PPP Ezine: Poetrypoeticspleasure Ezine, Volume 5; Issue 4; April 2021

Welcome Spring by Yash Seyedbagheri

Why may? by John Grey

Door of My Soul by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Either Way by Robert Ronnow

The Vision by Mohammad Saif

Trait by Donna Dallas

Depression by Ahmad Al-Khatat

Apparitions by Wayne Russell

Attacking Plastics by Ben Nardolilli

Raft by Eliza Segiet

Donkey Work by Patricia Walsh

Welcome Spring by Yash Seyedbagheri

snow crashes from branches

plopping into piles

from pines

bare arms reach out into the blue

and wave to me

a lone walker

who slunk through snowbanks in scarves

and now strides in slate-blue sweaters

along a road, a stream meanders around my feet

sun shimmering diamonds

water whispering

winding around a bend,

and then another

 layer of brown rises

from the last ice palaces

and nuzzles my feet

I’d almost forgotten warmth

Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program. His stories, “Soon,”  “How To Be A Good Episcopalian,” and “Tales From A Communion Line,” were nominated for Pushcarts. Yash’s work  has been published in The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Write City Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.

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Why may? by John Grey

 


A tiny red trill,
a gray mist fades into the sky,
or rolls up with horizon,
somewhere, a fish-leap splash,.
an oak leaf floats above the water-veiled,
already what feeds on what
is disseminated in a flutter of feather,
a rabbit’s raised fur,
into a wind that articulates with scent,
in and out of tree close,
here tanager, there finch,
each note, a leaf rustle,
or piqued at open fields
where hawks lunge,
bobolinks panic away the calm of flight,
sun reaps loosestrife, musk mallow,
bearberry and bull thistle,
and human interpretations defer
to the chirp, the puff, of the powers,
the God of this who fills the page

but lacks interpretation.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, “Leaves On Pages” is available through Amazon.

Door of My Soul by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Hidden away below

the giant elm with its

great limbs making

a leafy room I quietly

listen to the birds in

the morning light, their

sweet songs threaded

in hope, the sun warming

the garden before me so

I’m no longer trembling

in the cold, feeling myself

go so still as the mortal

clover having sealed its

lips in the unbroken peace,

like me forever waiting

at the lip of time, watching

a bevy of doves fluttering

a rhythm and the patient

wisteria sipping from the

fountain of bees. I barely

touch the wind in the

innocent air, breathing in

hope, one that gently opens

the door of my soul.

Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain,The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller’s Pond, The Tau, Vita Brevis, Cascadia Rising Review, Old Red Kimono, and Woods Reader. Her books of poetry are available at www.Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net in 2015, the Best of the Net 2018 Anthology Awards hosted by Sundress Publications, and the 2020 Best of the Net anthology. Her website is located at http://bobbisinhamorey.wordpress.com.

Either Way by Robert Ronnow


If a poem or essay can end with a conclusion or its opposite, either one,
Can it be of any use to anyone?

Do the discrepancies and disparities, dualities and densities, reflect only the dementia
Of the bearer of the pencil?

First entertain, then enlighten if you can. One stretches truth in order to pretend,
Another leavens with levity one’s inevitable end.

Most days it’s not possible to bring your life into an expressible state. Disparate thoughts,
Arduous chores, word choices. And, of course, the state of the state.

Driven by ideas rather than rhymes, for it is not metres, but a metre-making argument
That makes a poem.  Convenience store or university English department

The day’s disputes, down to the meaning of the weather, leave you indisposed
To share your heart of zero and your inner rose.

It is the strong force, the energy of the loved ones combined with cooperation for good or war.
Dad’s years in New Guinea fighting Japs, he said, were his best by far.

The best that can be said or done is Be where you are. Love the one you’re with
Not necessarily an adult of the opposite sex, just a kid who hates math

And school, dresses goth, reads rarely but learns a lot from movies and YouTube,
Has the presence of mind to say I am who I am, deal with it. That’s who I want to be

And have always been. Today clean the house, again. Woke up this morning to two thoughts:
How sweet to be alive! Life is tough.

Robert Ronnow’s most recent poetry collections are New & Selected Poems: 1975-2005 (Barnwood Press, 2007) and Communicating the Bird (Broken Publications, 2012). Visit his web site at www.ronnowpoetry.com.

The Vision by Mohammad Saif

Past all trepidations of conscious mind

Encountered he, a place, alien kind.

Fathomless its distance and million seas

An unknown space of varying degrees.

Bore beauty infinite this secret zone,

Brighter its stars than all galaxies shone;

Multiplied its panache that gleaming light-

Wondrous spectacle fell before his sight.

Conquered light, thick clouds hovering around

Exuberant, charged melodious sound.

Disciplined Nature— an ideal place,

Beyond the dimensions of time and space.

Struck by its miracles he stood there still,

Touched his feet water, that thundercloud’s spill.

Arcane purred respectful breeze in his ear,

Lulled to sleep, frightened of different sphere.

A purest soul he in that slumber met

Sans envy, malice— sins he never fret.

Mohammad Saif is currently working as a Visiting Faculty with Amity Institute of English Studies and Research, Amity University, and teaches English and Communication skills at undergraduate and postgraduate level. He earned Distinction in M.Phil. for his dissertation ‘A Study of Selected Narratives on the Tradition and Practice of Al-Hijama’. Driven by sheer alacrity and insatiable thirst for knowledge he seeks growth in the field of academia.

 

Trait by Donna Dallas

I think

he is

my father – I have

his hands

and my son

has his hands

long

defined

fingers that are

timeless….

steady

surgeon hands that

will pry

bone from

bone

to learn

if we are

in fact

one in the same

hand

Donna Dallas studied Creative Writing and Philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to study under William Packard, founder and editor of the New York Quarterly.  Her poems can be read in Horror Sleaze Trash, Beatnik Cowboy and Zombie Logic among many other publications. She recently published her novel, Death Sisters, with Alien Buddha Press and currently serves on the editorial team for Red Fez.

Depression by Ahmad Al-Khatat

My eyes are numb from crying, 
my hand hurts from writing, 
my head is slowly attaching 
my neck to the cords of death, 
-due to the sorrows, I have 
adopted by myself.

Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally and has poems translated into several languages. He has been nominated for Best of theNet 2018. He is the author of The Bleeding Heart Poet, Love On The War’s Frontline, Gas Chamber, Wounds from Iraq, Roofs of Dreams, The Grey Revolution, and Noemi & Lips of Sweetness. He lives in Montreal, Canada.

Apparitions by Wayne Russell

See-through an empty veil ofyears now, ghost of the pastdrifting over the waves.The stars are lamenting, the  oceans are disjointed with their memory.Laughter’s scattered againstthe translucent molecules ofwater and sunrise.Apparitions disperse, we all goour own way, through a myriadof doors, through the corridorsof time.Some haunt the people downon Angel Street, some aresauntering down by the railroadtracks, some are lost forever inthe bars and pubs of their livingyears.

Wayne Russell is or has been many things in his time upon this planet, he has been a creative writer, world traveler, graphic designer, former soldier, and former sailor. Wayne has been widely published in both online and hard copy creative writing magazines. From 2016-17 he also founded and edited Degenerate Literature. In late 2018, the editors at Ariel Chart nominated Wayne for his first Pushcart Prize for the poem Stranger in a Strange Town. “Where Angels Fear” is his debut poetry book published by Guerrilla Genesis Press.

Attacking Plastics by Ben Nardolilli

 

She swings her body, less like a dancer
and more like a hazy bell,
not to say, or write, that she is no belle,
I’ve seen her stationary,
she’s pretty enough for holiday catalogues.

The tongue-colored chairs are empty,
it preserves their curves,
no guests are here but she blurs herself busy
around full dishes and sets
of silverware that won’t stop sparkling

Last month was a success, we both agree,
but now she wants to remain
a permanent and voluntary reenactor
of all of yesterday’s parties,
an interpreter ready for buses on the horizon

Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is trying to publish a novel.
 

Raft by Eliza Segiet

Translated by Artur Komoter

To

drift on the life’s raft,

we need

a protective side.

Ocean of existence

can whisper,

sing and shout.

All this

to sail to the goal.

Eliza Segiet is Jagiellonian University graduate with a Master’s Degree in Philosophy. She completed postgraduate studies in Cultural Knowledge, Philosophy, Penal Fiscal and Economic Law, and Creative Writing at Jagiellonian University, as well as Film and Television Production in Łódź. She has published three poetry collections and two monodramas.

Donkey Work by Patricia Walsh

The rotten learning code of excavation

Becomes your physique in spite of joy

Muscles where hidden comes to the fore

Sacrilegious sunscreen carving the timeline

Pain where deserved, a lesson interrogated.

Like a maniac, proving my ability

Digging nails into warmest flesh

Covering sins with the neatness of dalliances

Truth of love covering over sins,

Dedication on the outskirts of learned ridicule.

Full-on assault to shore up an acquaintance

Kissing for propriety a singular aim,

To charm back affection is no good

Eventual distance rests its case

Smirking over your beverage is some defence.

God, cold as ice, diverges our paths.

How can somethig so good turn out so badly

Swallowing pills en masse to knock consciousness

Where it hurts, naming the unnameable

Explaining away your part in the affair.

Staring at the four walls, illiness redeemed

Catching attention is not all it seemed.

Nor right to depression callled out of bounds

Sinking into clay a luxury

Roulette of medicine coming into play.

Some death wish sizes me and you

An unholy mantra pervades my being

Mercy on real terms is the way do go

But I cannot see past my guilty hands

Nor time the assault to a tee.

A lonely pedigree is all that is left

Counting backwards is the sin making graves

The local diaspora baying for blood

You leading the way, spotless in in your prime

Choosing your collective makes it worse.

Sleeping at midday, tears on the sheets

Love denied slices my very innards

A raw ecstasy parcelling my zeitgeist

Evaporating sympathy from all concerned

God being silent when it’s too late.

Slitting myself into a box too small to count

Demanding apologies from everyone around

Too late of course, tracks being covered

Theories of disappearance wash the night away

Under cover of free alcohol, and food.

Consumed under dark, a quota of kisses,

Cruelly denied, or taken up, as for sure

Prime position for  loyalty cards

Laughing at my tawdry arguments

In the same place where I left it.

Patricia Walsh was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland.  To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in 2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of print and online journals.  These include: The Lake; Seventh Quarry Press; Marble Journal; New Binary Press; Stanzas; Crossways; Ygdrasil; Seventh Quarry; The Fractured Nuance; Revival Magazine; Ink Sweat and Tears; Drunk Monkeys; Hesterglock Press; Linnet’s Wing, Narrator International, The Galway Review; Poethead and The Evening Echo.

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PPP Ezine: Poetrypoeticspleasure Ezine, Volume 5; Issue 3; March 2021

Gloomy Days by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

The Shakespearean sonnet about my dog by Paweł Markiewicz

A little performance art by William Doreski

Ibsen by DS Maolalai

Cosmos Climate Care by Gerard Sarnat

Evasive Tactics by R. Gerry Fabian

An Old Notebook by Robert Beveridge

Poet’s Corner by Louis Faber

Broken A/C by James Croal Jackson

S.P.B. by Donna Dallas

Western Desert Speech by Nathan Anderson

Gloomy Days by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

My dead, those I loved in life,

I do not bury them.

They remain forever unburied,

at least as long as I can stay alive.

When I die, they will be buried beside me.

I am sure they know this, knowing also 

I am still counting on their help and support.

We talk about everything and everyone,

we laugh, weep, love and hate;

they rest with me at night and give me strength,

at the dawn of a new day. 

Every victory of mine, they applaud and rejoice,

as faithful crowd, that accompanies their team.

Morbid desires, unnatural cravings, some will say.

But no, it is just great and honest one love, a pure one,  

that understands and consoles me on certain days.

Days full with doubts, shadows and ill feelings,

those that fate has marked for me,

which, by sure, I will not be able to avoid.

Edilson Afonso Ferreira , 77 years, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Widely published in selected international journals in print and online, he began writing at age 67, after retiring as a bank employee. Nominated for The Pushcart Prize 2017, his first Poetry Collection, Lonely Sailor, One Hundred Poems, was launched in London, in November of 2018. He is always updating his works at www.edilsonmeloferreira.com.

The Shakespearean sonnet about my dog by Paweł Markiewicz

 

You hound are a starry night over fog,

fallen in love with the Epiphany.

The moon may be mine! Told the moony dog.

With you tender garden – is so dreamy.

Bewitchment of stars, your ability.

Your hunting is dearer observation.

A moonlit night is your eternity.

May the soft  ghost be in adoration!

Roses awoken in glory – starlet.

You can taste, listen and feel them galore.

Enchant the nectar like druidic glade!

It was drunk from Ovidian amphorae.

Be, you dog, a heart-shaped meek poet!

Broken wings of loneliness are dead.

Paweł Markiewicz was born 1983 in Siemiatycze in Poland. He is poet who lives in Bielsk Podlaski and writes tender poems, haiku as well as long poems. Paweł has published his poems in many magazines. He writes in English and German. 

A little performance art by William Doreski

To find a stage in nature,

as someone has suggested,

I climb atop a boulder

and lecture the world of rocks.

I exhort them to have sex

with each other before erosion

blunts their crystals and renders

their surface too smooth to mate.

But I don’t merely lecture.

I dance a geological dance,

a still-life worthy of Degas

in his dreamy Paris studio.

Locked into place, my sturdy

hiker thighs grip the cosmos

so it can’t escape and explode

showers of comets and meteors

to shame the ordinary pebbles

to whom I address myself.

A symbolic gesture, yes,

but a dance without movement

poses universal questions

that only raw intuition

can answer without a tear.

The rocks gaze sightless at me.

Randomly sorted by glaciers,

they seem ageless. But each one

is the prodigy of a science

to which my youthful self was drawn.

Although all arts aspire to music,

as Pater claimed, all people

aspire to the condition of rocks.

Tough and self-contained, free

of crippling emotion, rocks need

only sex to perfect themselves—

and as I’ve demonstrated,

they could easily fake a dance.

William Doreski has published three critical studies and several collections of poetry. His work has appeared in many print and online journals. He has taught at Emerson College, Goddard College, Boston University, and Keene State College. His most recent books are Water Music and Train to Providence.  williamdoreski.blogspot.com

Ibsen by DS Maolalai

a man takes a grape

from the top of his cart

and eats it quite slowly

looking at toilet paper.

a woman decides,

biting her lip,

between expensive coffee

and the other kind.

a man tells his toddlers

that they’ll have to take turns

wearing the hat.

a woman gets in line,

then remembers

she needs toothpaste.

wonders if she’ll have time

to grab it before things move.

DS Maolalai has been nominated four times for Best of the Net and three times for the Pushcart Prize. His poetry has been released in two collections, “Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden” (Encircle Press, 2016) and “Sad Havoc Among the Birds” (Turas Press, 2019)

Cosmos Climate Care by Gerard Sarnat

Loaned from universe,

COVID get thee behind me.

Satanic how you

infect wet market bush meat

then get into us humans.

Gerard Sarnat won the Poetry in the Arts First Place Award plus the Dorfman Prize, and has been nominated for a handful of recent Pushcarts plus Best of the Net Awards. Gerry is widely published in academic-related journals (e.g., Universities of Chicago/ Maine/ San Francisco/Toronto, Stanford, Oberlin, Brown, Columbia, Harvard, Pomona, Johns Hopkins, Wesleyan, Penn, Dartmouth, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Baltimore) plus national (e.g., Gargoyle, Main Street Rag, New Delta Review, MiPOesias, American Journal Of Poetry, Parhelion, Clementine, pamplemousse, Red Wheelbarrow, Deluge, Poetry Quarterly, poetica, Tipton Journal, Hypnopomp, Free State Review, Poetry Circle, Buddhist Poetry Review, Poets And War, Thank You For Your Service Anthology, Wordpeace, Cliterature, Qommunicate, Indolent Books, Snapdragon, Pandemonium Press, Boston Literary Magazine, Montana Mouthful, Arkansas Review, Texas Review, San Antonio Review, Brooklyn Review, pacificREVIEW, San Francisco Magazine, The Los Angeles Review, Fiction Southeast and The New York Times) and international publications (e.g., Review Berlin, Voices Israel, Foreign Lit, New Ulster, Transnational, Southbank, Wellington Street Review). He’s authored the collections Homeless Chronicles: From Abraham to Burning Man (2010), Disputes (2012), 17s (2014), Melting the Ice King (2016). Gerry is a physician who’s built and staffed clinics for the marginalized as well as a Stanford professor and healthcare CEO. Currently he is devoting energy/ resources to deal with climate change justice. Gerry’s been married since 1969 with three kids plus six grandsons, and is looking forward to future granddaughters.

 

Evasive Tactics by R. Gerry Fabian

Once again, I am informed

I will work the weekend shift

for the third straight week in a row.

My supervisor touts 

the overtime pay I will receive.

I sly smile at her.

Their competitor recruited me

last week on the phone

while working the weekend shift.

The irony brings on another smile.

I start Monday as a salaried employee

with benefits and no weekends.

“We don’t have anyone to work

‘weekend shift’ right now.” She explains.

That’s the first thing she’s said

in the five years I’ve worked here

that will turn out to be true.

R. Gerry Fabian is a retired English instructor.  He has been publishing poetry since 1972 in various poetry magazines. His web page is https://rgerryfabian.wordpress.com

He has published two books of his published poems, Parallels and Coming Out Of The Atlantic. His novels, Memphis Masquerade, Getting Lucky (The Story) and Seventh Sense are available at all ebook publishers including Amazon, Apple Books and Barnes and Noble. His third book of published poems, Electronic Forecast was published 4/2020.

An Old Notebook by Robert Beveridge


I write
this poem
in a two-year-
old notebook

my new one
with the beige
cover labelled
“Poetry II”

is buried
somewhere
in the piles
of clothes
on the floor

or hidden
under a pile
of empty bottles

so this new
poem is
scrawled
with the old

Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Red Coyote Review, Deep South Magazine, and Aromatica Poetica, among others.

Poet’s Corner by Louis Faber

I am the one

who hears the poetry of gunfire

tearing through the great square

who tastes the villanelle

of the ashes from the crematory

who reads the sonnet

of barren fields, starving children

who sees the pantoum

of children sacrificed to the gangs

who hears the quatrain

of crack babies in withdrawal

who touches the rondel

of the young lovers embrace

who knows the palinode

of the giggling child at play

who writes the sestet

of a world beyond understanding.

Louis Faber’s work has previously appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Rattle, Eureka Literary Magazine, Borderlands: the Texas Poetry Review, Midnight Mind, Pearl, Midstream, European Judaism, Greens Magazine, The Amethyst Review, Afterthoughts, The South Carolina Review and Worcester Review, among many others, and he has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

Broken A/C by James Croal Jackson

on the highway heading home

memorial day weekend sweat

takes my shirt off lets the sun

roast me through open window

wind fanning I’m so hot I say

to each friend passing before a

calm stretch I slow down horses

merge into my lane in a white

trailer why the long faces oh

they are way hotter than me

James Croal Jackson (he/him/his) is a Filipino-American poet. He has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and recent poems in DASH, Sampsonia Way, and Jam & Sand. He edits The Mantle (themantlepoetry.com). He works in film production in Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)
 

S.P.B. by Donna Dallas

Along the winds

My love

I heard you cry once

as a soul

Before me

Before dawn

Before time and birth I passed you

in a rush of plasma and light

I touched your core

Before you knew this life you knew

Me

Before your heart became a beat

I loved you

Donna Dallas studied Creative Writing and Philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to study under William Packard, founder and editor of the New York Quarterly.  Her poems can be read in Horror Sleaze Trash, Beatnik Cowboy and Zombie Logic among many other publications. She recently published her novel, Death Sisters, with Alien Buddha Press and currently serves on the editorial team for Red Fez.

Western Desert Speech by Nathan Anderson

Out here
walking on castles
walking on ice
wearing sandals
holding idols
of Walt Whitman
and the new Madonna

We congratulate the soldier
for his vulgarity
with fresh skulls
and fresh linen
standing upon the pontoon
staring into the vastness
of the sad eyed night

Seeing as we sing
cherub-like
from pulsing cheeks
hymns of
plasticity
born of plasticity
born of numerous
numinous
collages
of heaped oil
served
and being served
as the body
and blood
of Christ
‘Amen’  

Nathan Anderson is a writer from Canberra Australia. His work has previously appeared in Otoliths and Gone Lawn. You can find him at nathanandersonwriting.home.blog.