*** Under the heels of silence lie the silhouettes of people-leaves. Where do we go grinding buried bones with our huge feet? Air dancing snowflakes. The stone is snow. The stone is water. We are all dancers. Fire in the eyes of a butterfly. A bonfire on which prospects burn. The fire on which dinner is cooked. One day a man left his house for a shop and never came back. *** Nobody was born killed. Only the birds grimaced like tangerine skins. Nobody was born. New Year's magic frozen in the snows of time. *** Five birds sit on a branch of one tree One tree holds five birds How many trees can the earth support? How much paper is burned daily? How many people got burned today? God's assistant pressed the wrong button again *** The flying bird is extinguished The moon is fading in the sky The candle in my heart melted completely Morning begins *** Fear of grass on cold lips Spring sweetness of first kisses *** feast for mother memorial for mom funeral for mom who are we burying? where do we bury? we bury our childhood under a bush at the request of the mother dead mother in the cloud – smiling *** the rebellious spirit in my stomach gurgles and begs for alcohol dog catching snowflakes with tongue christmas all year round easter around the clock *** we exchange skulls with each other like silence our hands itch as if after the crucifixion our genitals itch like a virgin virgin birds above their heads turn into ticks on paper the world is squeezing deeper and deeper into a gas mask *** iron mosquitoes exhaust the body wooden organs rot brain cloud exfoliate a church candle in the chest vomits the fire from which the future will be born *** butterflies in the stomach die silently looking at the fire *** i want the bird to die then the military pilot will not go astray then the nuclear warhead will fly where it needs to shit *** sky composed in advance gnaws earlobes Icarus freaks out like an impotent before sex kisses of air in the weather forecast are not foreseen and the earth from below is hard as if it is not round at all
Poetry from Anna Ferriero
SE FOSSI POESIA Ti farei libera volare e senza più barriere la tua silenziosa melodia ti farei raccontare. Sul bocciolo più bello un raggio di sole ti farei lì posare e come un treno in stazione farei tutti salire per scoprire ed osservare quell’attesa meraviglia. Se fossi una poesia la più bella sceglierei e la rosa d’Inghilterra farei nascere d’inverno. In un libro di paesaggi scattati ad occhi chiusi la tua anima vagante si schiude in libertà IF I WERE POETRY I would set you free to fly and without barriers your silent melody I would let you tell. On the most beautiful bud a ray of sunshine I would make you sit there And like a train in the station I'd get everyone up to discover and observe that expected wonder. If I were a poem I would choose the most beautiful and the rose of England I would give birth in winter. In a book of landscapes taken with eyes closed your wandering soul unfolds in freedom APELIOTE Ti inciderò in eterno nello sguardo del mio verso corteggiandoti in silenzio senza un dopo come petalo irlandese. Ti inciderò in eterno nel fatato firmamento spezzando la tua rosa che Belle richiese in dono. Da Amore generato con Psiche decantato si generò passione che nel cuore dell’inverno, quando il gelo fa il suo ingresso dal colore di cannella, all’orizzonte c’è Urania che rinasce per schiudersi Apeliote dando vita al suo Ponente APELIOTES I will engrave you forever in the look of my verse courting you in silence without an after like irish petal. I will engrave you forever in the fairy firmament breaking your rose which Belle requested as a gift. From Love generated with Psyche decanted passion was born that in the heart of winter, when the frost sets in cinnamon-colored, on the horizon there is Urania who is reborn to hatch Apeliote giving life to its Ponente
Poetry from Ian Copestick
A Promise Earlier today I was taking my dog out for her walk Just across the street from me was two old men. I'm fifty years old. So believe me. If I say that they were old they were old. They were OLD, but they were standing next to a Bentley. Two guys who must have been at least mid- 60's. Wearing shorts, and summer shirts, with at least three buttons undone. It made me feel sick. It made me make a promise to myself.
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
the desire to even play the game i'm failing at modern life each day i step outside of the house the clothes, the language, the gadgets, the desire to even play the game at all it's all fucking foreign to me it's not even being a stranger in a strange land it's like my body got stuck on a planet without my permission and it's way too late to do anything about it ------------------------------------------------------------------ hands on his hips watching this old guy struggle on purpose so the young, beautiful physical therapist has to help him she has her hands on his hips and you can probably imagine the smile on the old man's face -------------------------------------------------------------- standing out in the rain wet feet standing out in the rain apparently, these waterproof shoes are just name only much like most humans they come up a little short when you need them the most -------------------------------------------------------------- enough is enough the temptation of oncoming traffic had a buddy decide this was the best way to go, especially after his wife of over twenty years said enough was enough i'm not stuck in one of those situations, yet there have been plenty of times i felt like i was being strangled by reality sometimes you have to get high enough to create your own fucking reality now, when that one fucking sucks your options are pretty clear for you prolong or escape... ----------------------------------------------------------- that inevitable never fucking ending hill wisdom isn't a given it has to be earned tell that to these spoon-fed fuckers that want to run the world it is an endless parade of clowns that only want what is best for the given few the masses are just supposed to die while climbing that inevitable never fucking ending hill imagine true equality the land of the free and all that other pie in the sky bullshit that the supreme court will eventually strike down as it doesn't do enough for the only people they want to serve rich white people
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is stuck in suburbia, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, Disturb the Universe Magazine and Lothlorien Poetry Journal. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
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Poetry from Doug Holder
Archie Bunker opines about Pellegrino Water **Archie Bunker was a character in the 1970s TV show, "All in the Family." It was a satire about a white working-class man-who was an unapologetic racist This ain't your Polish meathead Poland Springs this is what comes from what you call Virgin Springs.-- hey—nobody gets laid there they are happy just drinking water may Jesus strike me dead! It's like seltzer but it is not made by the hebes -- them people make it like a sucker punch christians make sure there is no bitch slap of dem bubbles here-- there are no troubles... She is long, lean and green a tall glass of water a regular queen hey! you know what I mean? Co-President of the New England Poetry Club Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene http://dougholder.blogspot.com Ibbetson Street Press http://www.ibbetsonpress.com Poet to Poet/Writer to Writer http://www.poettopoetwritertowriter.blogspot.com Doug Holder CV http://www.dougholderresume.blogspot.com Doug Holder's Columns in The Somerville Times https://www.thesomervilletimes.com/?s=%22Doug+Holder%22&x=0&y=0 Doug Holder's collection at the Internet Archive https://archive.org/details/@dougholder
Poetry from Eva Lianou Petropoulou
Faith We are here to believe To share our dreams To share our verses Our beautiful soul We are here to cooperate To feel And bring happiness Security We are here to make our dreams in reality We Are here to respect The nature We are here We follow our intuition We are here for a better world Wishing all To love themselves first To love each other To give Better give than receive That makes us better person Peace I like the colour of the nature Is pink and green and blue I like the dreams that comes to my sleep Smiles at children's faces I like the creativity that brings me so much hapinnes Poems and stories travel like birds Feel like a child Feel free I like the colours of the rainbow I like the rain I like the sea This is the peace for me People from so many different countries That became my brother and sister... A book A book open his pages A boy start to read And heroes come out of the chapter Weapons start to make a noise Bombs Was coming down to buildings School were vanished The boy start to cry.... Nobody could hear it They were all occupied to count their small green and blue papers. . So much paper So many bombs So many people occupied from the nothing ... That comes and destroy Everything... The boy closed the book... He took another one And he starts looking the beautiful illustrations So Many flowers And strange fruits And a lot of animals that were sitting just around a big lake. There was a forest also with big trees And a big mountain The chapter had a title: _The peaceful world of Olivia_ The boy continue to read and that afternoon was the most amazing time in the world.. Biography Eva Lianou Petropoulou is an awarded author and poet from Greece with more than 25 years in the literary field who has published more than 10 books. Her poems are translated into more than 15 languages. Eva Lianou Petropoulou is President of of Mil Mentes Por Mexico Association represent Greece. She is a member of the International Association of Authors and Artists in Greece, a member of the Association of Korinthian Authors and a member of the Association of Authors and Artists in Pireas. She is the President of Global UHE Peru for Greece, the World Ambassador of the University of Ethics in India, a Member of the Academy of Farsala, a literary agent in several magazines, a member of the editorial board of Olas de l arte Magazine, an Ambassador of Namaste Magazine in India, representing Greece.
Poetry from Wisdom Adediji
Here, In This Lucid World Of Mine
Here, the sky is a gathering of clouds
raining ruins over this body of frail wishes,
And my thoughts are gods that illusion me
toward the path I long for but never reach.
I’ve learned to mold heaven for things that drift
me into a hollow of dearth, things that peel
my prayers from God’s palms like an exfoliated igneous
and strip my heart from the body of faith.
Here, I confine the density of my loss
and cloak them with words
before lowering them into the
belly of a poem, into a hiding place.
But no one sees, not even in my poems— how
a boy is drowning and calling for grace.
All they do is watch frogs flutter happily into the rain’s embrace
and listen to crickets orchestrate from the dark into the open.
No one weighs the heaviness croaking in the frog’s
chest, or the brokenness of clouds that births
the rain rubbing palms with darkness
hovering in the crickets’ songs,
Or sees the boy building a paradise for each
sin he scribble on his forehead.