War

Smile not exist

Happiness is stopped

Hungry stomach

Hungry soul

Enough

Tired from the bodies

That are afraid of their shadows

I would like to have a man who speaks truth

Who act

Who believes

In power of love

Words

Silence is not the answer

When Sun rise

Moon is a light that

Give birth

To our dreams

Action

We can only trust

When the reality

appears

We don’t need

so small minds

We are here

to believe

In our thoughts

And in our principles

When the miracle

is happening

Only Flour

Can give the solution

To a hungry mouth

Eva Petropoulou Lianou 

Poet, prose writer and official candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Guilty Pleasure



He’s watching

The latest season

Of “Selling Sunset”

On Netflix,

One of 

His many

Guilty pleasures.




Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fifth book, was published in May.

Scribbles

[Written at  a Boston-based writing group and included in Fleury's book "You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self"]


La vie

Ah, la douleur de la vie;
So sorrowful this life can be,
We live in a constant that is uncertainty,
Waiting to awaken each morning can be tiresome,
Waking from a nightmare can be winsome,
‘Til we see the dreadful daylight of reality!
Yearning to sleep;
Daring to wake;
What comes next?
Life is but a haste!


Bird Bath

The mockingbird emerged from its bath,
Singing while it sat on a raft,
Looking into the distant path,
And poised with some sass,
Swiftly flew off in a fit of wrath!


Insomnia

I dreamed I had insomnia
And birds of prey roamed
‘Round my sphere
My heart rhythm’s tachycardia
Abided in a bed of fear...
I dreamt I slept with insomnia
echoes of children
Resounded like nostalgia
My senses somewhat forlorn
Yearning for the years bygone
Wishing to wish away my melancholia
I dream of sleep
Awake I weep
I dreamt i prayed
My soul to keep
I fell asleep
Or so it seems
Wishing to weep
For my esteem
Alas to sleep
Perchance to dream...


What Place is This?

Surrounded by a shadowy grey environ,
Sitting cross-legged on some ground,
Looking up in a circular motion,
I wondered why there was no one else around...
Yearning to hear a sound;
Something has blurred my vision,
Suddenly I hear a pound,
Could thunder be a thing I found?!
Alas...The dawning of my wakening,
I am living in a cloud!!!



Jacques Stanley Fleury is a Haitian-American Poet, Author and Educator. He holds an undergraduate degree in Liberal Arts and is currently pursuing graduate studies in the literary arts at Harvard University online. Once on the editing staff of The Watermark, a literary magazine at the University of Massachusetts, his first book Sparks in the Dark: A Lighter Shade of Blue, A Poetic Memoir was featured in and endorsed by the Boston Globe. His second book: It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories is a collection of short fictional stories dealing with the human condition as the characters navigate life’s foibles and was featured on Good Reads. His current book and hitherto magnum opus Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism, A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism explores social justice in America and his latest book, “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  along with all other previously mentioned titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, Porter Square Books, The Grolier Bookshop, Goodreads, bookshop, Amazon etc…  His CD A Lighter Shade of Blue as a lyrics writer in collaboration with the neo-folk musical group Sweet Wednesday is available on Amazon, iTunes & Spotify to benefit Haitian charity St. Boniface.

FEARMONGERING IN SPRINGFIELD

		“In Springfield, they’re eating the dogs!”
		yelled Trump at his TV debate.
		What’s behind these demon tales?
		What fuels such baseless hate?

		It starts with an influx of workers
		back in 2017.
		Springfield factories no longer hummed.
		The town was in decline.

		Then came the Haitian immigrants
		to package food, work shifts
		in automotive machining plants.
		But new faces caused rifts.

		15,000 new faces
		riled up a Nazi group—
		this “Blood Tribe” marched with swastika flags
		and paramilitary troops
		
		to crash a jazz and blues event.
		Pointed guns at cars.
		Shouted, “Go back to Africa!”
		The Blood Tribe was at war.

		A spokesman told the City Council:
		stop hiring workers’ kin.
		“Crime and savagery will increase
		with every Haitian you bring in.”  *

		The speaker got kicked out. Next day,
		Springfield City Hall
		was closed because of bomb threats,
		and a school got threatening calls.

		Then, when a cat went missing,
		the scapegoating began.
		“They say those Haitians eat our pets.”
		Rumors wildly ran.

		Now schools are closed to keep kids safe.
		Bomb threats, fear, and hate
		menace Springfield’s peaceful town.
		Does this make America great?

		* Quote by Drake Berentz, aka, Nathaniel Higgins,
		reported by Stephen Starr in the Guardian, 9/14/2024

warning

a storm warning

the butterflies in my stomach

announced the summer plan to intercept


continuous distance
hair fell on hair
the sky turns red as if it knows
everything in advance
my hair fell for
the first time on your comb
which you will never use again

Basement

Human is the basement of the toilet room

Tenement maze of history and stories


No animal in the world has ever died for its cage before

No animal has invented aerial bombs


To first Octobers number 


Suck my death

an unborn kitten is knocking at the church of a torn belly

the future flows like sperm from the wall of the gateway

my dead lover gets stuck in my throat where his cock used to hide during blowjob

I dream of having my throat fucked by a nuclear bomb

I dream in my dreams that instead of a strap-on a hydrogen bomb will stick out of my ass

I know that god will not pour anything into my balls during a handjob

mosquitoes and military pilots meanwhile fly towards the scent of blood

not a single military man gave me flowers

only somewhere in the dark a muscular sergeant said: hey fag suck my dick like before death

what if the ammunition depot where I'm already being fucked by a group of soldiers will explode from the fact that I'm so hot and sexy

suddenly I will destroy the army and piss all the military factories with my blood

suddenly I really will be fucked in a minute by the last soldier in the history of mankind

in the meantime they fuck me in all the cracks and call me a fag

I wonder if the soldiers have wives

I wonder how many lovers smeared the mouths of soldiers' wives with sperm

I wonder how many soldiers kissed their wives on the lips after that

I wonder how many nuclear bombs are produced in secrecy

I would like to grow longer hair and dye it blonde

the truth is hidden in the details of my anus

god fuck us all with your voice

we are tired of the silence of the red buttons

after which a nuclear explosion will follow


after fucking a new nuclear bomb will be born in me [?]


Brown town

In the heart of earthy hues,

Brown town,

A needle threads life's tapestry,

Brown town,

A need, a yearning palpable.

People encircle, form clay figures,

Silent echoes of existence,

Seated, molded by time's unseen hands.

Within, dwell stories untold,

Brown town,

Clay figures poised in quiet contemplation,

Sculpted reflections of shared moments.



my lover asked

my lover asked me when i first saw porn

it would be better if he asked something simpler, like how many times we quarrel with my husband

(sometimes it seems to me that love is too abstract a word for our painfully non-abstract world)

my lover finally pissed me off when he started talking about the non-binary nature of human nature

- I call you bitch to suck and not destroy our homosexual intimacy with the philosophy, fag, - I said to my lover while he turned into a statue

my lover is a beautiful antique statue but alas the statues don't have blood

my professional skills as a bloodsucker are now in question

my lover its: not reacted to my bites and slaps for a day

it seems to me that he sailed away into the cast-iron tunnel of the night

it seems to me that my lover dreams of flowers in ball gowns and without graves

death knocked on the back of the room and asked: whose house is this?

and this ruined house is now a ruin

the anti-missile installation of the heart has failed

the night in the eyes of my dead dead man will no longer dissolve

even explosions won't wake my lover

red sky like a bud revealed death

god's assistant pressed the wrong button again

аll in vain


We

Free

Freends

Friends

French fries

With self burger


We distance

We running

Running away from each other



vegetable garden

my body is a vegetable garden in which nothing grows

we're all hungry without the smell of fresh meat and cum

generals fuck tomorrow's dead for free saving on prostitutes

sun umbrellas and winter sleighs are in vain


sho(r)t (hi)story
I want the last nuclear bomb to explode inside my ass
the sun warms the cold body of my lover shot by dawn
the trenches are screaming but no historian
will tell about our buried feelings in the future
the stones are screaming but only the wind drowning in the river
will tell about our buried lovers

No title
the station of tears breaks out and thirst falls from the inside of the heart
let's go to my house, drink my blood, burst my capillaries, tear my ass, tear out my tonsils
meanwhile god's deputy keeps pushing the wrong buttons

onlyfa
the steak burned inside my stomach
the gun kills me but nothing will come out of my vagina
we drink only sperm
my eggs and balls strive for your grape nipple
still life of the world during the continuous noise of a siren
we drink only tears

one cocku
you drink the silence of my moan
and I feel uneasy about spring
which hasn’t come either

part-time
part-time job
being naked in the pristine ruins of houses