November 17, 2020

“Your Rising Moon,” Poetry and Photos by Jon Meyer

“Your Rising Moon,” Poetry and Photos by Jon Meyer

Editor’s Note: We present the poetry and photos of Jon Meyer, paired together as he has done in his book, Love Poems from New England: reflections on states of mind and states of heart. This excerpt is reprinted with the permission of Brilliant Light Publishing, L3C. Copyright © 2020 by Jon Meyer. All Rights Reserved.  *** Jon Meyer‘s previous book “LOVE POEMS FROM VERMONT: reflections on an inner and outer state” has won these awards: Reader Views Choice: Best National Poetry Book 2019/2020 Best Regional Book 2019/2020 Best Northeast Book 2019/2020 2nd Place Travel/ Nature 2019/2020 Next Generation  International Indie Book Awards: Finalist: Poetry 2019/2020 Finalist: Gift/ Specialty 2019/2020  This is his first feature on The Fictional Café.

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November 11, 2020

“Teddy Levine,” Poems by Robert Cooperman

“Teddy Levine,” Poems by Robert Cooperman

Teddy Levine, on Line to Buy Girl Scout Cookies, Outside the Wild Weed Dispensary:  Denver    “The Girl Scouts of Colorado have decided it’s now cool to peddle their baked goods    outside marijuana dispensaries.” —The Denver Post    Jesus-freakin’-Christ,  this woman’s taking all day,  can’t make up her mind,  so she’s demanding free   samples of every variety.    The girls behind the table  roll their eyes, but afraid   to tell her to screw off,  so the scout leader informs her,   with a smile tight as a dolphin’s   rear end in a rip tide,    “I’m so sorry; we can’t   break open boxes.”  Madam Entitled stalks off  as if a butcher had tried   to pass off gristle for T-bone.    Finally, it’s my turn!  But I forget what I want,  the kids snickering  like I’m already stoned,  which, I confess, I am, a little.    I point, while the ounce   in my pocket gets hot   as a fired .45 on old TV westerns,  when cowboys rode off  into the sunset, free as mustangs,   and schoolmarms waved goodbye  and tried not…

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November 9, 2020

“Barry and the Trumpet,” A Short Story by Nancy Kissam

“Barry and the Trumpet,” A Short Story by Nancy Kissam

Barry always wanted to play the trumpet.  Sure, he was a lemur and that made his dream a bit more of a challenge, but he had faith in himself.  “Listen,” Barry thought, “if I could peel a mango in an hour, I can certainly learn to play the trumpet.  How hard could it be?”  As it turns out, pretty hard.  Barry had a sister.  Actually, he had twelve sisters if you counted his nine half-sisters.  Lemur dads were not known for sticking with one partner, not that his mom cared one wit about it.  “Good riddance,” she once told Barry.  “That guy got on my last nerve.  Did you know he’d constantly accuse me of going out at night?  ‘Of course I go out at night, I’m nocturnal. Ya dummy.’”    Barry’s sister, Colleen, always tried to encourage Barry.  If he was inclined to hang from…

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November 3, 2020

“Black Oranges,” Poetry by Mbizo Chirasha

“Black Oranges,” Poetry by Mbizo Chirasha

BLACK ORANGES  Xenophobia my son  I hear a murmur in the streets  A babble of adjoining markets  Your conscience itching with guiltiness like  Genital leprosy  Your wide eyes are cups where tears never fall  When they fall the storm wash down bullet drainsand garbage cities  ii)  Come nomzano with your whisper to drown,  Blood scent stinking the rainbow altar.  Darfur, petals of blood spreading,  Perfume of death choking slum nostrils  Slums laden with acrid smell of mud and  Debris smelling like fresh dungs heaps  Fear scrawling like lizards on Darfur skin  Kibera. I see you scratching your mind like ragged linen  Smelling the breath of slums and diesel fumes  The smoke puffing out through ghetto ruins is the fire dousing the emblem of the state  iii)  Belly of Zambezi ache with crocodile and fish  Villages piled like heaps of potatoes against the flank…

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October 26, 2020

“Baba Yaga” — Poetry by Raquel Dionísio Abrantes

“Baba Yaga” — Poetry by Raquel Dionísio Abrantes

Baba Yaga    He needs to learn to respect your no;  He needs to learn to hear your yes.  If he does not let him go;   You do not want a vile head on your chest.    Unleash your Baba Yaga, the one  Who leaves scars.  You will rise from the red-hot sun  And no one can tear you apart.    Believe me;  You are ready to forge your throne.  In you there are the seven seas  Beneath your growing skin of stone.     Your Perseus Face    Dream after dream you split my  Soul like a glass of rum.  I spend the night by the bed,  Restless, seeing your Perseus face.  But I do not have Medusa’s head  Nor any body to offer you.   You are a man in the shadow  Of a lost fire. How many times  Have you seen the…

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