiful thoughts of hope have now replaced
your hopeless hopes of sadness which used to plague you
Your river of love now flows in rhythm with mine
as joyous waves become like a fierce storm of passion between us
The hue of my form is like the blood that pumps through my veins
which I now use to write our eternal story of love.
The secretive story of two lovers forever tied together by fate.
Kristy Raines was born in Oakland, CA, USA. She is a 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.
