Archive for November, 2015

ricochet by Jonathan Jones

Posted: November 15, 2015 in Uncategorized

and eventually you run out of all
that whiskey inspiration. Counting
your bullets and breathing quiet.
Change a shirt and hold your own
hard stare.

The bullets point to take you home.
That’s how I find you. Sixteen and cooked rare
in a pool of red outside the drugstore.
A ricochet which curves the air
and folds two poles in half.
____________________________

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Jonathan Jones is a freelance writer currently living and working in Rome. His main influences are Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Chandler, Saki and Yann Martel. He qualified in 1999 with his M.A. in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University College and in 2004 with an MRes in Humanities from Keele University. He now teaches writing composition at John Cabot University in Rome.

Your mention recurred
(In history books, in research articles,
Even a fictionalized film and a theatre)
Like light reflected and re reflected
Within a diamond,
The dazzle in me.

Marshy battlefields
Lit only by Will o Wisps
Shredded longitudes, pieced parchments,
Isles of limited facts,
In name of your birthplace,
In undulations of sound waves
I find the edges of a stamp
Of your land, now with a new name
And altered boundaries too,
Like the ever shifting confines on love.

A sealed box,
The loosening screw
Each circle of its turn
A crown of thorn or a laurel wreath,
Finally the content-
Is this the dagger you’ve brandished
To defend your men?
I kiss the blade
And smart with the pain
Befitting only someone
In love with the dead.

They call me deranged unable
To comprehend love happens
And cannot be chosen.

In the sky disjointed stretches of light
Monsoon returns pitting civilizations
In the graph of rain creases.
Years’ long monologue with you
My hair silvered like moonlight,
My skin rumpled like foil
My voice wisp of a ghost
Can I feel your touch?

Perhaps yes,
You are less of a stranger
Than the ones next to me
Where the mesh of responses
And counter responses come in between,
You, there unconfined, unaware
My beloved, ten centuries afar.
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Lahari Mahalanabish is a software engineer by profession. Her book of poems One Hundred Poems had been published by Writers Workshop, India. Her poems/short stories have appeared in The Statesman, The Asian Age, Himal Southasia, The Criterion, Poets Online, Saw and Ashvamegh..The Literary Flight.

Once upon an afternoon, I did not know that very soon,
a rather remarkable yet utterly quotidian thing was in store—
There I was, calmly reading, startled by an immediate needing
I felt something eagerly pleading, pleading me to not ignore
“I should do this, ” I thought, “heading this bidding to not ignore—
A quick search should show me more.”

Ah, basically I learned it was in the beak of a bird who yearned
to be understood, not spurned, ghostly echoes of words it deplored
Eagerly went I to gather;—or perhaps I thought rightly rather
that I must learn about the matter—matter of this creature’s score
It was then I learned that the raven’s tongue could caw or
make words of ours, like “nevermore”

And the sudden, calm, audible note issuing from between these mandibles
Thrilled me—filled me with familiarity through language heard before;
So then, feeling the smile part my lips, I watched while the bird’s head dipped
“‘Tis someone who quipped to the raven, ‘say ‘nevermore””
Some person had spoken and back quoth the raven “say, ‘nevermore'”
This the bird said and nothing more.

Except
It also did a pretty good PacMan?
And, like, that sound your computer makes when you click something and it kind of dings at you like “sorry you did the wrong thing why don’t you go back, man?”
idk basically it was the antithesis
of Poe’s poetic melancholy beauty
and studied verse
sonorous sounds summing up
nothing more than craft
instead of that, this raven’s speech
was the definition
of artlessness

I clicked the video
I clicked play
quoth the raven
“Say ‘Nevermore’

wakawakawakawak”
____________________
Version 2

Brendan Gillett is blessed with the ability of human-like speech sometimes.