When winter went into ember wherein you lived your sleep?
I had a flaming kangaroo hopped between my eyes, and I had none
until my aunt called me to tell the news. The cold sat on our porch.
The beer bottles left for recycling spacies refilled themselves with undyed.
Aunt turned up the news. The wildfire crackled in the newsreader’s throat –
world just dipped south. Kaput. I opened my sight to the life leaving lives.
Where were you? Did you see winter fluffing the orange and red?
Our porch spread across the other dimension. White covered our trash in another world
where I had two eyes sewn beneath, and winter, alive, weaved a quilt of fables
for those miracles that could have been.
The One Arrested And Later Left At Our Doorstep
The missing one is restored to her apparition, disoriented, oozy-blood, smelling like a marsh; two days’ve passed since the protest fired up from the gully to the alcázar.
We ask the silence to nurse her. Tim answers the media in waiting. We blame the throne obviously. The air stinks of conspiracy.
The missing one, reinstated, exists in flickers, now here, now beside the basin, a hologram, a substance, now a totem archaic, now a numen, Jesus.
The protest flows with the paradigms. Tim and I ask her what happened inside; she seems to miss herself if only by a smudge of soul or some slogan half finished. Silence bandages her; strings her together. MediaMedia disappears to attend another somewhere.
A teargas shell tore off my bro’s hand; since we called him a primate in childhood we kept the hand, nicknamed it ‘Monkey’s Paw’, presented it before every guest in our house, cherished their shriek; the severed limb just wouldn’t rot; the second hand revolutionists often borrowed it for their demonstrations, but no one asked my sibling what the paw meant to him. Probably a missing link in the evolution chain between Adam and Cain. He wouldn’t have answered anyway, rather scratched his arm’s end the way one alley cat scratches the blind bricks when cornered in dire need of some magic.
Kushal Poddar authored ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, ‘A Place For Your Ghost Animals, Understanding The Neighborhood’, ‘Scratches Within’, ‘Kleptomaniac’s Book of Unoriginal Poems’, ‘Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems’ and now ‘Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel’ (Alien Buddha Press)
Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician currently residing on Salt Spring Island BC, is a multiple Pushcart nominee with over 1,500 poems published internationally in magazines such as Poetry, Rattle and the North American Review. His books are ‘The So-Called Sonnets (Silenced Press); ‘An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy; (Cawing Crow Press) and ‘Like As If” (Pski’s Porch), Hearsay (The Poet’s Haven).
Jay Gandhi is a 33-year old accountant from Mumbai, India. He writes free verse in English. Most of his poems derive their inspiration from human inter connections. In free time when he isn’t reading poetry, he practices guitar, enjoys the peace that Yoga Asanas brings and walks for long distances.
Adele constantly played the twenty-year game. Twenty years ago I was thirty, twenty years from now, I’ll be seventy, counting years like a handful of coins, knowing they would be spent for trinkets, a pair of gold earrings or the mermaid wind chime sculpted from copper wire, its tail outlined in green with amethyst squiggles and silver glitter, a dream no doubt as all mermaids are but a tangible vision with a gold star in one hand and a blue shell in the other, and Adele held it in the breeze to catch the currents before hanging it on the ornamental apple tree outside their glass doors, an ageless woman with golden locks reminding Adele of the ballet dancers who hung in frames on her childhood wall, their forms perfect in pink, toe shoes never scuffed or dirtied, perpetually on point, waiting in this moment, unruffled by the past or future and later when she read “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” she thought of her ballet dancers and how lovely they would look encircling any vase, almost touching hands, the audience on the edge of their seats, waiting for Gelsey Kirkland to reach out from the ceramic, alive and offering Adele a charm, a talisman for longevity, a silver marble almost an inch in diameter, that she placed in her left palm, and suddenly she felt the continuity of it all, how the urn and Gelsey and the mermaid met at the center, life converged, and there were no tears since existence was a sequence of bubbles, fragile and full of color, busting into another and though Adele could see them vanishing into the distant light, she felt they somehow would continually be, not in her sight or that of anyone else standing on earth now, but the bubbles were always somewhere always becoming something new because today, June 23, was the day she felt, for the first time truly felt, those she loved endlessly around her, leaving snatches of notes and crumpled tissues to remind Adele that time was arbitrary and depended on limited eyesight but existence continued forever to wrap her in its threads.
That’s what it was, yes, the sun, a trapezoid on her bamboo floor. She wasn’t even sure if she knew what a trapezoid was, those days in geometry long ago, Mrs. Burgoyne in thick beige hose and a floral dress, exuding the mustiness of tobacco, and they stopped in their seats, held their breaths that Burgoyne would not single them out, ask for an answer, rapping the wooden desk with her nails. Yes, a trapezoid of light. Adele had remembered the shape after all those years, two parallel lines with uneven sides, the metal clothes rack on rollers, long shirts and short on plastic hangars waiting for someone to wash or iron or wear defined the side closest to the bed. Trapezoid. The sound, that’s what she remembered most about eleventh grade math, all those delicious words—perpendicular, quadrilateral, rhombus, isosceles, especially isosceles with all the s’s tickling her tongue. She would roll the syllables, listen to their sibilants whistle on ivory, and think of her new skates, the ones her mother bought at Loveman’s Department Store three weeks before Christmas. She handed them to Adele that day, a white box with white skates so Adele could slice parallel lines. Though her marks were often ragged, splinters glistening under Loveman lights at the store’s indoor rink, she dreamed of leaving the ice cut clean. Had she outgrown those skates and skating, giving them up for boys with pimples and their sticky hands, grasping, reaching like the tentacles of some kraken, leaving marks jagged and uneven? All that fumbling and pushing when no meant no or maybe or yes.
Chella Courington is a writer and teacher. With a Ph.D. in American and British Literature and an MFA in Poetry, she is the author of six poetry and three flash fiction chapbooks. Her poetry and stories appear or are forthcoming in numerous anthologies and journals including SmokeLong Quaterly, The Collagist, and the Los Angeles Review. Originally from the Appalachian South, Courington lives in California.
In the past The mind In the future The body would stay
Squatting on the carpet of grass Playing flute on a full moon night There in the sky above the youthfulness of the moon is dancing behind the thin curtain of cloud Listening to tinkling sound of tinkles wafting to the ears
World is silent in the magical tune I am imbibing moonlight getting oblivious of myself Rain of moonlight is the favourite taste of lover Earth
Shall sit as past In the holy place of my favourite memory Shall repeat the same work Feeling euphoric thinking about it
-Guna Moran is an Assamese poet & critic. His poems are being translated into Italian and France language and have been published in various national and international magazines, journals, websites, newspapers such as The Tuck magazine, Spillword, The Merak magazine, The Setu magazine, Story Mirror, The Poem Hunter, The Sentinal, The Hills Times, Best Poetry and so on.
-Bibekananda Choudhury, an electrical engineer by profession working with the State Government of Assam has completed his Masters from BITS-Pilani. He has also earned a diploma in French language from Gauhati University. He has got published works (both original and translated) in Assamese, Bengali & English in popular periodicals and newspapers. His translated poems have been published in ‘Indian Literature’, the bi-monthly journal of sahitya akademy. ‘Suryakatha’, the Bengali adaptation done by him of the is being taught in the undergraduate Courses of Banglore University and Post graduate Courses of Gauhati University. A collection of 101 folk tales from the foothills of Patkai translated by him has also been taken up by publication by Gauhati University. He is presently the editor-in-chief of Dimorian Review a multidisciplinary web journal.
Ikechukwu Obiorah is a Nigerian Writer, a Prolific Poet and Novelist. He studies B.A (Hons) English at the Benue State University, Makurdi; 400 Level. He is a Student Ambassador of POETS IN NIGERIA (PIN). The Editor in Chief of Writers’ League (BSUM) and also a member of Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA Benue Chapter). His poem “The Oracle Bard” has been published in “POETICA 2019” by Clarendon House Publications, England, UK. His poem “The Throne of Truth” published in Ponders Series by Ponder Savant Publications. His poem “Bat of the Underworld” published in Samhain Issue 2019, by Sage Cigarette Magazine, Florida USA. His poem “Skeletal Romance” has also been published in Nigerian Ero Gospel Magazine. He has been published in several reputable International Journals and Magazines. For a decade Poetry has been his sweet heart.
Suman Kabiraj (born 1983) is a multidisciplinary artist based in India. Kabiraj’s work includes Paintings, drawings, photography, installation, short-films and multimedia works. Has done his Masters in Fine Arts with 1st class 1st from Govt. College of Art and Craft ,Calcutta University in the year of 2006 . His works represented and exhibited in several international galleries, festivals art events and film festivals. Group Show organised by Indian Tourism Department and Kolkata Centre for Creativity 2019, Group Show ‘Reflection of Another Day’ 2018-2019 at Birla Academy of Art and Culture Calcutta , Netherland Streaming Festival for Audio Visual art, United Kingdom in 2014, Summer Show 2014, Centre of International Modern Art (CIMA), Kolkata in 2014, ‘Liquid Cities & Temporary Identities’ international exhibition, Espoo (Finland) in 2013, Catalyst Arts Belfast International Festival, Belfast, United Kingdom in 2013, Stigmart /10 Europe International Annual Previews in 2012, ‘ Zen Next-111 ‘ International Art Show at Aakriti art gallery, Kolkata,2008, ‘ YOUNG CONTEMPORARIES ‘ organized by Aakriti art gallery, curated by Shri Jogen Chowdhury, Kolkata in 2007, ‘ ART WATCH ‘ trends and talents of India today- Group Show organized by Gallery 88, Kolkata in 2006 , All India Fine Arts & Crafts Society, Annual Exhibition ( AIFACS) New Delhi are few of them. With making video art his first interest was grown up in making short experimental films. Though his various video art works are represented in several international art events, screenings and art galleries and took great admiration . Besides he is been involved as an actor and art director in ‘Mind and Canvas’ docu feature which is produced by Indian Film Division . Also he is the lead art maker in the leading Bengali Film ‘Sada canvas’ directed by Subrata Sen. Suman played a great role in making full stage works and art direction in Bengali play ‘Jhorafuler Rupkatha’ by Kolahol Theater Droup of Kolkata. He has been hounoured with several awards, scholarships like Governors gold medal , Kalanand National Gold medal, Kalanand Scholarship, Gaganendranath Tagore Memorial Award, Camlin Euro Professional Visit Scholarship, Rashbehari Dutta Memorial Award, Sunil Das Scholarship , Gopen Roy Memorial Award, Mukul Dey graphics Award etc. He has mounted three solo shows in his artist career. He lives and works in Kolkata.
Carl Scharwath, has appeared globally with 150+ journals selecting his poetry, short stories, interviews, essays, plays or art photography (His photography was featured on the cover of 6 literary journals.) Two poetry books ‘Journey To Become Forgotten’ (Kind of a Hurricane Press).and ‘Abandoned’ (ScarsTv) have been published. Carl is the art editor for Minute Magazine, a dedicated runner and 2nd degree black- belt in Taekwondo.