{ Summer Nights }
Paul Bussan - J. de Salvo - James Dye
Walkyria Orellana - Ellen Orner - Stephanie Smith
Daniel Snethen - LT Verrastro - Syeda Zahan
Poezie petru o noapte de vara
Poetry for a Summer Night *
Paul Bussan
I have inside of me a Mr. Hyde...
I have inside of me a Mr. Hyde
That for too long has been invisible
But it’s a side no longer that I’ll hide;
Instead of Jekyll who’s respectable,
Who always is a model citizen,
I will release that Hyde’s ferocity
And put an end to this Victorian
Charade that’s slowly suffocating me
Because I’m finding it to be a bore;
I will let out of me the side that is
The side of me that likes to drink and whore
And screw around; that doesn’t want to miss
What it missed out in all those years misspent
Pretending that it was a well bred gent.
J. de Salvo
Old Age Came Early, Death Felt Closer
Unable to block out the
Noise in public
My progress halts
Trapped on the brink
Of great discovery
By those who would
Steal it for their own
Give me a sign,
They will say
What they take
Is my life
My liberty, everything
I have earned
“And all they can do is Laugh”
James Dye
The Languid Lost
Stay in a bubble,
a castle in the air.
Thought is in a trance,
a chimera's nightmare
that cannot awake,
for specters keep
life vain and vapid
in petrified sleep.
Escape winged monsters
’Cause if you don’t awake
Death is a fast flowing raven
a lion, a goat and a snake.
Escape winged monsters.
’Cause monsters suffer
Death is a fertile world
burning with sulphur.
Walkyria Orellana
Utraque Unum
It began softly-
As the breath of a butterfly-
Barely heard, but too captivating to ignore.
Planted we were.
Sown and now grown
To who we are now.
We are two lights,
Like the poles of earth
Separated at a distance.
Yet we wait, knowing
One day we'll be joined at the core.
Day after day, night by night,
We are caught up with each
New-found treasure
In our jeweled caverns.
Every piece has life,
It's own rhythm and light
Posting the road to our hearts.
They show where we've been
And where we'll go.
Our journey is unfolding.
Ellen Orner
Curriculum Vitae
Dr. Faustus
Inept
Rapt
Apt
Opt
Co-opt
Corrupt
Abrupt
Adapt
Ádept
wept
accept
Devil's Trumpet
beautiful white large purple
seeds path to
enlightenment
hallucinogenic
dark visions
incontinence
sometimes
death
for
impotence
criminal purposes
pastured animals
carefully
avoid
consuming it.
Stephanie Smith
The Holy War
The demons spread dread
amongst the angels
who fell to the ground
for the hits they snuck in
They gave the middle finger
to the messiah
who awoke to find
his underwear missing
and little children
drunk on brandy
and dark verse,
ignorant to his teachings
And Lazarus arose from the dead
with a hard-on and hungry
for a ham sandwich,
oblivious to the destruction
befallen the land
The conflagration spread
Denominations died out
one by one
like soldiers in a holy war
longing for their mothers
as they take their last breaths
The Insomniacs
Things will always growl in the dark
Everything remains the same
The insomniacs will dance delusions
Kings will play out their war games
Babies are bludgeoned in their beds
While blood and skin is but a dream
And we’re the stars of our own Grand Guignol
Where we perform in sweet lunacy
Daniel Snethen
Haitian Voodoo Dolls
They were buried in the bottom
of my great grandfather’s steamer trunk.
A half dozen ebony poppets.
Each adorned in jungle fowl feathers,
smeared with dried blackened chicken blood.
Carefully tucked away in a Cuban cigar box.
Smiling, I vigorously jostled the box.
Voodoo doll bodies akimbo.
Port au Prince reduced to rubble.
Unawares
A man with a crooked back
leaned into the wind staring
at the pink purpled sunset.
An owl’s silhouette glided
silently across the horizon,
and loudly called melancholy.
From out a hole in a hill,
perhaps a troll hole,
rose a thousand winged bats
flapping myriad aerial patterns.
On the other side of the world,
a mushroom cloud rose, illuminated
the horizon in pink purpled hues.
Oblivious to this the man reached
into his trousers and urinated unaware
that the end of the world was near.
LT Verrastro
Replay
You laughed
when I swore
I’d cave in his face
until those words
he swallowed.
All those jokes
about how ugly
and skinny his arms
and small dick were
made you smile.
Reciting trite lines
how life’s not
worth a tear,
I planned dinner
and waited for your
I love you.
Hanging up,
I stood
as motionless
as before,
scared,
replaying
that fuck you
in your face.
The First Time
The first time I did it,
it was planned out,
rehearsed, and Googled.
Embarrassed then,
I wished I listened¬ –
awkward conversations
where Mom revealed
what women do.
The first time I did it,
it was far from home
on dirty tile flooring.
People surrounding,
pouring and waiting –
experienced scrutinizing
my awkward motions
and underwear.
The first time I did it,
vibrations screamed
from tangled bed sheets.
More stained than clean,
heaving and packing
until nothing else fit,
I paced myself until
the finale came.
The first time I did it,
I shrunk all my favorite t-shirts.
Syeda Zahan
An Assamese Lulluby
O Sister Moon, give me a needle!
What will you do with the needle, my dear?
I'll stitch a bag.
What will you do with the bag?
I'll carry money in it.
What will you do with the money?
I'll buy an elephant?
Elephant? What will you do with it, dear?
I'll roam around riding on its back.
What happens when you roam around?
You become a good girl.
Riding an elephant Paniram returns,
All passers by look at him.
Line 12 Paniram is a lower rank official under the King.
Me, Myself, Lost, Anchored, Lost
A butterfly.
Flutering.
Falling on my feet on the sidewalk of Godavari apartment.
My maroon and green flower patterned dupatta .
Synchronizing with the wind.
The chatter of people buying fruits, vegetables and cosmetics.
A mother lost in her child , a girl.
Her purple striped sandals.
Kohl eyes. Lost.
Sewaly flowers on the ground.
Carrying memories of the night.
Disheveled. Dismantled.
Me, myself, disoriented.
Again oriented. Lost.
Anchored.
Lost in my own self.
Line 3 Godavari: Name of a river in India, here an apartment in Delhi named after the river
Line 4 dupatta: Part of an Indian dress worn by women
Line 10 Sewaly: A small white flower that blooms at night and falls off at dawn
* - Translation of this page's title in Romanian provided by Maria S. Cohut