PPP Ezine: Poetrypoeticspleasure EzineVolume 5; Issue 11; November 2021

Decomposing Reality by James G Piatt

Sunday in the Hills by Yash Seyedbagheri

Light Reading by John Grey

Forgive me, I can’t be general by D S Maolalai

From the Shore by Wayne Russell

Illusion by Fabrice Poussin

Oneness by Mohammad Saif

A Christ very little remembered by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

Of Heirlooms and Linens by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Heck Hog by J D Nelson

Little Hills of Esigodini by Ndaba Sibanda

Decomposing Reality by James G Piatt

Arriving in the late hours of 

an iron colored and eerie night, 

rusting symbols 

covered with an aging patina of dark contradictions 

whispered across forgotten memories 

causing screams of agony: 

My crystal poems 

written in scarlet ink, 

were shattered by metamorphic hammers 

pounding words of grief 

into shattered synonyms, 

causing dark allegories to become lost 

inside the cold weariness of my aging bones. 

While walking in a cemetery, 

images of broken tombstones 

in a field of unknown graves 

entered my consciousness 

and trails of tears melted into the cemetery’s soil 

filling it with sorrow. 

I sensed once forgotten memories 

being awakened in my brain, 

and sharp pangs of grief  

started piercing my collapsing mind 

in a fit of decomposing reality.

James, a Best of Web nominee and three time Pushcart nominee, has had four collections of poetry; “Solace Between the Lines,” “Light,” “Ancient Rhythms,” and “The Silent Pond,” over 1525 poems, five novels and 35 short stories published worldwide.  He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, SLO, and his doctorate from BYU.

Sunday in the Hills by Yash Seyedbagheri

a white truck roars up a hill

and then another, this one black

lights break through the snow

trucks whooshing past

laughter and invectives break the sky

license plates from hidden counties

whipping past

with Bud Lights

armpits and stale feet

and clouds billowing in your exhausted face

they disappear around a bend and another bend

the roar eaten by the pines

flakes flutter


like ballerinas in rehearsal

the sky is still 

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.

Light Reading by John Grey

Night knuckles down to its task,

devours the mountains,

fills in the valleys

with its own brand of black.

It doesn’t step around an object

like a current does a rock,

but swallows it whole,

the roads, the houses, the forests,


No need to wonder

if you’re to. be spared.

It’s already creeping up

on you from all sides,

including above and below.

For a while, you’ll resis.t

with consciousness.

But, given the choice,

I’d recommend light.

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.

Forgive me, I can’t be general by D S Maolalai

forgive me,

I can’t be general – what I write

are specific poems

and sometimes with names

of my friends.

I am not a painter

or any sort

of musician, not even

a dispassionate

reporter; at best

a diarist, placing days

on pieces of paper

for the benefit, I hope,

of someone else.

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)

From the Shore by Wayne Russell

As my ship departs the comfort
of familiar shores, the emptiness
devours shadows of this endless
night, silence engulfs everything.

Alone again, water surrounds this
vessel, within the vast cradle of
darkness, I am eclipsed by silent
galaxies, on a parade of terrifying

You’re standing on the shore, in a
shadowy silhouette, a memory too 
the world, dead left in the wake of
this ship that morphs, transparent,
and shattered into oblivion. 

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.



Illusion by Fabrice Poussin

He screams in the surrounding prison

made of densest darkness at noon.

Blind to the light of a guiding star

as an apparition twirling in the air.

The words are sounds without form

arms extended he seeks contact.

If only the body could dissipate

and reach out to the end of this verse.

Pain transpires through a makeshift image

of a boy man with undefined existence.

Entity uncertain of a fate it floats

crushed by something invisible as space.

Seeking into every particle of the realm

silence reverberates its deathly response.

Alone here frozen in every place

desperation his only treasure.

Unrecognized the journey continues

a voice unheard a life unknown.

Hope has vanished into the night

yet the search must continue forevermore.

Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications. 

Oneness by Mohammad Saif

You, who, with your pure solemnity,

Swore this chase

Have sailed a long way.

Following this fading trail,

Past apprehensions of alienation

And incalculable murk.

Meet me in a distant space of

Vivid thoughts, transcending time.

Where you shall find

An unrecognisable self

Of renewed you.

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.

A Christ very little remembered by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

‘On Christ Cleansing the Temple, Wood by El Greco, c. 1570’

We surely must follow Christ, learn from him,

unquestionable master of love and tolerance.

Son of God, yet a brother, he bequeathed us

divine words and deeds that survive forever.

The way he loved us, great and pure,

no one had or has ever equally leveled.

His sacrifice on behalf of humanity,

that of then and of coming times,

unworthy and infidel ones, perhaps,

just by this,  

took him to redeem us from bitter destiny. 

But, aside from his Divinity, his grandeur,

do not forget the passage of Matthew 21-12,

when he entered the temple of his father.

Then, not by a conversation or dialogue,  

‘He cast out all them that sold and bought’,

 ‘overthrew the tables of the moneychangers’.

I love this Christ, so human and so brother,

who did not conceal his anger, as one of us.

By now, in our time, to honor our Lord,  

we have failed to call up one Saint Fury,

just like that day.

Edilson Afonso Ferreira , 76 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.

Of Heirlooms and Linens by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

Inside my parents’ lake house

after they’d moved on I unfolded

heirlooms and linens that summered

in my mother’s hope chest, having

been unopened for years on end,

the belongings inside waiting to

be reborn, now releasing scents

of cedar, valleys at my fingertips

of tawny silks, quilted geographies

sewn so lovingly by hand and their

terrain of textures. Prying deep

inside were scraps too gay to be

dust cloths and pretty sateen

bouquets. My great aunt loved

stitching little squares together

with anything she could find,

throwing nothing away; her

best handiwork left still intact

a crib-sized comforter pieced

together from petticoats for

her firstborn. I drape some of

her patchwork over my lap,

and like hand-me-downs,

they continue to wear on.

I slip on a prim coat my mother

had saved, still fragile as the

shadows outside my window.

When I’m done for the day

evening has gently come, and

catbirds and crickets begin to

sing their solitary song.

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.

Heck Hog by J D Nelson

morning the toot wilhelm

ghost chicken for the goose of days

good luck soap

a seldom used machine

centipede realization

we can’t get that locking machine to weep

a lion was a bug sprout

not candle wax

the dumpster yes is a shining fox crouton

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words and sound in his subterranean laboratory. More than 1,500 of his poems have appeared in many small press publications, in print and online. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Visit www.MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.

Little Hills of Esigodini by Ndaba Sibanda

fabulous sight

landforms snake up and down

in extraordinary humps

of Nature’s poise and pride,

breasts of land projecting

into charged saddles-                  

midwifed to gush out milk

of purity and tranquility;

the hills- though

small in size,

short in height-

lug and beam

a beauty that towers

the sky of my sensuousness;

their warmth appendages

the body with a nobility priceless,

like a cup of undiluted water,

they stand out undisturbed,

unchallenged by the ever-jerky

wheels of seasons and weather;

during gusty days their music

makes love to my ears with

a rare calmness-

l feel altogether like

abandoning my journey for them,

crowning them my beautiful infinity,

during sun-drenched days-

their seemingly little panorama,

drowns and dazzles my eyes into captivity;

an image of snug oases-

unparalleled greening of my soul,

they snuggle me all the way to the apex

of amity and stimulation…

they vacillate between ideal and real,

l relish to no end

their serrated depressions and passages

that feel me with a passion

beyond mere touch and tour,

they captivate my touch at will

l cannot give them a cursory look-

the harder l try to scuttle away

the further and so further

l gravitate into their cuddling glare;

they confer upon me the throne

of Nature’s dutiful and indebted admirer

of the stupendous dexterity of our Creator;

the little hills that dominate my dreams-

those that epitomise a hustle-free haven

for the breezy incubation and birth

of a romance and a love of a lifetime;

those are my little hills heal that  my soul,

they will define and refine my life

so that l get to appreciate the meaning

of dreams and days-

l am not surprised to hear that the

these hills are lovers’ haven,

the scenery  is just compelling,

the shrubs and trees ooze a lively life;

the serenity is so delightful that

it promotes a refreshing union of hearts;

they are like alternative therapies-

the remedies of matters of the heart,

the birds` chirping –mellow

mends troubled  souls-  

melts bitterness and rancour-

nurses and mesmerises the ears

beyond any measurable fears!

the shrubs and trees beget an aroma

that makes a mockery of artificial perfumes,

those hills heal my soul in a high manner!

Ndaba Sibanda is the author of Notes, Themes, Things And Other Things, The Gushungo Way, Sleeping Rivers, Love O’clock, The Dead Must Be Sobbing, Football of Fools, Cutting-edge Cache, Of the Saliva and the Tongue, When Inspiration Sings In Silence, The Way Forward, Sometimes Seasons Come With Unseasonal Harvests, As If They Minded:The Loudness Of Whispers, This Cannot Be Happening :Speaking Truth To Power, The Dangers  Of Child Marriages:Billions Of Dollars Lost In Earnings And Human Capital, The Ndaba Jamela and Collections and Poetry Pharmacy.  Sibanda’s work has received Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. Some of his work has been translated into Serbian.