Poet’s Instinct

I had a chance meeting with a quiet fellow

No, we did not meet
Didn’t even share a breath
Unsure if it was male, female or hermaphrodite
Still it was unlooked for
Rising in a predawn hour, ready for the bus
And because I’d played basketball a month earlier
I was stretching my calves
Because I’m out of shape, you see
I’d wanted to be a part of something with my daughter
So I trotted onto the court and hurt my Achilles tendon
Which led to much pain, a sore knee on the leg opposite, and ultimately
I hurt my other Achilles tendon in compensation
So I was stretching my calves and when I looked down

A morning bumbler trundling down the concrete from the bar

Sure there’s a bar nearby
But this was no Bukowskian character
Full of wine, a lust for legs, and classical music
Just a kind of creature in the morning
Either a woodlouse or a pill-millipede
Out of place in the dark
On a long stretch of dirty concrete
Not making its way to a rented room and afraid
Of the verbal or physical abuse of its spouse
Not hung over and probably not even thinking but
Looking for shelter or its next meal
So basically akin to myself, tired and waiting for a bus,
It was painful to think we had so much in common
Yet can never bridge the gap

So we parted understanding our similarities and better for it

I used to kill roly-poly bugs when I was a boy
Hungry for the crunch of them
Or to flick them like marbles, wait for them to uncurl
So I could get at their fragile undersides
Tear them open with a razor blade or set ants on them
Daub them in honey and watch the colony attack
Surround them with match sticks and make them a bonfire
The perverted liberties I took with their lives
And I’m not sad for it, I progressed perhaps
But I remember what I did and on the bus
Avoiding the eyes of my fellow commuters
Watching them prod at their cellular phones or try to wake up
I realized the sadistic child is still locked within me
Wondered what would happen if he ever came to the surface

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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Nadeem Qazilbash

So many similarities, between us humans, yet we do not feel one with our own. Ready to harm on a whim.


Dead Poets’ Society

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1959; was it? Oh! I thought it was 2000 … Welton Academy; was it? Or was it St. Xavier’s College? Todd Anderson or me? As I pen this furiously … My thoughts turning liquid I feel so lost … A