photo by Katrina Kiritharan

Writing Prompts by Alejandro Castro

The Readings of Counsel

A kid and an old scholar reading to and sharing perspectives with each other in a world of imagination, dignity, and philanthropy.

The Vicious Uncertainty

The unrequited love life of Jacob, a Jewish writer and Navy refugee living in western Syria, and Kareema, a young, beautiful, and enchanting 19 year-old Syrian girl.

The Neglected Bubble

An experienced and thoughtful lad whose conventions and mind are progressively corrupted in such a way that he believes silence is nothing, but judgment and patience are all. It is quite a catchy and volatile story. It may seem like the source for the development of new theories and philosophies, for the creation of responsible and cautiously inspired mayhem. Complications and unexplainable effects rewrite personal and communal destinies.

Fortamine: A forlorn experience

An underground world inveigled in drugs, sex and unparalleled vision. A world full of moral depravity, sadistic intention and acutely liberalized minds. It is intriguing and extemporaneous, and completely detached from the real and somewhat contented world.

Poem by Haizi translated by Yuze Sun

To London

Marx and Wittgenstein
Both came to London
One behind the other, to this hazy
island city
One imposing, the other concise
Both revolutionary and Jacobin
Both honestly poor
But both their smiles destroy
Hollow inside
Poor inside
Betraying themselves in language and currency
Isn't this what human life is all about?
Stones, stones, sell stones to buy stones
Exchange stones for stones
Sell stones and there are still stones left
Stones are still stones, humans are still humans


给伦敦

马克思、维特根施坦
　　
　　两个人，来到伦敦
　　
　　一前一后，来到这个大雾弥漫的
　　
　　岛国之城
　　
　　一个宏伟的人，一个简洁的人
　　
　　同样的革命和激进
　　
　　同样的一生清贫
　　
　　却带有同样一种摧毁性的笑容
　　
　　内心虚无
　　
　　内心贫困
　　
　　在货币和语言中出卖一生
　　
　　这还不是人类的一切啊！
　　
　　石头，石头，卖了石头买石头
　　
　　卖了石头换来石头
　　
　　卖了石头还有石头

石头还是石头，人类还是人类盲目


more Haizi translated by Yuze Sun

Poem by John Alter

Raven

As if, in an old house, there is a closet
which you open, almost by mistake

A raven, tall as a priest
and dressed in whatever clothes he could
find

in the closet, a suit from some other
century, black shoes polished
like mirrors,
gaudy suspenders,
a top hat

steps out

Without hesitation he creates
by opening his vast wings
a space large enough for the mountains
to form
the valleys
the farms with their many terraces
nomads and barking deer and the octave
owl

When his wings close again
when you are left with the glint of his
eyes
the perfect satire of his shoes
when the octave owl is still and the barking deer
lay down on pillows of new grass to sleep
the nomads crawl into the suburbs
terraces revert to forest

then
with a wink of his eye
and the tapping of his impeccable shoes
you are alone
on the rocky hill at sunrise
morning crows opening their wings to the dawn
like prayer flags

You pray, you sing a song, you fall in love

Uttaranchal

Poem by Curtis Bram

Trees Through Poetry

by Curtis Bram

Poem by Justin Charles

The Disaster

The disaster in Haiti took my heart away,
So many lives people will miss.
Thousands dead in one day.
Why has my god done this?

Cement buildings rumble to the floor,
Dust in the hot tropic air.
Lives will be knocking on heaven's door.
Every life lost I shed a tear.

Panic has spread,
People wait for news.
God knows where these people are headed.
I’m feeling so confused.

It was said that Christopher Columbus called Haiti paradise,
The smell of death makes people mourn.
To prosper again Haiti must make a sacrifice,
As the Neg Maron blows his horn.

English Journal 10 (1/10)

When most people think of Christmas, they think of times when they got the present they always wanted, or when they spent Christmas Eve with their whole family who put their differences aside and just loved each other. When I think of Christmas, I think of fights, anger and the drunken spill of inner thoughts that have built up throughout the year...

find the rest of 'The Best Christmas Ever,' by Michael R, in the downloadable pdf here.

It's part of the new English Journal, number 10, January 2010. Thanks for checking it out!

Poem by John Alter

Apricot

You left behind an apricot tree
in the garden outside a house in which
your bride is preparing for her guests
a simple meal of hand-rolled bread

some vegetables and relish made
from that same tree. They sit
on the verandah watching a monkey
climb and remembering, each

in his or her own way, what you
once were to each. It is early afternoon.
Down by the small river where you
walked a leopard is sleeping.

The leopard, the monkey, the bride
are dead. Only the small river lingers.

--for Eric and Sona Bailey

for more poems by John, click here.

Muttering haiku series #1 by Chris Clapis

About to pass out
I can’t believe I’m still up.
Homework is a bitch.


Holy shit. This day
Can only be described as:
Forever. Fuck this.


Happiness is not
As hard to find as people
Make it out to be.


What are you doing?
Stop counting on your fingers.
You suck at haikus.