A Poetry Showcase by Christian Garduno

yellow and orange sun

Photo by David von Diemar (unsplash)

Mile Marker 203

You can swim out to the Sun
sippin’ on a fireball
you are the anthem of the summer
I have you on repeat until the Fall

Run back through the sands
slippin’ between the moonbeams
you pour gasoline on the bonfire
but the only thing burning is our vanity

There’s a girl waiting for me
at mile marker 203
tonight, I feel like making us a new song
and see if she wants to sing along

Hurl ourselves out towards the stars
slidin’ between Mercury and Mars
come back to a planet that isn’t quite ours
trading our dollars for beers in seaside bars

There’s a girl waiting just for me
down at mile marker 203
tonight, I feel like singing our song
and see if she wants to come along for the dawn

Spare Changes

Getting to the bottom of things at
the tops of the buildings in Berkeley
and today, in many ways
things are underway

Making spare changes on the world
and the skies go blank for your expression
bolder than the sun in mid-summer
but if I leave anything behind
feel free and burn it
and if I cry
please don’t pay me any mind

River Phx

Well, I was on the River Phoenix, headed to my destiny
I was on the River Phoenix, honey, drowning in ecstasy
Well, you know that River Phoenix, gonna be the death of me
come along and see
come along with me
oh ecstasy

Well, I was on the River Phoenix, living with no sympathy
I was on the River Phoenix, honey, living with no sympathy
yeah, you know this River Phoenix gonna be the death of me
shake along with me
but you know it is
gonna be the death of me

Child, you got to weep no more
swim through the door
River is a-ragin’ but the ocean ain’t your fool
Child, you got to weep no more
I said, the river, is a-ragin, but the ocean ain’t your fool
Swim through the door.

Breakfast at Mussolini's

The table is set with precision
coffee cups on saucers and the butter knife by the toast
Benito holds forth on bearded Revolutionaries and zero inflation
gestures wildly about the room
speaking in chants and catch-phrases
his chin juts magnificently into the air

Facts are flexible
Order must be created by muscle
The Caesars have always done it this way
He pounds his chest for maximum emphasis
then he crosses his arms and there’s that silhouette again

Your Excellency believes in brutality
he stresses this point repeatedly
Why disagree when you can destroy?
Examples must be made!!!
Too much freedom demolishes humanity
The crowd loves the jackboot across its neck
It can’t live without it!!!

Il Duce pontificates:
The People live and die for slogans
The State needs more BLOOD
His profile is the greatest exclamation point ever

Flaxen So Fair

They try to make silk like her hair
they try to make the flaxen so fair
eyes so dark, I can never tell when you’re stoned
I just think you kinda always are
with all your savoir-faire
that’s why they say life’s unfair

You’re safe like a silhouette
on an elevator moon
your shadow so polished
you’ve got all the savants at your boot
I find it all a bit pathological
when you yawn like a brute

They try to make flaxen like your hair
they try to make it so fair
and with all your savoir-faire
that’s why they say life is unfair

Bio: Christian Garduno’s work can be read in over 100 literary magazines. He is the recipient of the 2019 national Willie Morris Award for Southern Poetry and a Finalist in the 2020-2021 Tennessee Williams & New Orleans Writing Contest. He lives and writes along the South Texas coast with his wonderful wife Nahemie and young son Dylan. His debut poetry chapbook, “Lightning in Your Room”, is available from Guerrilla Genesis Press.

Several Poems by Fatemeh Babaei

Tea Lights, Candles, Light, Tea Candles
1 Parents

Lighting candles they are
Burning in the flames of love
Giving fire to the newborn light
Asking it to become flaring in its life

Embracing willingly, it ignites
Not knowing this way would be hard
But with the presence of candles in its side
It knows that this would be light.

2 Far Side of the Moon

I’m like the Moon to your Sun
Rotating on the axis, while
Orbiting the Earth my bond,
Knowing you are the only one,
Who can see my both sides,
Resting with my pilgrimage on
Whilst all can see the near side
Showing you my far side
The side which is far from others,
But the nearest to you, God!

3 Magpies

Two little magpie made a nest
In front of my window’s rest
With the blues in their wings
Made me believe in world peace.

4 Songbird

Songbird, O Songbird on the tree!
Would you see me singing for free?
For what is just left for me is singing,
Need you to hear what I’ve been feeling
Imprisoned in home and being told
Stay in home, O stay in home!

5 Grandma

For the last time, before she left me
She braided my hair, my Grandma I mean,
Softened my hair with the aged hands of hers
Braided in a way that I thought I was a Queen
She gave me the light, confidence, and spirit
That I’ll be clung to, for as long as I live.

6 Butterfly

I wish I could be a butterfly
One day in the morning of July

I wish I could fly over his ears
To be able to hear what he hears

I wish I did not have to die
Just after one day of fly

I wish I did not want to
Be reborn from the first time.

7 Kissing Clouds

Two clouds, wandering in the sky
Then there is lightning which makes them cry
Out of fear, they jump into eachother’s hand
Being face to face there is no other chance,
But to kiss so gently as one may figure
That they were lovers before in heaven
They both kiss one another’s lips
That you can’t tell which one is which.

Bio: She is Fatemeh Babaei, 22 years old from Iran. She has B. A. in English literature and has always loved English as her second language that she began to write poems. 

A Poetry Showcase for Alan Garrigan

Game Of Thrones, Ireland, Trees, Hedges

photo from pixabay

Vita et Morte

(After Fred Herko)

“Look around at the azaleas making fuchsia star bursts” 
Anna Quindlen

A royal rhododendron
The hand of the clock
Holds Alfred Jarry
On his cycle Clément,
I wrote this

A sheltered construct of will
A dogfight
Pauline or Socratic,
Until somebody answers
questions from
The tiniest screams,
Of existence

Believe the mad dove:
Conditions and circumstances shift:

Gramsci, Marcuse and Jean Genet



In black vase
deeply spouted
Following all:


Spiritus Veritas

(After Arthur Rimbaud)Myths are public dreams; dreams are private myth” -Joseph Campbell-

He was the res idiotica
Beyond the mythic-literal
Call him an Abednego
Refer to his revolutionary embodiment

There’ll never be another
Whoever he was: mos maiorum
Savonarola, Marat, Bakunin
Still burning like a lake of fire

What we always wanted
The recollection of his image
Rivers of subterfuge
Eudaimonia: his clear ocean

Implicate this man in particular
Impossible to describe him
Enantiodromia: His want of spectacle
His thought can shatter and transform

When he appeared like Cerberus
None of us wanted to be there
Bringing the pain on himself
His bleeding element forever an eye

Now darker than the deepest sea
Beyond the simulacra,
We look to the continuity
To resurrect his singing ghost


(For Nadezhda Tolokonnikova)

“The criminals of the vision are a totally different matter”
Pier Paolo Pasolini

In Countless stars
Sonorous and mystical
everywhere a voice

A soundscape silhouette
A flash of guns
From the pitch black


The realisation of truth
Beyond the recognition
Of capital ghosts


(For Timothy Morton)

“Do not weep; do not wax indignant. Understand” -Baruch Spinoza

I feel a great

But often effaced

symbolization of death,

an ecstatic moment of release

An experience unclouded

By great personal fears

An insignia that colours

The great shadow of the psyche

In spirit, son and father

Through creation and destruction

Two cleansing forces,

A truth to evoke rising visions

All this representational courage

Can be traced back

To one primordial image

One figure of truth

One world

One voice,

One distance

One Breath

Pandemic Blues

(For Yusuf Komunyakaa)

'Covid has magnified every existing inequality' – Melinda Gates

Did you hear
Or did they
shut your ears
Another poor man down

A victim of authority
Who was not a priority
Couldn’t order the rupture
When the Corona came

What a vision
Took his humble living
It was given away
When Corona came

Inequality made him
Racism broke him
His poverty spoke
They cut the rope

When Corona came
When Corona came
There was no way to choose
When Corona came

Did you hear
about the man
who lost it 
during the pandemic?

Bio: Alan is an MA student from Ireland (UCD) and have been previously published in some small publication magazines. Alan likes avant-garde and conceptual text. Philosophical poetry is an area of particular interest to him. Alan has written a 20,000 word thesis on poetry. Alan particularly enjoys ecopoetry also. 

Before I Turn Into Gold Online Anthology : I Told You by Norb Aikin

(c) Geoffrey Wren

I Told You

I hung us. I strung us. 
The rope-a-dope stylist is
the real alchemist.
Did you think it gave you 
     a new instinct? 
I’ve knives made 
from railroad ties 
and seen things besides 
the truth and its lies. 
I tried to warn you before 
but you wrote your life 
of its contents and missteps 
and flagrant regrets. 
The stylist is upset 
by things she can’t reset
while you sit knowing a youth 
misspent that you won’t accept 
and we all have the proof. 
I can cut you or cut you, 
      or cut you and cut you
but nothing will stop me from you 
as I tell you I told you so.

Twitter: @aikonnorb

Norb Aikin is the author of Mutants and 100 (Eliezer Tristan Publishing). He is a Mental Health activist
originally from Buffalo, NY and now lives in Cortland, NY. His work has appeared in various online publications,
including Pink Plastic House and Fevers of the Mind. 

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Norb Aikin

3 Poems from Anthologies by Norb Aikin

2 Poems from the Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 by Norb Aikin

BOOKS to Read in 2021: Mutants by Norb Aikin

3 new poems by staci-lee sherwood

Mountains, Meadow, Grass, Sagebrush

photo from pixabay


               The majesty of the mountains have captured my heart   
               While the promise of love keeps me warm in the dark
               The sparkling rivers and canyons so deep
               Keep my happy and peaceful while  I am asleep
               The howl of the coyote and squeak of the squirrel
               Have opened new doors to a whole different world
               Forever lost in the lushness and beauty of nature
               Blossoms new appreciation for every living creature
               Awakened each day by a glorious sunrise
               Its beauty shines through even to jaded eyes
               Brilliant starry nights end each and every day
               Now the journey’s over and rest I may
               Only to rise and feel the coolness of the air
              While the wind wraps around me and runs through my hair
               The adventure will soon end and home I will go
               Bringing with me new questions of all there is to know

                             Yellowstone Wolves

                    The Yellowstone wolf’s future seems  a bit in peril
                    What is it about wolves that makes sane men feral
                    The pups yelp for freedom in their lonely cry
                    Why must such innocence be fated to die
                    Can no one see the senselessness of life wasted
                    Even before truth lets maturity be tasted
                    The wolf is a great treasure of beauty to us all
                    Lest we forget how extinction exacts the fall
                    Must all the wolves die so the ranchers can profit
                    Is no one offended enough to try and stop it
                    Greed and fear strike a deep and embittered blow
                    But those of us with souls are still in the know
                    We must stand together and stop this mad endeavor
                    Because my dear friends Extinction lasts Forever

                                Satan's Queen

                         When darkness falls she seeks an evil thrill
                         What can make even children hide and squeal
                         For she can cast a spell of dark power
                         That makes even strong men weak and cower
                         Her reign of terror has struck so deep
                        One can even sense her as they sleep
                        She must be stopped this Queen from Hell
                        Satan himself will wish he could tell
                        What lurks in the recesses of her mind
                       That makes her so terrible and unkind
                        Her screeching voice and all its thunder
                       Can cast even angels all asunder
                      Imagine a witch full of darkness and hate
                      Her eyes gaze only at Satan’s gate
                      For he is her master now and forever
                      And she a mere slave for all his endeavors

Bio: published writer blogger poet hiker. My motto is motivate.inspire.educate. I started writing speeches for candidates which led to writing press releases and editing for a few non profits. After that I started writing investigative articles to cover issues no one else was covering. I hope to educate and inspire people to act when they see injustice

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