4 poems by Kushal Poddar : “Kosher Meat” “Metallic Sea” “Full Moon, Springtime 2021″”Crimson Comes the Gloaming”

Kosher Meat

Today, Tim's birthday, and he slips
down slope of the slippery sanity.
Each word indicates,
he is yet to claw through his sleep

fearing he may see the father he despised
in the antique looking glass near his bed's feet.

An alarm set guts time.
All kosher, salt and pepper sun
burns his skin.

Tim's chickens hatch some one-winged birds.
Feathers choke the wind.
Happy Birthday, he croons while bleeding
one old cock. It quivers as if its body is
the old telegraph lines and death is tapping and SOS.

Metallic Sea
Because that first puff in the morning
still tastes like the Sea-and-metal/
- Rick C. Christensen

I stroll down beach, and my toes
poke through their sandal-shells,
and with their dull and broad nails
I dig up sand's settlement of memory;
It bores me after a jiffy, and I near
the brine light of the morning;
light never belongs to its origine.
Mist sheds the sun, and yet
luminosity sways, wades, stands still
when you close your eyes and imagine
it as a painting - proud and shy with its nakedness.
As if sea has released the light.
Sometimes I walk into the sea
to see if I do not belong to this earthliness,
as if by perishing my flesh I can prove
imperishability, and sometimes, like today,
I see the repetition unworthy. So I drink
the nearest kiosk and gossip
about the ocean level leveling down
the tiny town once made for the tourists.
No one can recall reason for its birth.
You too cannot remember yours, can you?

Full Moon, Springtime 2021
The reflection of the moon at its peak
looks like a before & after photography,
not a pair of fake shots used for selling something,
but one real you stumble upon in a Spring cleaning.

The water seems more smoke and less mirror
one moment, and more mirror and less smoke the next.
Anyways, you would have thought the scene fake,
and yet loved to show the same to your best friend.
You cannot do so in the virus outbreak,
but that doesn't explain why you do not call him,
why sometimes coming out and staring at the lake
is the only thing you do other than washing hands.

Crimson Comes the Gloaming
This means the nightmares
are 3D printed outside,
and my id

empty, the way, if you remember,
our local pub looks like
during the plague quarantine,

waits for angels to seek refuge in the serene hell.

Note to self, stuck on the door
of our whining and rasping refrigerator:

"Don't forget not to wake up!"


Bio: An author and a father, Kushal Poddar, edited a magazine - ‘Words Surfacing’, authored seven volumes including ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, 'A Place For Your Ghost Animals', 'Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems' and 'Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel'. His works have been translated in ten languages. Find and follow him at amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
AuthorFacebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

Wolfpack Contributor: Kushal Poddar

Poetry Showcase from Kushal Poddar

A Poetry Series by Kushal Poddar “Hiraeth Series”

Poem “Swallow the Night” by Ryan Flett

Swallow the Night

Full moon tonight has
chased away
the clouds from the sky,
and the stars above
twinkle
in the water below.

I cup a handful of
stars and
bring it to my lips,
swallowing them whole
hoping
I'll shine just as brightly.


Bio: Ryan has been writing poetry since about 2019. Some of Ryan's favorite poets are Mary Oliver, Charles Wright, and Charles Bukowski. He currently work as a registered nurse and as a programmer at a small video game company a friend and his founded this year. Writing has always been a passion of his, and he has found poetry is the ideal way for me to express myself. Ryan has had some work published in Eve Poetry Magazine, but primarily post his work to Twitter (@ryanwritespoems). Ryan is currently working on my first chapbook. Ryan lives in Oregon and is a Pacific Northwest native.

3 poems from Neel Trivedi in Fevers of the Mind Issue 2(2019) “the Invisible Aura” “Soul Whisperer” & “the Midas Scratch”

(c)Neel Trivedi
The Invisible Aura

Step into the vortex of my soul
To decode the language
I often speak to myself

Every night when I peel off my mirage
That the sea of gazes around me
surmises to be nonchalance

This is my universe where:
Depression is not a mere mood swing
It's an actual chemical imbalance

My facial expressions are not always
Gateways to the feelings of my heart
Sometimes they are merely decor

My silence is not a symbol
Of any kind of equanimity

Listen to the aura who's decibels
Don't roar like a lion
But squeal like a mouse

Observe the aura that's the
shy one in the corner
Acknowledge the unfelt emotions

For you may not feel them
But just a moment of your cognizance
Could determine their fate for eons

Soul Whisperer

I come with no ostentation
No glory or cavalcade
For I creep upon this junction
Not to arouse a racket
But to dismember the status quo
I make no proclamations to be 
Your knight in shining armor
Or to dry your tears
But to bequeath equity of them
To feast on the salt with thee
I come not to sheath your malformations

But to stand in their gallery
And be a zealot for ages
Of what my heart senses to be
Not wounds but victors of endurance
Think not of me as a paladin
In a quaint fable

But a commoner just to proclaim:
I once bore what you did

And hearken the language of your soul
That others have stained as an enigma!

The Midas Scratch

Lay your fingers on the canvas of my flesh
And scratch till what you carve
Becomes the cynosure attire of my body

Never to be removed
Till the mind in its entirety
Is severed from the bones

Take no heed of any provisional brood
Or waterfalls of blood
For the blemishes will eventually mitigate

But the fable your fingers nurture with love
Will give me an immoral prevalance
To any and all around me!


Bio: Neel Trivedi is a writer, editor and artist and in the advertising business in Dallas, TX. He was a Pushcart Nominee for 2020 and has been published in several online magazines as well as several print anthologies. He can be reached on Twitter @Neelt2001.


A poem “Re-bound” by Hokis

Re-Bound

This birthed body
Put upon the library self.
Fiction or non-
The perpetual, rhetorical question.

They selected me
From the self-help section.
Checked me out –
the librarian peering over the rim of rosary-red glasses.

The first few chapters read.
A closer study needed, so rules were broken by
Highlighter pens and
Scribbled margins.

Later, all together lost under
Piles of papers to grade and
Petitions to sign.

Birthday cake smudges.

Menstrual blood and tears.

Empty spaces erased the final chapters.

Decades later,
Self is found in the transformation to Body;
Loose binding
Wrinkled pages
Round belly
Achy hips
Hair loss

         loss I can manage 
         because I already have.




For more on Hokis: read this book review below

Books to Read in 2021: On Becoming(Aesthetic Evolution of the Rising Ancestor) by Hokis

                                                                                                   

3 new poems by Anisha Kaul : “Passing Days Through Freudian Slips” “Rooting Our Displacement-a Memoir” & “The Night Will Shroud Us Away”

PASSING DAYS THROUGH FREUDIAN SLIPS  

A seemingly nonsensical murmur 
Wrapped in warm casual utterances 
At times, a passing fore lone word
Or maybe an attended chain of phrases, 
Sneaking hurriedly from hidden corners  
Gliding towards the easy audience  
Seeking refuge, dripping until late 
Dusting the heavy sack of unconscious 
So with each slip, light it grows

At other times, 
Into a puddle of jumbled letters, I drop,
Bracing embarrassment of unforeseen 
Reversals. 
            Rsalsreve.  
As in a perfect waltz, my speech
“Peel the orange and then sleep”, 
Breaks all bounds of familiarity,
Spins around, spins fast and at 
“Peel the sleep and then orange”, 
It finally halts. 
 
Shyly, I stand corrected each time 
Cursing, dear Mr Freud in undertones
For he brought my lingual distortion to 
Center stage.  
Astonishing enough. 
It never fails to perform through me. 

ROOTING OUR DISPLACEMENT – A MEMOIR 
 
Rising winds carried me to places unseen 
While none had refuge to spare or solace to shed 
As a dandelion in motion, an un-nested bird 
I kept roaming 

Reaching the landscape, which mother often talked about, 
(Now mastered in memory), winds of discomfort ease and
I descend into the whirlpool of memories 
Removing a lifetime of snow, fallen in the backyard  
Cold hands recover earth soft to touch, 
The warmth therein still feels home, crawling slowly, 
I Chinar – reclaim my Kashmir 
Nurture my wounded roots and all lost once to decay 
Tears of remote past will tend 

Likes of me uprooted from our terrains
Have wondered for ages, wandered too far
We the 
            Dis 		
                   Placed   
Are forces of nature, seeking to root our displacement



THE NIGHT WILL SHROUD US AWAY

We cancelled all wild plans
For the final family dinner
Before our town in Alaska
Hosts its annual polar night

Dining decked with delicacies
Enticed children to whiff until supper
Hot Spaghetti served with meat sauce
Potted shrimp followed by chocolate tarts

Eager clock ticked away, scented candles relaxed
The guest arrived accompanied by a Shepherd’s pie
Together we marked the hue as the sun went down
Our distant laugh rang through the unadorned hallway

 Wolfpack Contributor: Anisha Kaul

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Anisha Kaul

Bio: Anisha Kaul (she/ her) is a poet with a Master’s in English Literature, presently living in New Delhi, India. As of now 40 of her poems have been accepted or are housed in various national and international print and online anthologies. She served in the capacity of the editor for DRC, College Magazine Pramila, University of Delhi, 2016-17 issue. Anisha has also qualified the National Eligibility Test (NET) for Assistant Professorship conducted in India. She loves to write about herself in the third person. Find her on twitter: @anishakaul9.