Think About It Turning myself inside out for you so you can sniff and contemplate if I'm worth a smoke all my jokes meaning more than tears and you're beginning to understand my love is beyond endless and more faithfull as the spin of the earth and beat of stars so come and make us as one.... A Way Home Let's run together quick step and jump holding hands over this nervous world sun tanning our bare backs and rumps easy breathing and laughing with no fear we will be like children long before the aging of flowers their scent stopping time in awe so smack your lips we're going to kiss a sugar dream lasting forever! Flight In the air floating I'm your hero and you're my Goddess clouds soft stopping when we want lying upon them sunset's far reaching fingertips of warmth we dance naked into a night sky of teasing stars. Created And when our dreams melt we will float in the sea under the night with the coming dawn I seeing you and you seeing me soon in heaven where we were created to be. Stephen Jarrell Williams can be found on X Twitter @papapoet
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
sadness becomes loneliness it's the laugh, the gentle i love you late at night, the warm embrace and suddenly remembering how many years it's actually been how the touch of a woman is nearly foreign to you now hopeless should never come up when you think about sex sadness becomes loneliness before you even realize the world has left you behind -------------------------------------------------------------- start the weekend a thunderstorm before the morning coffee not exactly how i wanted to start the weekend but you're old enough now to know you don't get to choose such things your place in life doesn't allow it -------------------------------------------------------- two vapid souls shuffling down the boulevard a skeleton of a man thinning goatee and hollow eyes holding hands with his woman a soul crushing blonde light years out of his league most assume there are two reasons why she is with him girth and wealth most assumptions are true more than we actually realize two vapid souls searching for a better tomorrow if such a thing even still fucking exists --------------------------------------------------------- a zombie apocalypse the muse believes she can't trust me during a zombie apocalypse that makes me laugh she apparently doesn't understand that i will be dead before any of that ever happens zombies, an apocalypse, or a glorious heel turn more pressing matters are at hand as usual like rent, taxes, a check engine light that always seems to come on at the least opportune times not to even mention where one might be able to find some non-toxic land to grow food or whatever else --------------------------------------------------------------------- a soft rain in the sunshine two loose shits within five minutes of waking up jack daniels for dinner strikes again a stray cat comes to our backyard looking for birds or some food luck never appears in this damn town a soft rain in the sunshine a lonely woman wonders of a better way to die here comes a daydream meant for a better soul the cocaine always runs out on a tuesday night right as she starts to feel ok with doing it for money once again -------------------------------------------------------------------------- J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Black Coffee Review and The Asylum Floor. Rumor has it that he might have a joint chapbook coming out this summer with Casey Renee Kiser. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Poetry from Mark Young
America’s / culinary roots / & Caribbean flavors Ignore the variable sample size, even when there are such influential outliers in the data as the Dearborn Truck Plant, an upscale specialty sandwich concept shop unmatched by any nearby drug store. I have been guilty of eating the odd haute/uberchic/upscale sandwich myself! The Kill- deer & Canadian Geese that nest on its green roof can be dealt with by rule-directed searches through mutation sequence space that incorporate energy production as well as food producing facilities. It will be days before authorities can determine the cause of death. Materialist hermeneutics The oven is a resonant space within which I can move easily. I put an egg & some hotdogs in- to it; what comes out is expanded & dynamically rearranged. Each time it is the event itself which operates against the ego in order to make room for deconstruction; & in doing so, opens a window in which to explicitly address the techno-sexuality of the digital page. Sousa phoned Snare drum undone is hum- drum until rimshot or paradiddle pokes noise into its silence. Such a puzzle, perhaps part riddle. Stick figures giving flesh to frame- work. Is con/ un/drum. Cultural artifice Gerbils are not for- bidden, nor are the latest Broadway refrains, even when played on rubber violins. The conservative Ordnung that guides Swartzentruber practise is still moderate enough not to alienate swing voters. Attracted by it he started back for Cedar City. Rarely is the Toreador's song more successfully achieved. Pectoral No content at the moment but later will be. It's possible the ultimate constituents of the planned structure might consist wholly of senses or concepts but it's more likely to be hot muscle car babes with great curves that love muscle cars & the guys who own them. Surprising how fish survive so well in what must be a harsh & hostile environment.
Poetry from Devika Mathur
Deprivation- The touch was clear. It asked for something else. Something more pure and crystal. Transparent as my sister's fingernail. I create muses in the air and talk to imaginary situations. Pets, people- furniture and sky. I bang utensils on the table and chew table cloth. With shapeless nights and foamy mouth, I say my prayers and chant all the Buddhist sayings. Deprivation—-- a long pause. From the sky like a circular topology. From inch to inch, moving gently to nowhere. Now, I see television and dance to sepia voices, lost sounds or perhaps to kettle whistle. I do not remain a body. Shifting towards a sanguine night sitting on a Jasmine. I discard everything. All and everything. Devika Mathur resides in India and is a published poet, writer, and editor. Her works have been published in The Alipore Post, Madras Courier, Quail Bell, Modern Literature, Two Drops Of Ink, Dying Dahlia Review, Pif Magazine, Spillwords, Duane's Poetree, Piker Press, Mojave Heart Review, Whisper and the Roar amongst others. She is the founder of the surreal poetry website "Olive skins" and writes for https://myvaliantsoulsblog.wordpress.com/ She recently published her book "Crimson Skins" and her five poems were also published in the Sunday Mornings River anthology and has her works upcoming in two more fierce anthologies.
Poetry from Tuyet Van Do
black cavities outside the hospital empty corpses compliance ... cries for help getting louder burning flames outside the embassy a soldier protesting blood-stained gown behind the window a gasping doctor ceasefire ... a man in the rubble collecting body parts
Poetry from Dr. Maheshwar Das
EVENING IN THE MEADOWS In this meadow full of swampy land. Adorned with mountains trees, grass, flowers and salubrious evening air. The sky was looking so glorious tinged with golden color It was a nice evening mesmerized with wild flowers. Meanwhile the moon appeared in the sky with million smiles. The fringe sky looked glimmered with moonshine. Slowly the moonshine wrapped the whole ambiance. Every beings lighted and delighted with the soft moonlight. The tall trees of the meadows looked beautiful and meditative. A rapt silence reigned in that realm of beauty. In the meantime the rustle of the leaves resonated the air. There was whisper of enchanting fragrance in the air. Then rose the crickets that remained hidden in the grass. They started their hymn in that enchanting glade. Prevailed there a beauty and blissful air. Reverberated the meadows with the songs and whisper of night so fair. Dr. Maheswar Das India MORNING REVERIE OF THE WOODLAND Morning descends with million smiles and blessings of eternity. The enormous all- pervading sunshine sprinkles and makes the entire ambiance colourful. The dew-sprawling-grass field looks glamourous and colorful. The blade of grass dazzles carrying the dew drops in its breast. The morning breeze enthralls all beings with an amazing touch of happiness. The chorus of bird-flocks in the sky enlivens all beings with an infinite peace The valley looks colorful carrying the tall trees under the enchanting sky The woodland whispers with glee carrying the enormous shades of clouds. The tall mountains of the valley kiss the clouds with so much ecstasy in their eyes. The buzzing of the bees and butterflies makes the land a paradisal look. The narrow brook that flows in the valley carries the songs of the cuckoo in an enchanting way. The sky lark and other song birds spread their music spell unheard of anything of the woods. The morning resonate with the musing of nature seems meditative . The rapt reverie of valley is often broken by songs of birds. Dr. Maheswar Das India FROM DEATH TO IMMORTALITY Like lightning, you are the spark in everything The energy in all beings How futile is it to cling to matter always. How long we will remain as a slave of matter Not master Never greedy to go up Leaving the dense gross, ascending to subtle How much inert is our intellect Oh Lord Raise our consciousness From darkness to enlightenment Make us free from the bondage of gross matter for a upward journey From mortality to immortality From darkness to light From matter to divine For, immense resplendent light is beckoning from far beyond Dr.Maheswar Das India Daffodils Oh delightful golden daffodils Oh messenger of spring As I behold you for the first time in the garden green I fell in love with your mesmerizing beauty To me, you are a golden love flower of heaven As l see you, my mind thinks of the spring season I look all around to see the presence of spring With your arrival, spring has already set in With all its splendor and glee. Under the radiant purple sunshine I see you in the meadows You are dancing and swinging in the zephyr Your fragrance lifted me to the realm of heavenly joy and cheer Heaven's beauty has nestled in your soft gaze. How beautifully almighty has wrought you. How beautiful is your whisper How enchanting is your serenity and beauty that cheers all How beautiful is your fragrance that attracts all poets and viewers In vale and meadows, your fragrance stirs the air. Your presence makes the ambiance colorful Dr. Maheswar Das India Dr. Maheswar Das ------------------------------- He is a bilingual poet, translator, editor, and story writer. He writes in English and the 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 centers 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.
Poetry from John Lloyd Casoy
LOW TIDE IN LAGUNA DE BAY
They embrace each other again,
skin to skin, the islets of water spinach
and the surface of sticky mud
after a week of dancing with the waves.
The elusive seagull is close by,
roaming in the transient seashore
created by the low tide.
The islands of water lilies aboard
in the breakwater, lonely
for not receiving a warm welcome.
The sun is weaving, the twilight
says “Hello”, and in the distance
here comes the blinking of artificial stars
created by the city which deteriorated
that once deep Laguna de Bay.
I am there, standing on the pathway
that once part of the lake’s body,
jealous of the lake’s destruction.
I don’t know; perhaps it’s just me,
drowning in my deep thoughts
wanting to be visited
by low tide one day.
About the Author
John Lloyd C. Casoy is a public-school teacher in the Philippines. He has a bachelor’s degree in Bachelor of Secondary Education with a major in Filipino. Currently, he is writing his thesis for his master’s degree in Master of Arts in Filipino – Literature at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines.