Homecoming Song

Nothing’s facing you anymore
Nothing
No reason
No dream
No lips
No soul

Every river is changing into marshes of sky
Every sky is filled with sleep
Every day just feeds on the wild roots of mangrove
A deep breath is all you need now to cut between
You and the groans of life

Nothing’s facing you anymore
No sea
No lighthouse
No glances of your foundered past

You have come to the place

A deep breath is all you have now to cut between
You and the garden of lemon trees

Debasis Mukhopadhyay grew up in Calcutta, India, and now lives in Montreal, Canada. He has a PhD in literary studies from Université Laval and extensive experience in language teaching and translation. He writes poetry in both Bengali & English. His debut collection of poetry in Bengali was published in 2005. Debasis’s recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Snapping Twig, Silver Birch Press, Of/with, and elsewhere.

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White

A bright morning. Broken boats, torn sails, & morasses hiding the green dampness of earth. The river carrying the sky, the sky blinded with its own illusion to float along the river. Snow geese testing the cold water as they waddle slowly into it. Birds think of songs between the insects’ weeping. He is there, but he is not there. Nowhere. She is there & wishes she was here, there. Anywhere? Nowhere? Naked branches sway, obeying the book of breeze. Yet cotton to bloom, leaves to open their green eyes before they turn red in fall. What are these gales of equinox, dark thoughts, dark eyes, anvil desires, masks of merry-go-round? Words unchain themselves & jumbled up in a nonsense state of mind. Knife that sleeps, dream that writhes…burning pupae yet eyes full of larvae waiting for their metamorphosis…water rustles, a hungry shadow refuses to be called fugitive in the cocooning mind. A laughter breaks & falls into pieces mirroring the bright sky, the void of blue. You there? No, no, not there, here, here-now. The bridge shines having to shine on nothing new but for the lonely fogs. Whistling steamer, music fades away, footsteps choke the words as their banks bathe in the sun. What’s there to write? Write me a moon. No, I can’t, every time I try it turns out to be a zero that does not brim over. Then write me a bull if blood is the name of the endeared passion. The morning moves without retreating its brightness. Noon comes as the white page turns whiter.

Debasis Mukhopadhyay grew up in Calcutta, India, and now lives in Montreal, Canada. He has a PhD in literary studies from Université Laval and extensive experience in language teaching and translation. He writes poetry in both Bengali & English. His debut collection of poetry in Bengali was published in 2005. Debasis’s recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Snapping Twig, Silver Birch Press, Of/with, and elsewhere.

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The renegade evening

After Kafka’s The Trial

Tell me the last line, she says and turns the page. A page turn, a page blank, memories and scars dot you as spearmint leaves. To stand against the gelid stone wall waiting for…Oh, run, run, run, there’s still time, the hands are not yet on your throat. The renegade evening is dappled so gold. Yet when the moon comes, at such a time, the last line, she says, tell me the last line, will you, and turns the page.

A free page, a flight of hundred leagues, just you for you, strings smiling across what your life holds as jarred. How you wish to be there again, yet faces bubble up with eye holes, moonlight pours in as in novels, and your bare body’s leaning against the cold stone wall, forever. Does fear alone pervade you? Thick on the ground, the renegade evening, will last longer than your everything unsaid. And at such a time to see the moon shimmering on a brumal blade – a brief whisper cleaves the wind, not there, not there, no treasure of life, blood has stopped in the heart – the fish knife to slit open a voice, yet no voice, just rustling pages, blank pages, false pages, pages, pages, pages, tell me the last line, she says, like a dog, like a dog, I say and I say again and then turn the page.

Debasis Mukhopadhyay grew up in Calcutta, India, and now lives in Montreal, Canada. He has a PhD in literary studies from Université Laval and extensive experience in language teaching and translation. He writes poetry in both Bengali & English. His debut collection of poetry in Bengali was published in 2005. Debasis’s recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Snapping Twig, Silver Birch Press, Of/with, and elsewhere.

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A happy poem

about desertion
and hypocrisy, it was.
Finally, a happy poem, she says,
her eyes crinkled in a smile.

My workshop mates groaned,
although a few of them had
remarked more or less the same.

I had been a poet for less than nine months,
and I had yet to workshop a sentimental piece
about some lost love,
some childhood play place or
some lost pet or friend.
No, I chose to pull them into
my bottomless cauldron of
sales clerks prostituting for commissions,
pretentious people airing their tortured souls
for art, among other things,
but nothing pretty or happy
until now,
or,
at least not as biting as the others she had seen.

When the groaners ask what is so
happy about an affluent man who
after criticizing the local crowd, finds
himself stuck in a dirty
cafe after dark in an unknown town,
she stays by her word,
asks me for a copy to keep,
before folding it into a square
she can keep in her pocket.

Jennifer Smith lives in Eagle River, Alaska, with her husband and young daughter. As well as an interest in writing, she also holds a master’s degree in international relations. Her most recent publication is “The Syrian Dilemma: Moscow’s Motives and Strategic Interests in the Syrian Uprising.”

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Articulation this darkness

this land of modified mirrors

this flavor of generative oscillations

this implication of manic magnetic opening

this section of obligatory splays

 

                                                            then, when seeing
                                                            alters toward how the
                                                            eye invests stigmatic
                                                            adrenaline, an unfastening
                                                            occurs, hour-moved ambulatory
                                                            investment, a becoming of transferred
                                                            weight, a diligence of antonymic
                                                            exposure to the body’s evidence of
                                                            need

Felino A. Soriano is a poet documenting coöccurrences. His poetic language stems from exterior motivation of jazz music and the belief in language’s unconstrained devotion to broaden understanding. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net anthologies. Recent poetry collections include Forms, migrating, Of isolated limning, Mathematics, Espials, watching what invents perception, and Of these voices. He edits the online journal, Of/with: journal of immanent renditions. He lives in California with his wife and family and is a director of supported living and independent living programs providing supports to adults with developmental disabilities. Visit http://www.felinoasoriano.info for more information.

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Of

song: :of relational intuition

, trumpet pageantry: an unfold of green into an exalted coeval freedom

, piano circumstance: leveling of myriad compositions—radial blessings

, drums incorporation: blurring splash absorption personal reawakening

song: :of sustained echoing mathematics

Felino A. Soriano is a poet documenting coöccurrences. His poetic language stems from exterior motivation of jazz music and the belief in language’s unconstrained devotion to broaden understanding. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net anthologies. Recent poetry collections include Forms, migrating, Of isolated limning, Mathematics, Espials, watching what invents perception, and Of these voices. He edits the online journal, Of/with: journal of immanent renditions. He lives in California with his wife and family and is a director of supported living and independent living programs providing supports to adults with developmental disabilities. Visit http://www.felinoasoriano.info for more information.

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Is

the word is
   r e l e v a n t

each spoken version, curtailed interpretation
            a
diligent act in proclaiming the tongue’s
knowing is a predetermined

centering on

not knowing

beyond the peripheral
verdict
            language exhumes

from forgotten timelines                        hallways                        paths

needing friction of movement’s
oscillating forays

of
   examining knowledge’s ingratiatory culture

Felino A. Soriano is a poet documenting coöccurrences. His poetic language stems from exterior motivation of jazz music and the belief in language’s unconstrained devotion to broaden understanding. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net anthologies. Recent poetry collections include Forms, migrating, Of isolated limning, Mathematics, Espials, watching what invents perception, and Of these voices. He edits the online journal, Of/with: journal of immanent renditions. He lives in California with his wife and family and is a director of supported living and independent living programs providing supports to adults with developmental disabilities. Visit http://www.felinoasoriano.info for more information.

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