Hotel Eternity TO EXIST BETWEEN ETERNITIES WILD NOTHING LIKE THE EYES OF THE SKY AXIS INFINITY DICTIONARY OF OBSCURE BLISS COME FORWARD WITH YOUR VISCERA AND VIOLENCE AND SHARE MY WINGS UNLEASH YOUR SPIRIT BENEATH THE RAMJET ALLEGRO TEMPLE OF THE NIGHT SKY A NEED FOR MIRRORS AND COUNTLESS SKIES SHAKE YOUR INFINESSENCE SLOT CANYON HIGHBREATH NARCOTIC ERUPTIONS CLOUD NOTHINGS EXOTIC PULSE A NAME BEYOND DESIRE SEMAPHORE SIN PLAY AT YOUR OWN RISK TALKING TWILIGHT INTO A SPHERE OF YOUTHFUL SYMPATHY RIDES THE THIEF OF YOUTH THIN AIR ADDICTIONS MELANCHOLY BODY SACRILEGE TATTOO HIGHWAY INSOMNIA PUNK TEENAGE BLOOD REPETITION OF A THOUSAND HUNGRY EYES SOMETIMES WE ARE ALL ETERNAL IN THE CONSTELLATION OF MIDNIGHT MOSAIC FACTION MY GREEN UNQUEEN GALLERY CRUSH HYPERRITUAL AUTUMN CRY OPULENCE LIKE A TRIANGLE AND A DUEL SOME TALK TO MEN WHILE OTHERS TALK TO GODS DANCE IT VISCIOUS RIDDLE OF THE SANDS CHAMELEON CHARADE STAR CODE CHALICE ASK THE DESERT ORACLE THESE POISON DECLARATIONS THE REAL UNREAL CONVERSATIONS WITH A NEW REALITY NATURE’S SYMPHONY DRAFT INTOXICATION
Poetry from J.D. Nelson
spinach lego the sheep rock was a milo the salt of the feather that dart is a broth of the coin the true eye of the ironing head the shamrock shoe monster the walter koenig of the island the wheel of the montgomery is the clue the rainbow of the motel meal the wolf warns us of the war a nike of the world is the camel of the brain if this is the green rope in the dollar book of the charmed breakfast the healing episode of the martian letters the corner of saturn’s face the nine of the winter the sun tree of a while ago the clean motel of the raisins the apple of the white squall I’m gargling with pennies cape sanka (the tattle is the bough) in the moon morning thru the window, parmesan a real rain garden is the color of the music I wiggle my toes in the magic sauce when I do nothing to stop that apple of the iron a toad is the now the ankh of the heart of the salmon that hum is the name of the grumble scopey toe, a rowe a glimpse of the sugar bowl the pollen of peculiar pointing this is the shield of the shamrock ceres is my name I plug the draft of the wig I eat the honey of dawn I was standing, understanding that planet is the pear of the game the known world is the suffering noun to learn of the nothing the science is the nearness google a number bio/graf J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poetry has appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His poem, “to mask a little bird” was nominated for Best of the Net in 2021. Visit http://MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.
Poetry from Stephen Jarrell Williams
The Water Tower Trilogy Nightfall Outside of town perched on a hill Past the reach of the highway And the sounds of the neighborhood Sliver of moon not enough for light Strange the fence surrounding the water tower Gate left unlocked by the watchman You were no longer shy that summer Since you had met that guy from LA He was just passing through our little town The steel ladder had chips of paint hanging loose A high and narrow climb You leading the way like you had been up there before You had promised me another sexual adventure You were becoming more and more of an exhibitionist Surprising me as to how far you would go You had changed me from a boy into a nomad Those nights we snuck out from our parents Somehow I knew this would be the climax The last night before you would leave You stood on top of the water tower roof A slight rise to its metal dome I crawled up to you and marveled at your daring You slowly stripped gazing down at the town lights And me on my knees. Dust Town I’m still here All my friends gone Faraway cities consumed them None ever coming back Not a letter or phone call Those foreign cemeteries full The night always calling me out Long treks into the desert Whispering wind uplifting Over a town with a population of zero. Dream Fulfilling No solitude in Heaven All forgiven Millions of souls Freedom of flight Finally awakening On top of the water tower’s call The height a mere step off. Teaser She’s a quiet teaser Addicted to her cause and effect In control of every move Long lost in epic delusions Practiced sashays and stance Picture-framed Body brazen Captivating nude Collecting shadows For self obliteration Scream sigh Cry spit Strip cover Smile wink Unbound energy Surrender fake I find myself loving her With all that she is A madness to squeeze her Into the She Beast she craves to be And maybe then She’ll be free. Guitar Man Guitar man strumming the strings On his corner sidewalk Cars passing with cheering honks Everyone bobbing in their spots A few dollars given Into his open guitar case His notes still dancing in his head In the middle of the night Beneath a scan of stars His bed cradled nightly In a trash dumpster.
Poetry from Alan Catlin
381- More than 100 people queue at a gas station for a chance to see, sniff, a blooming corpse flower. So says Harper’s Weekly News roundup. Literally smells like death. A San Francisco treat. Following The corpse on social media. Over 1,200 scenters in all. Not a scene From a David Lynch movie. A Field of Dreams. Cultivate it and they will come. 382- The tyranny of the corpse. George Romero or Claire Thomas. The corpse as content. As a consumer product. The consuming corpse. All consuming corpse. The Exquisite Corpse. The Peace Corpse. Dead Kennedys. 383- “Who was shot, who was imprisoned, who escaped” Colm Toibin said. Now introducing Natalie Ginzburg. Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. Sophia Loren movie or current events. Book. Fascists in Italy. Germany. Here a fascist, there a fascist, everywhere a fascist. Ezra Pound on the radio or in St. Elizabeth’s. Voices in the Wilderness or Voices in the Evening. 387- Hunker down for medium night. The message is still the. Massage. Psychic readings 50 bucks. A session. Rise the Dark or Never Far Away. 20 dollars. 20 minutes of healing Crystals. For all Those Who Wish Me Dead. On Mediumship Way and Spiritualist Street. Not at Terror Street And Agony Way. Nearby. Ask for Raven Star. Mystic Witch. Not in Connecticut. Florida. Naturally. 388- Paying last respects. For the deceased. During pandemic. Death Zoom casts. Supply your own sound track. Patsy Cline. “Sweet Dreams.” “Leavin’ On Your Mind.” “Back in Baby’s Arms.” “Don’t tell anyone, because if we tell People, then it will become true.” Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Notes on Grief. Patsy Cline. “I Fall to Pieces.”
Poetry from Starlie Tugade
derailed she was at a train station with no direction in mind. the world spun on behind her, people talking on business calls, yelling at kids to “keep up!” it was his fault she was here, adrift in a world where being tethered to inanimate objects was key. she wondered how hard it would be to dash across the train tracks and avoid being caught. it was the type of thought he would have. he had been damaged for a long time. his childish snowflake edges now sharpened into knives, unwittingly ready to cut anyone who came near. his flowered heart once blooming and joyful, now a ninja star, incapable of being cradled by smooth hands. he had spent many hours looking at the moon. or glaring at it. she didn’t know. but his silhouette hunched on the deck and bathed in white light was a secret for only her. his fingers were always calloused now, ridges from guitar strings pressed into them. permanently. she secretly hoped she could hear him in the night. sorrowful tunes made by someone who knew what he was doing even if he never showed it. the wrinkles behind his eyes faded long before she realized he never smiled anymore. they were on separate trains heading in opposite directions and the most she could do was press up against the window and love him while it lasted.
Poetry from David L. O’Nan
Nashville Shakespeare From his tongue he spoke like Waylon The bard of the Cumberland River His journey from Macbeth to the Grand Ole Opry In the Ryman he battered us with sonnets. A long dream. In the dead of night He wore the cloak of tragedy While the Honky Tonk boys erupted in laughter As he tripped over the cowboy boots scooting on the dancefloor. Then all the romances in the world, Within every glittering star in the sky Violated the Romeo and Juliet pact. And watched him cough through his fumes of sighs. All the women he used to fancy Are chasing the broncos at the rodeo. Everyone is drunk on whiskey and moonshine Less on wine and Absinthe with wormwood. In the mirrors he believed to see the future. With a skull in his hand feeling axiomatic An original intellectual filled up with the Viper’s spit. Surrounded by tornados and outlaws in a sun wrought sky. There is a banging, clash against the church glass windows The art painted by the halos of exotic angels The cholera will hit the streets and the cowardly all say goodnight. In the buzzing city, the homeless and the golden dances become one. The light returns in a gleam as the alert hits Broadway The pounding of hail and glass molding hits like hammers Playwrights always preferred a bubonic ending. The Kings were noble and didn’t know the calls to country animals.
Bio: David L O’Nan (he/him) is the founder of Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art, A writer, editor for nearly 20 years. He has pieces found in Icefloe Press, Anti-Heroin Chic, Ghost City Review, Royal Rose Magazine, Rhythm & Bones Press Lit, Cajun Mutt Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Nymphs Publishing, Spillwords among others. His website for publishing older work & others work is found at www.feversofthemind.com He is from the Midwest . Kentucky/Indiana area.
Synchronized Chaos November 2021: Rich Inner Worlds
This month’s contributors beckon us within, to the inner landscape of our memories, thoughts, and emotions. Each of us contains a whole world, which is worth developing and exploring.
FYI Dennis Mann, a national of Ghana, is the head of a nonprofit donating children’s books to low-income children in the country. This group is known as Wide Reading Among Kids and readers may find more information on the organization and how to support it here.
Hongri Yuan’s glimpses of transcendence, translated by Manu Mangattu, connect ordinary people to the vastness of the universe. Abigail George turns to poetry to express longing for a cause and a connection that is both practical and inspiring. John Thomas Allen captivates with a lush rendering of the Tarot, an ancient spiritual way of understanding life and human nature, set in a circus setting.
Deborah Kerner’s work links herself with a modern-day hitchhiker/bag lady through the sisterhood of history and nature. Kerner’s other pieces describe life seen through a veil of interiority: from a train window or during insomnia. Sanjeev Sethi’s poetry collections Bleb and Hesitancies, here reviewed by Cristina Deptula, also highlight the intricacy of our innermost thoughts, fostering reflection and respect for all people.
Mahbub looks to birds and other creatures in nature for life lessons, building on his inner understanding through contemplation. Nature, nighttime and storms become metaphors for both the passionate beauty and the hidden dangers of romantic love.
Doug Hawley writes of romance as well, in an elegant piece on the twilight years of a long marriage. Dennis Mann spins the tale of another wedded couple together until death does them part, although more tragically.
Robert Thomas reflects on what life might be like after his wife’s passing, a pre-emptive elegy of love and grief. J.J. Campbell mourns relationships and other human connections that almost happened, or never happened. Chris Butler poignantly comments on not being able to go home again, not being able to recreate one’s lost childhood, in a collection that includes an elegy to a stranded and dying rabbit along with descriptive, near-musical odes to bees.
Charlie Robert mourns the Berlin Zoo’s animals lost during WWII bombings along with the Jews and other minorities who died in the Holocaust. Ahmad Al-Khatat’s piece presents marginalized people who call forth their own dignity, determined to leave a record of their presence. Gaurav Ojha calls out corruption and lack of concern for important matters within his native Kathmandu.
Chimezie Ihekuna’s screenplay collection featured this month looks within individual, ordinary lives and relationships for deeper truths about compassion and understanding.
Mark Blickley created his performance art piece, shown here through video, with the intention of bringing us back to simpler times at a slower and less distracting pace. Alan Britt writes of nostalgia as well, remembering the youthful beauty of double dates with a friend. Britt also semi-playfully reflects on our connections with other species as well as with God, whether we explicitly believe or not. Marjorie Thelen offers up a narrative from someone who’s become a relic in a post-human, post-philosophical era.
Richard Chetwynd integrates words and letters into visual art that alludes to concepts of faith, mental health and spiritual connection. Mark Young’s technical wordplay is thoughtful and poignant, with a piece on soul-building and visual imagery that evokes thoughts of loss.
Raquel Silberman describes the psychological rebuilding and ‘cleanup’ after a disaster in a poem that makes some traumas seem messy, but survivable.
Z.I. Mahmud looks into the rich panoply of characters in Dickens’ works to find allegories that promote compassion and respect for all people. Christopher Bernard also draws upon the language and narrative techniques of fables and children’s literature in his monthly installment of The Ghost Trolley, which comments on power, justice, equity, and grace.
Elizabeth Hughes reviews Mike Honeycutt’s hunting and travel memoir Into the Wild.
We invite you into the world of this magazine and also more deeply into your own world as you read this month’s issue.