Five Poems by Jonathan S Baker

 

Cardigan in Bloom

 

Black is black,

straight back

Give me back

my alcohol

            baby

because           now we got bad blood

I'll arrest myself.

I'll wear the shield.

So don't think                                      it's in the past.

Heart-breakers gonna

break,

break,

break,

break,

break.

She eats glue,                                      how 'bout you?

I make the moves up as I go

What else should I be?

I was thinking that you could be trusted

High heels I've Got

 

He met me laughing

on a dirty word,

“shame”.

 

Baby I'm your “I can't”.

Let’s love way too far.

 

If the high is filled

with dangerous boys.

I'm dying to see

and I want torture.

I don't want to go down

screaming crying under the bleachers.

Friends taking turns

such a perfect thing.

shame

backdoor

dreaming

I didn't say locked

I was weak in cheer captain jeans

and he pretends inside me.

 

Smell and I Guess Trouble

 

Insane streets never know

orchids.

priceless fear comes creepin'.

Meat-eating mosquitos walk out.

Let us feel shielded.

Make the bad smother me.

I'll go forgive

your Pisces mistakes.

They still smell.

Well, whatever.

I'll experience anything.

 

Hidden

 

on the black waters

of the Fakahatchee swamp

 

in the crushing pressures

of Arctic ocean depths

 

across  sunblasted

scorched sands of the Sahara

 

removed

from presence

from gaze

 

past

the predatory tooth and claw

the inhospitable crushing depth

the thousands of desiccated miles

 

hangs the white ghost orchid

sea angels beat iridescent wings

acacia bide their time for rain

 

delicate as breath

necessary as death

objectively beautiful

 

existing not for the desires of human eyes.

not to inspire the human heart.

Beautiful but not for us

and  without us

thriving.

 

She does not know

that she is longed for

nor does she care.

 

Right. I'd like to, friend.

 

My god-queen, we’re trouble.

I'd like to wear flames

but you're drowning.

 

I still smell incredible things, stolen ex-lovers,

truth covered insecurity,

contagious troubles.

 

But my libido can't see you

when you walk.

You seem wanted more than I could show.

 

Here we end.

Grab your ex-lovers.

They'll make a pact.

Jonathan S Baker lives and works in Evansville, Indiana above the river's frown.  They are the host of Indiana's longest running and most prestigious poetry series, Poetry Speaks. Their work can be found in various online and print anthologies and collections, including Long Nights in Stoplight City (Between Shadows Press, 2023) and Cock of the Walk (Laughing Ronin Press, 2022). 

 

Excerpts from Irene Koronas' manuscript chiaroscuros, Volume VIII of The Grammaton Series

 

Excerpts from Irene Koronas' manuscript chiaroscuros, Volume VIII of The Grammaton Series

23°

 

It quavers between

the terrapin neck

and an old cockshine

 

that caresses an object

with chiaroscuro

 

where sfumato blurs

the contour

it smudges charcoal

 

as waves secrete

the pale oblivion

 

the hallow blue

throbs with harmonics

 

roseate flesh

is shot with gray

nipples a thin brush

 

around this frenzied

vortex. The obsession

with optics

 

mappae clavicula

snips plaster

 

prepares the

transition from monk

to artisan

 

the hierarchy in trade

the ultramarines

the severe pigment

 

in spiritus

on parchment skin

 

alchemy rolls

in color innovavi

 

azurite from copper

carbonate

 

the herbs woad and indigo

ground into hot dung

for a nosehand

 

then mixed with

the foam it turns dye

into pale horses

 

turnsole or folium

from plant extract

red purple and blue

depends on the acidity

 

the rigid stretch

 

 

24°

 

Involute the clench

form and gully knots

the imbrications

in pigment

 

the sliding identity

or rapturous erotic

swarms that drench

and shuffle fantasy

 

with speed conveyance

the winglike shapes

are squiggly 

 

vulval slits

in a chancy dribble

that stains effects

 

and congests

the irresolute surface

in a jumble box

 

an anagram in paranoiac rage

the dusty residue inherited

from nanodada to a pedestal

 

for abstract ardour

the paroxysm

in the octahedron leans

toward a salivating

fishfly on a cantata

 

with the tongue tip

it dries the scab

to their rictus

 

bites the uperuman

and devours

the antiprotons

 

with an oil drop

synchronized

with a quasidope

chiaroscuros, Volume VIII of Irene Koronas' The Grammaton Series, is a hyper-minimalist écriture, melding its aporias with a mix of staccato posthumanism and the historiography of colour.

 

Irene Koronas is an extreme experimentalist. Her The Grammaton Series includes gnōstos, Volume VII (BlazeVOX, 2023), siphonic, Volume VI (BlazeVOX, 2022), lithic cornea, Volume V (BlazeVOX, 2021), holyrit, Volume IV (BlazeVOX, 2019), declivities, Volume III (BlazeVOX, 2018), ninth iota, Volume II (The Knives Forks and Spoons Press, 2018) and Codify, Volume I (Éditions du Cygne, 2017). Her extreme experimentalism has been published in Alligatorzine, Argotist Online Poetry, BlazeVOX, Buzdokuz, Die Leere Mitte, E·ratio, Graphic Violence, Hyper-Annotation, International Exhibition of Surrealism Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Marsh Hawk Press Review, New Mystics, Offcourse Literary Journal, Otoliths, perspektive, #Ranger, SPAMzine, Stride, Sulfur Surrealist Jungle, Synchronized Chaos, Utsanga, Version (9) Magazine and Word For/Word. She is the Publisher of Var(2x). Her website is irenekoronas.com.

Excerpts from Daniel Y. Harris' manuscript The Apostasy of Proxy Godbot

 

Excerpts from Daniel Y. Harris' manuscript The Apostasy of Proxy Godbot

40

 

Proxy Godbot’s in a corpsepit with panoûrgos

(Hook), when the pataquietist is a headbasher  

in novissima die huius artis (Xenomorph v3):

 

for a cramprobbeln, a ruuntic (BrasDex)   

nihillihin, there is la terra del rimorso

(TA446/COLDRIVERT/TAG-53/Blue

 

Charlie) in the tarantist metachorxe

as the dimenticati with a parabrigandic

romp in lysergica: he cantāvīs müüüü

 

rummpfftillffkwiieennzkrrmüüüüüüü,

for il demonio, the exterminating anus

jesuves its filthy parodiar below the solar

 

annulus’ http://thēríou666.cn/product/

chuangxincaifu-3: demur, for the red

coprophagic guðspjalls this annusoracle

 

in R’lyeh’s corpsecity and alarms its raw

penetralia: jūdex the hostia where foul

effluvia from NKAbuse malware plugs

 

these sphincters with a Mithraic disc:

this sabbathic plechtigheidje praefluōus

its blind kilolux between the antliatores

 

and the antliaclasts, preserves inviolate

the ideal censure: he cantāvīs RrRrRrR

rRrRrRrummpfftllfftooooziiuunnzkrr

 

müüüü—in the phylundhic, the high

voltage pylon crucifies lalangue (Raum)

in these patanecropastorals with Qilin

 

ransomware gang’s VMware ESXi

encryptor as the chorozonic reigns

supreme over a fascistoidal melainachole.

 

 

41

 

Proxy Godbot’s .elpy drops info.text

and info.hta ransom notes when omnicidal

neoagents overkill their stale miméomai’s

 

http://www.thēríou666.cn/caijingyaowen-1

/kill/1503307086-23107593.html: as foetidgods,

the anabatic/katabatic .xro struēreal

 

has its tectonic roots in doyenic guards

who wardō their cenobitic craythurs:

desecrate the impaler and append .nbwr

 

and .nbzi extensions with a cinnabaric

ṇtérveröld, for this simalāvīc Hyperborean

patapidginics with teleoplexic circuitjes 

 

stylite its .GrafGrafel with citadels:

when forebodics seal against injury’s

Adware-MemWatcher, the bastinado

 

method is paired with the poena cullei:

he cantāvīs ziiuuennzeziiuunnzkrrmüü

üü, pairs il tormento della corda with ta’liq,

 

for the zyklonic protopsaltis’ http://www.

thēríou666.cn/caijingyaowen-1/article/1

500099766-23098901.html, Th’ Arch-chimic

 

Sun so farr from us remote Produces with

Terrestrial Humor mixt Here in the dark:

when d^hóh₁mosdaar plays on the abscess

 

as imposture, antiquo more tenebrionum,

he anchors the saint with psephisato

and apsinthos and he is anthropophobic

 

in his .ljuy extēnsiō: this phanai, this pheme

from the PIE root, recedes in h₂élyosic

anonymity and uses the tchk06 campaign.

 

 

42

 

Proxy Godbot’s necrocode is a command

and control server at 45.138.74.191:443

and 65.108.218.24:443: here, nostalgia

 

for the psychofyllan has its trüschübel

in this xenodivinity with d^hergþuz

(oateron, anyad, alienum): for fascinans,

 

plasmid spectra and protopaurvic

congeries reform krijsgod (Marduk)

with this protoġesċæftiality: he cantāvīs

 

raketerinnzeketefümms böwöböwöröb

öwörötääzääkwiieek, augurs http://thēríou

666.cn/product/tianxinzaixian-2:

 

this Rhadamanthys stealer denudes

the póleōs and valorizes aeternitātibus

in mockgruppoduirian fechoun (Abraxas),

 

the megas archōn: then, with ab, ben, rouach,

hakadōs; sōtēria apo xylou, Sartael, the mækir

confrère resurrects Mallox ransomware:

 

here, autarchy is the apsis in urdeorcra

spindrift—for with this morgue carnage,

brbrganrac eugrom siht htiw roftfirdnips

 

brarcroedru ni sispa eht si yhcratuabrera,

wemosnar xollw rruser errfnocbbrrikm

eht leatra uolyx opa, airtsbr sdakah hcauor

 

neb ba htiw nehtbrnhcra, sagem eht saxarb

a htiw: nuohcefbrnairiudoppurg kcomni

subittinreteabrsezirolav dna selp eht

 

seduned relaetsbrsyhtnamadahr siht

xnaixiaznixnait—for this crucichristics

is http://www.thēríou666.cn/gsgk.html. 

 

The Apostasy of Proxy Godbot, Volume VII of Daniel Y. Harris' The Posthuman Series, is a misprision of A.R. Ammons’ Sphere: The Form of a Motion, divided into 155 sections. The protagonist, Proxy Godbot, is malware as John Milton, Black Hat Hacker. 

 

 

Daniel Y. Harris is an extreme experimentalist. His The Posthuman Series includes The Metempsychosis of Salvador Dracu, Volume VI (BlazeVOX, 2023), The Resurrection of Maximillian Pissante, Volume V (BlazeVOX, 2022), The Misprision of Agon Hack, Volume IV (BlazeVOX, 2021), The Reincarnation of Anna Phylactic, Volume III (BlazeVOX, 2019), The Tryst of Thetica Zorg, Volume II, (BlazeVOX, 2018) and The Rapture of Eddy Daemon, Volume I (BlazeVOX, 2016). His The Posthuman Series has received praise from Charles Bernstein, Harold Bloom, Andrei Codrescu, Kenneth Goldsmith, Daniel C. Matt and Marjorie Perloff. His extreme experimentalism has been published in Alligatorzine, Argotist Online Poetry, Blackbox Manifold, BlazeVOX, The Collidescope, Denver Quarterly, Dichtung Yammer, E·ratio, European Judaism, Exquisite Corpse, Marsh Hawk Press Review, The New York Quarterly, Notre Dame Review, perspektive, Poetry Salzburg Review, #Ranger, slowforward, Synchronized Chaos and Word For/Word. He is the Publisher of Var(2x). His website is danielyharris.com.

Five Poems by Dr. Mona Bedi

 

Five Poems by Dr. Mona Bedi

family reunion 
the stench of relationships
gone sour

autumn birdsong
this deep wish
to return home

stirring the reeds
the silent swoop
of a kestrel’s shadow

playing dough --
I make myself
a perfect home

eerie silence
of the hospital corridor --
somewhere
in the night sky
fading stars

Dr. Mona Bedi, Delhi, India

 

Four Poems by Gordon Scapens

 

FELLOW TRAVELLER

Chained by traffic

I stalk a cattle truck

for five tortuous miles.



Filling a gap in slats

a calf’s eyes unnerve me,

bewildered, frightened, pleading,

the whole world reflected

in its questioning eyes.

Perhaps my stare looks sympathetic,

possibly he thinks me an ally.



Helplessly tailoring excuses

trying to shrug off the spell

cast by guessing its future,

I feel guilty as a meat eater

and for all potential beneficiaries.

We organise our lives

to make remorse seem alien

and dinner table isn’t all truth

but reads the truth in us.



The calf is ignorant

about its ultimate ending

but is hoping for safety

like I look for security

I never quite reach.

We have that in common.



It’s as though I knock

on the door of the future

facing the wrong way.





RUSSIAN OPPOSITION



When they come for you,

flourishing accusations,

identical for everybody,

they have persuasive means.



There is accommodation

where you will learn

what you have to say

facing their compulsions.



They have ways of questioning

that are not always known

and you will have the urge

to whisper for your salvation.



They can prove so easily,

but only to themselves,

that you were always

greedy for their downfall.



Your identity will be lifted,

you’ll be given a number

and face-covering hood

to flesh out their aims.



There will be no trial,

and if you should survive

to the other side of daylight,

the future will not be revealed



just like their names.

Moscow rules are rigged

for ease of elimination.

You may already have had

your last smile.





LOSING THE PLOT



The bad news trespasses

from its containment on TV

around armchairs and tables,

under a spell of its own force,

and nudges equanimity aside.



What you are left with

to carry through your day

to its natural conclusion,

when you close your eyes

and try to rest,

are images that measure concern

like a wound measures pain.



This can be translated as

the world’s tolerance and respect

has been buried so deep

you wonder who you are

when compared with the rest.



When the answer is peace

nobody in positions of power

will ask the question.

Why is this such a mystery

when everybody shares

the pain of the world.?



Life is a continuous extension,

the past determines the future.

When lessons not yet learned

touch a map, the map closes…..



Earth has too many people

and not enough human beings.





A HUNGRY PRAYER



Limbs, with skin like parchment

over bones seemingly dripping

from a wasted body,

is all too easy to explain.

The boy stammers a prayer

to the failed hand

of his dead mother.



Starvation takes no prisoners.



The distance in his eyes

is punctured with tears,

and lacking in hope,

is filled with an horizon

measured to his fate.



We’ve mislaid sorrow

that should be felt

because there’s a safety net

for our own poverty dwellers,

the rest have forged lives

that sustain them

at an acceptable level

but too much unnecessary waste

would keep those starving people

surviving and nourished.



Our throwaway excess

is the weight of help

to make all life valuable

in a land of death.



We can’t ignore

a hungry prayer.

 

Gordon Scapens - is widely published over many years in numerous magazines, journals, anthologies and competitions, most recently First Prize in the Brian Nisbet poetry award. He lives in Preston in the United Kingdom.

His book ‘History Doesn’t Die’ was published in 2023.

 

One Poem by Cindy Farr

 

Midnight                             

 

ending and beginning simultaneously 

in a second of intermediate restraint

 

an appointed transition occurs

in dark non-spatial space

 

on the cusp of the artificial clock

manufactured by humans

 

a measurement representing                  

the boundary between past and future

 

MIDNIGHT

 

perhaps marred and tired from yesterdays past

emerges the strike of a second chance

 

unrealized dreams docked by time

impatiently wait 

 

fooled again and again

by the taunting laughter of the artificial clock

 

there is

NO BOUNDARY

NO MIDNIGHT

NO TIME

 

there is only now

Cindy Farr is a forthcoming writer residing in Indian Wells.  She burned most of her earlier writing a long time ago on a small patio in California.  She has spent most of her life in Los Angeles and plans to continue her writing journey, hopefully without fire.  She enjoys the companionship of dogs so there is always a dog around.