Ctrl+Z They give us Zand we give them ctrl+Z or cmd+Z ctrl-tZarbalanced by a clown cult of each personalityand therefore of none poems are quite mutecomplex meaningless empty because if the story then it’s bullshitbecause if allegory, then it’s nonsensebecause if hyperbole, then at once it’s a rocket and bomb emojibecause if understatement, then it…
From the Sonnets of Victory O the Almighty Judge, O Thou, the High!I humbly pray Thee: let the righteous win!And let the holy spear, so light and thin,Drive out the armored foes and make them fly! let the triumph of Thy host be nigh!Let on the hopeless brink a CherubinCome down from Heaven in the battle’s dinAnd make…
Such Love . Such love it is, a hot lump in your throat;It is without any halftones or relative meanings,Loved not half-heartedly but with the full sun and sea,It is loved hyacinth-like, violet-like, and unconditionally.It is so uncovered and raw, like an early morning,It is so striking that you can’t tell if it heals or…
And When I Made This Final Step. And when I made this final stepand fell into the deep pitmy friends stood all around meat the very edge and each was holding an assault riflecarved out of woodand a handful of soilwarm and dry and my pleading did not matter anymorebecause when the oldest one calledevery…
A Taste of War . At my favorite cafenow everything will havea strange taste.Coffee will be bitterfrom the tears of childrenfrom Bucha,and the cream will be saltyfrom Mariupol defenders’ blood.And the fragments of bombs,which broke Chernihiv and Kharkiv,will squeak on your teeth every time.At my favorite caféI’ll look back and won’t seethe familiar facesof relatives.In…
.#BuchaMassacre .there are bodiesbut no words no words noneonly bodies lying around what can those words do anywayagainst brute forceagainst their hatesuch that even wild beastsare incapable of itsuch that you don’t even knowto which kingdom to attribute these creaturescause biology has no such categoriesno dictionaries have any such words none no such words anywhereI…
An Alarm Rang Out in the Sky. An alarm rang out in the skyIn the basement, under the missiles’ noiseThe Baby’s mother collectscrumbs of biscuits from the floor.Over there, under the “Grad” fireAn ambulance rushes to the city,Shells fly into the house,Hand shakes nervously.And we still do not give up:At the front and in every…
Hate Speech. The language of hate grows from the chestwith heavy breathsbreaths of revengebreaths of justiceyour anger thickens the air, compresses enemy objectsmetal cracks explosions curl inward everything is real you wake up – and there’s nothing to breatheonly the space of hostility will be expanded againthe spacethat you’ll have to squeeze outbreath by breath…
Richard Modiano, a poet, artist, comrade, and native of Los Angeles, who served as Executive Director of Beyond Baroque Literary/Arts Center from 2010 to 2019, is a revered name. He was elected Vice President of the California State Poetry Society in 2019, and The Huffington Post named him as one of 200 people doing the…
Take an X-ray of the sun, you’ll find. a Rainier cherryat its yellow heart, fireskinned and ripe with reaching.But in the sunlesslush green mosses where the fruitis born, bucketfulsof sweetness only bring to mindvareniki s vishnami,cherry dumplings, made on a boardover the bathtubwe called a kitchen table. I watched my mama workflour deep into the…
Faith. There’s this great darknessin a world that we are suppose to callluminous,a place full of candles at nightburning brightbut only within their insignificant halos Sometimes we can see only some tiny portionsof itsometimes nothing at all… When you see a fireflyjust remember that we feel like thatmost of the time –lighting our journey to…
MY Father’s Basement . bare bulbstrung on a wirefrom the floor beam overheadcrawl space hiddenfrom the upstairs noiseilluminated like the backof a closet behind the clothes decayed leavesthe smell of warped woodbarely enough spacefor his rotting benchmy mother’s old pickle jarsarranged on two-by-fourscircling the cinder block each jar labeledby his craftsman’s handswith the permanenceof black…
