Jan-March 2025

 

Jan - March 2025

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Peculiar Habit of Mind-machine Masudul Hoq

 Peculiar Habit of Mind-machine

Masudul Hoq

Mind gets broken towards hard days 

Companion of mild sun have 

climbed up to the antenna of 

Popularity being filled up.

We know "dark" as dead

Then again no swallow of light

To the far, iced shadow of the pine forest

Being festive with the west-going smoke

I, involved with peculiar habit

of my mind-machine

I am nowhere!

Astonished Life by Masudul Hoq

 Astonished Life

Life runs holding numerous dreams 

by sleeping..

Not a single dream is awaken.

In reality, 

life explores, riding bicycle holding sorrows! 

The smoke of sorrow gets out of 

the darkness of nicotine.

Astonished life in the sadden days, 

Cries, sinking under the deep flow 

of saddened river.

Masudul Hoq (1968) has a PhD in Aesthetics under Professor Hayat Mamud at Jahangirnagar University, Dhaka, Bangladesh. He is a contemporary Bengali poet, short story writer,translator and researcher. His previous published work includes short stories Tamakbari(1999), The poems Dhonimoy Palok(2000), Dhadhashil Chaya which translated version is Shadow of Illusion(2005) and Jonmandher Swapna which translated version is Blind Man’s Dream (2010),translated by Kelly J. Copeland. Masudul Hoq also translated T.S. Eliot’s poem, Four Quartets(2012), Allen Ginsburg’s poem, Howl(2018), from English to Bengali. In the late 1990’s for 3 years he worked under a research fellowship at The Bangla Academy. Bangla Academy has published his two research books. His poems have been published in Chinese, Romanian, Mandarin, Azarbaijanese and Spanish languages. At present he is a Professor of Philosophy in a government college, Bangladesh.

I Met You on My Journey By Jackie Chou

 I Met You on My Journey 

By:- Jackie Chou 

I met you on my journey

because I had no choice

drawn to your magenta lips

until you revealed your fangs

Chomp, chomp, chomp

I let you chew me to bits

my infantile heart to satisfy 

your carnivorous desires

The nymph that I was

I picked up the pieces 

and glued them back together 

without cutting my fingers

Then I discarded you

and guarded myself

against your lies

and your put-downs

For I am older now

old enough to discern

the woman 

from the beast

Jackie Chou is a neurodivergent writer from Southern California who has two collections of poetry, The Sorceress and Finding My Heart in Love and Loss, published by cyberwit.  Her poem "Formosa" was a finalist in the Stephen A DiBiase Poetry Prize.  She also has poems published in Synchronized Chaos, Ekphrastic Poetry Review,  Panoply Zine, Alien Buddha Zine, and Spillwords.

I Feel Lightning in Your Wind by Michael Lee Johnson

I Feel Lightning in Your Wind

Michael Lee Johnson

I feel light in a thunderstorm.

I electrify your touch through my veins.

I’m the greenery around your life

that breathes your earth into your lungs.

I challenge all your false decisions and doctrines

with the glory of my godliness.

I’m your syntax, your stoic,

your ears, your prize.

I walk daylight into your morning breath

allow you to breathe.

I let the technique of me into your brain cells;

from the top tip to the bottom

of small baby foot extensions.

I’m the banquet hall of all

your joys, damnation;

your curses, your emotions—

and you’re breathing with the wind.

Soldier of Fortune by Thokchom U Meetei

 

Soldier of Fortune

I am a soldier of fortune,

Did you ever walk down

The sunny day,

Did you ever feel the rain,

Did you ever imagine,

How much i love you,

Never and never.

 You came like the tides,

And receded if we have never met.

The tides with the sound,

The rhymes with the echo,

That merges into the ocean

Will you ever understand me,

Never and never.

 Autumn comes and goes,

Also arrived the brother winter,

And can spring be far behind,

Summer too, never miss the promise,

It goes on.

Will you ever come back to me,

Never and never.

For every silent hour of night,

Admired the stars too fondly,

Dreaming a blissful life with you,

And fighting a battle, already lost.

As i am a soldier of fortune.

Will you ever miss me,

Never and never.

By:- Thokchom U Meetei 

Four poems from Michael Lee Johnson

  Feel Lightning in Your Wind (V4)

Michael Lee Johnson

I feel light in a thunderstorm.

I electrify your touch through my veins.

I’m the greenery around your life 

that breathes your earth into your lungs.

I challenge all your false decisions and doctrines

with the glory of my godliness. 

I’m your syntax, your stoic,

your ears, your prize.

I walk daylight into your morning breath

allow you to breathe.

I let the technique of me into your brain cells;

from the top tip to the bottom

of small baby foot extensions.

I’m the banquet hall of all

your joys, damnation;

your curses, your emotions—

and you’re breathing with the wind.

*This poem converted into a song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lduJMf0MrWw&list=RDLp8Okj_zpQs&index=5

Poet In an Empty Bottle (V4)

By Michael Lee Johnson

I'm a poet who drinks only red wine.

When inebriated with earthly

delusion and desire, I crawl inside

this empty bottle of 19 Crimes Red Wine,

lone wolf, no rehab needed, just confined.

Here, behind brown tinted glass

and a hint of red stain, I can harm no one—

body squeezed in so tight, blowing bubbles,

hidden, squirming, can't leap out.

My words echo chamber, reverberating

back into my tinnitus ears.

I forage for words.

Search for novel incentives.

But the harvest is pencil-thin

the frontal cortex shrinks and turns gray.

Come live with me in my dotage.

There are few rewards.

My old egg-beater brain is clunking out.

I lay here, peace and quiet in prayer.

I can hardly breathe in thin air.

I'm a symbol of legacy crumbing

stored in formaldehyde. Memories here

are likely just puny, weak synapses.

"I'm not afraid of death, I just don't

want to be here when it happens."

Looking out, others looking in at me.

Curved glass is a new world intangible dimly defined.

I no longer care about cyberspace, uncultivated

wild women, the holy grail of matrimony.

I likely will never write my first sonnet

with angels; I only fantasize about them in dreams.

Quiet in osteoarthritis pain is this poet

who only drinks 19 Crimes Red Wine.

*Quote by Woody Allen.

 

April Winds (V3)

By Michael Lee Johnson

April winds persist

in doing charity work

early elbowing right to left

their way through these willow trees

branches melting reminiscences

of winter remnants off my condo roof

no snow crystals sprinkle

in drops over my balcony deck.

Canadian geese wait impatiently for their

spring feeding on the oozy ground below.

These silent sounds

except for the roar of laughter

those April winds—

geese hear nothing

no droppings from the balcony—

no seeds.

Down by the Bridge

By Michael Lee Johnson

I’m the magic moment on magic mushrooms

$10 a gram, amphetamines, heroin for less.

Homeless, happy, Walmart discarded pillow

found in a puddle with a reflection,

down and dirty in the rain—down by the bridge.

Old street-time lover, I found the old bone man we share.

I’m in my butt-stink underwear, bra torn apart,

pants worn out, and holes in all the wrong places.

In the Chicago River, free washing machines.

Flipped out on Lucifer’s nighttime journey,

Night Train Express, bum wine, smooth

as sandpaper, 17.5 % alcohol by volume $5.56—

my boozer, hobo specialty wrapped in a brown bag.

Straight down the hatch, negative memories expire.

Daytime job, panhandling, shoplifting, Family Dollar store.

Salvation Army as an option. My prayers. I’ve done both.

Chicago River sounds, stone, pebble sand,

and small dead carp float by.

My cardboard bed box is broken down,

a mattress of angel fluff,

magic mushrooms seep into my stupor—

blocking out clicking of street parking meters.

I see Jesus passing by on a pontoon boat—

down by the river, down by my bridge.