Shawn L Bird -Insomnia
Palestinian by Ibrahim Nasrallah
New poem by Palestinian poet Ibrahim Nasrallah
Palestinian
I was silent and nothing came of it.
I spoke and nothing came of it.
I cursed, I apologized, and nothing came of it.
I was busy, I pretended to be busy…and nothing.
…
I prayed until, like a prophet, I became a verse in a holy book,
I rowed until I reached hell,
I beseeched and begged …and nothing.
I raged, I calmed, I remembered what was once distant,
and I forgot what was always close.
I befriended a monster, and I fought a monster.
I died young and sometimes survived.
In both times, I grew old from all that I had seen,
but nothing came of it.
I charged, I withdrew,
I fought the wind when it blew,
And reconciled with the waves when I rose and raged.
Among the horses my heart was a horse,
in the night my heart was a night,
and nothing came of it.
I ate, I hungered, I vomited, and nothing came of it.
I embraced my shadow, and I chastised it and then I chastised myself.
I greeted a woman lost in the streets.
I fought with a man and his smile nearby,
and with a bird that sang briefly in the garden,
and nothing came of it.
I closed all the windows in my house and opened them.
I wrote words on death when it is merciful,
death when it is futile,
death when it is hell,
death when it is the only way…at last,
death when it is gentle and light,
death when it is heavy and dark,
and nothing came of it.
I wrote about the river and the sea, about tomorrow and the sun,
and nothing came of it.
I wrote about oppression and depravity – purity too.
I slept without a bite of bread.
I dreamt without dreams.
I woke up not missing my hands or feet or reflection in the mirror
or the thing I call my soul.
I died and lived. I lit myself on fire. I put myself out with my own ashes,
and nothing came of it.
I am all these elements, O God: fire, earth, wind, and water.
Their fifth is a pain that blind songs can’t see, their sixth is this immense
loneliness, and their seventh, since my slaughter, is blood.
When I burned, I inhabited the letters of my free name like a butterfly:
P A L E S T I N E
When my roof was suddenly blown off into the sky and with it a wall, a window,
and the youngest of my children,
I gathered myself in the G and the A and the Z and the A.
I became GAZA.
A thousand warplanes circled and hit me. I collapsed and collapsed again,
and then rose in a scream. I called out, but nothing came of it.
Nothing came of it.
Nothing came of it.
I lost faith and believed, lost faith and believed again,
and lost faith and believed and…
nothing came of it,
nothing came of it.
And the filthy world asks me:
All this…what of it?
Translated by Huda Fakhreddine (March 24, 2024)
No Holding Back
Carnalverse
Joseph Campbell, Power of Myth
The brilliant work of Joseph Campbell revealed in a PBS documentary series from 1988
Through the six episodes it looks at the hero’s journey the myth and archetype which we see in novels , screenplays , graphic novels , vertical film etc it transcends all and encompasses all including religion .
It is what defines as a human or for that matter any creature can go on a heroic quest just look at the output of Disney
For me I write horror , thrillers and drama all of which utilise elements of the journey from rebirth salvation even death
Watch these it explains it all in Joseph Campbell way and style and without him Star Wars would never of happened
Weights and Measures
coil of perseverance
knotted inside him
a heavy laden spiral
that left such awful taste
on aspirational tongue
that he wanted to yell
fuck it
punch the wall
surrender in a spitting
fury of insolence,
you can go so far
and not achieve,
tiptoe to branches
of succulent fruit
so far out of reach,
ripe already
already oozing juice,
yet denied
only by himself
he the accuser
a mirror reflection,
an older face
eyes drawn in
face gaining tracks
that indicated a growing
age,
day to day
be it a lazy sun
baking the ground
to a honeycomb,
or pouring with rain
so that tailights
became angry beyond
a thudded windshield,
nothing more
Poems Neglected
waxed not lyrical
words on piss stained paper
forgotten once in a drawer
now on the street
unfed unread unwed
by bands of gold
to the pen
that milky inky scrawl
from the tainted brain
without tethers to reality
cranial accents
remembering innocence
that evaporated
with Kentucky liquor
forgive me I ask
no response
curled in spite
forged pages
now resilient
to my charms
Watermelons – Chris Lawrence
the watermelon
fresh vibrant
resists the heat
the pressure
you are seeds
within a rind
a border
that can be broken
life unwanted
shadows must be
carved into the earth
they keep coming
in the name
of reclamation
yet bring tears
and forge resilience
the watermelon
flesh so sweet
natures own nurture
tendrils in the grain
of sand and earth
so deep
the watermelon
with patience
will survive
fertile fed upon
the milk
of the sun
sliced so red
yet will not bleed
tasting so sweet
bring me
the watermelon
and I will
bring you
hope
البطيخ
طازجة نابضة بالحياة
يقاوم الحرارة
الضغط
أنت بذور
داخل القشرة
الحدود
التي يمكن كسرها
الحياة غير المرغوب فيها
يجب أن تكون الظلال
منحوتة في الأرض
استمروا في القدوم
باسم
من الاستصلاح
ومع ذلك تجلب الدموع
وصياغة المرونة
البطيخ
اللحم حلو جدا
الطبيعة تنشئتها
المحلاق في الحبوب
من الرمال والأرض
عميق جدا
البطيخ
مع الصبر
سوف البقاء على قيد الحياة
خصبة تتغذى عليها
الحليب
من الشمس
شرائح حمراء جدا
ومع ذلك لن ينزف
تذوق حلو جدا
آتني
البطيخ
وسوف
آتي لك ب
يأمل
albitiykh
tazajat nabidat bialhayaa
yuqawim alharara
aldaght
‘ant budhur
dakhil alqishra
alhudud
alati yumkin kasruha
alhayaat ghayr almarghub fiha
yajib ‘an takun alzilal
manhutat fi al’ard
aistamaruu fi alqudum
biasm
min alaistislah
wamae dhalik tajlib aldumue
wasiaghat almuruna
albitiykh
allahm hulw jidana
altabieat tanshiatuha
almihlaq fi alhubub
min alrimal wal’ard
eamiq jidana
albitiykh
mae alsabr
sawf albaqa’ ealaa qayd alhayaa
khisbat tataghadhaa ealayha
alhalib
min alshams
sharayih hamra’ jidana
wamae dhalik lan yunzif
tadhawaq hulw jidana
atni
albitiykh
wasawf
ati lak b
yamal
האבטיח
תוססת רעננה
מתנגד לחום
הלחץ
אתם זרעים
בתוך קליפה
גבול
שאפשר לשבור
חיים לא רצויים
צללים חייבים להיות
חצוב באדמה
הם ממשיכים להגיע
בשם
של הטבה
ובכל זאת מביאים דמעות
ולגבש חוסן
האבטיח
בשר כל כך מתוק
טיפוח הטבע עצמו
קנוקנות בתבואה
של חול ואדמה
כל כך עמוק
האבטיח
עם סבלנות
ישרוד
פורה ניזון ממנו
החלב
של השמש
פרוס כל כך אדום
ובכל זאת לא ידמם
טעם כל כך מתוק
תביא לי
האבטיח
ואני
להביא אותך
לְקַווֹת
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