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Santosh Kalwar – WARRIOR OF LIGHT
NPB #27
out of print
Unknown Poet; Blind Shadow; Vessel of Life; My Soldier; Impatient Child; Nothing Ever Lasts; Warrior of Light; Welcome Christ; The Evening Was Lonely; Eternal Time.
UNKNOWN POET
He is alone in the corner of his home.
Thinking raindrops and thunderstorms,
Bloom,
Feels cold breeze touching his limbs,
His soul begs the means.
And the medium to express,
His deep rooted feelings.
The light of the lamp dances in slow moves.
He is expressing his feelings in second womb.
My curiosity asked his soul,
Why do you want to express in the language unknown?
He smelled the sense of urgency.
And told me that,
He has heart which can mend broken mirrors.
Unusual, unbreakable parts,
He thinks he will never depart.
He expresses his emotions better than mine.
His words are very difficult to rhyme.
Neither has he been published before,
Nor he makes any cries.
Finally, he smiled back at me,
I looked deeper into his secret eyes;
I heard voices saying, “Goodbye”.
Ross Vassilev – THE FURY OF SPARROWS
NPB #26
out of print
The Fury of Sparrows; The Fellini Poem; Eastern Europe; Hole; The Experience; Daisy;
A God for Teenage Hoods; Lost Souls, All of Us; She Harvested; The Demons Are Real.
THE EXPERIENCE
Jimi Hendrix warned
them that when the
Chinese commies
take Saigon they’ll
take Laos and
Cambodia too and
then the shit will
hit the fan
and he was right but
then the Vietnamese
wiped out the
Khmer Rouge over
the objections of
China and America
and other blacks
hated him for having
white people in his
band and for dating
a light brown
Puerto Rican girl
but then he took
some more LSD
and the purple haze
came on and made
everything alright.
A.J. Kaufmann – CUT-UP 2010
NPB #25
out of print
Devil-Killer; Hitchhike the stars; Engines; Weekday naiveté; Plum-full nightmares; Good sky; Thin eighteen; Coveralls; Pepsi Earth; The Shine; Great bicycles on river wheels;
Orion dusk and more; My Piano; Gramophone.
PEPSI EARTH
horizontal fragments of adventure
sour milk
urged blue
wood-and-fabric millions
distant harmonicas
somebody’s art
backroom
change, the fragile seed of space
sister of substance
brightening capsule
concessions the rare
simple vapor
moments
re-breathing omission and breeze
the planet grows boots
on little couples
tinted iconic
gasping the molecular night
dryly nuclear Moon
junk Pepsi Earth
A.J. Kaufmann – CIRCLES ON WINDS
NPB #24
out of print
My Rebirth (American Wings); Circles on Winds; The Feast; Blind Tiger; Exit Daylight; Couple.
MY REBIRTH (AMERICAN WINGS)
Drifting without measure
No point of return
Drifting slowly
Only to burn
Passing prisons
And nurseries of mind
Leaving cinders
Only to find
That it’s my rebirth
The American wings
That shine
And it’s my rebirth
The American wings
Sublime
I’ve seen it before
I’ve been one of you
The chains of control
The carnival fool
Falling through the theater
Watching the dogs
Applauding
Softly
Pleasing the gods
Finding lanterns
And houses of crime
Bathe in ashes
Of lovers divine
Lost in my rebirth
The American wings
That shine
Yeah it’s my rebirth
The American wings
Sublime
Wasted, traceless
Merged with the rain
River calling
My secret names
Lifetime written
In solitaire blue
Rotten eagles
Feast on the truth
And it’s my rebirth
The American wings
Of fools
Yeah it’s my rebirth
The American wings
Of fools…
I never believed in portraits of youth
Icons of freedom given as truth
I’ve seen it before
I’ve been one of you
The idol obscene
The carnival fool
Steve Calamars – AMERICAN VIOLENCE
NPB #23
out of print
A Duet; Erotic Asphyxiation; Either You Or Me; An Idiot’s Guide To Death; Early Riser; Gregarious Black 9mm; Trigger Happy; The Long Deep Stroke; A Smarter Martyr; Truth Is; Death Is Harmless; A Man of Beautiful Will.
GREGARIOUS BLACK 9MM
i stumble outta’
suicide doors with a
noose around my neck
and a smile on
my face
beneath my navy-blue
pea-coat sits a gregarious
black 9mm
who’ll talk your head off
and leave you with a warm
feeling inside your chest
she likes to get up close
and really make an impression
she’ll whisper in your
ear and have you weak
in the knees
begging her to bite her
tongue and not utter
another word—
David S. Pointer – BARGAINS
NPB #22
out of print
***; Love Lamp Burns Off; Lead Belly Talk; Foamy Footwear; Blazing Body Action; Dimebag; Jocko’s; Remembering Don Helms; Friend to Friend; Bargains.
LEAD BELLY TALK
1980, I enter the oldest
roadhouse in rural Georgia.
The barstools have been
rebuilt with old farm tractor
seats as Black Betty and
Midnight Special lure and
live on a wall mounted silver
jukebox with the local tavern
talk focusing on what Lead
Belly did, and what 1970′s
supergroups he influenced
when the barkeeps says he
kept singing his way out of
prison, but in the years
since past, I know Huddie
„Lead Belly” Ledbetter sang
us all deeper into the
experimental hub of draft
beer democracy 12 string
ringing a new turnaround
blues floating to future air.
A.J. Kaufmann – ANGELIC EGO FREAK-OUT
NPB #21
out of print
Angelic Ego Freak-Out; Land Your Machine; Animal Hands; Tiny Buddha; Eloi.
ANIMAL HANDS
(X-Berg, October 19 2008)
World servant on vacation… not my life at all
in reality, I have no body, this tiny veil of sanity
does not cover my bare, bloody bones… these bones
are there for you, to spit on their shade and move on
proceed to your notebooks and passions… it is no den
of comfort, no immortal item… no amulet
of the past or things continued… no miserable material
identifying my sovereign chemistry… I smoke too much
my soul needs fuel, I drink too much, my blind environment
bleeds for any comfort, shrooms are never Christ
the Light King, merely transitory demands for fiction
ingoing streams of disintegration, windows of bricks, satisfaction
in eternal exercise… in hearts and lines unknown, voids
and scents of electricity, poisoned crows stuffed with magic
she is clearly Death… broken breath link, faith substance
sighed, the principle view… she is Blake – circled, continual
sweeping of eyes, bourbon is never Christ, a carefully-arranged
dense reincarnation
in animal hands instead
A.J. Kaufmann – FIRST TEXT ONLY
NPB #20
out of print
L.A. Lover; One Blind Day; Brutal Powders; The Mystery of Christ; Unbroken Sun; Calm Down Your Dead; Environment; A New Mammal; Saint Lips on the Done; Vulture’s Wing.
L.A. LOVER
My little L.A. lover
Asleep in snow
Ended in air
Finding the birds
Playing the dawn
L.A.’s to blame
For the dust on her heart
Shade on her lips
Swollen locks
My muses are dying out
Watching the last ever sunset
From burning hills
Of winter
Holding each other’s hands
L.A.’s to blame
My friend
Michael Aaron Casares – GREEN TEA AMERICA
NPB #19
out of print
Circus Experience; First Thought; Red River; Severance; Jefferson In Chains;
The Angels Don’t Remember; Son Of Man.
CIRCUS EXPERIENCE
I did not know what to say,
standing on the harbor,
creating memories that
would never exist. The
sea moss scent sharp
yet pungent reminds me
of that day I see inside my
mind. Casting glances to
the ocean, the wave a
relentless ripple in the wake
of dawn on the horizon. Thick
sea breeze at your bay and nothing
more but solitude– a lack of
loneliness has never plagued me
but I keep this in perspective,
one’s need always relative to the
other’s.
The nonchalance of this
sing song circus experience defies me,
the primordial gypsy hatching among the weeds
is only significant to the human
experience, this road map only
useful to the discerning eyes of
conscious life, a value degenerated
by the necessity of selfish greed
and desire. The bloody pulp of
humanity has sat prostrate in its
mess for long enough, victims.
Self-assuming bomb-droppers,
confusing us by weighing in on
the issue, analyzing the words
and actions of every last politician–
changing the face of celebrity, true
motivations, vanity popular as greed,
and money showing its true worth:
nothing more valuable as pretend;
nothing more than another scheme
to make the world go round, nothing
like promising you everything and giving
you zip while you’ve been grinding away
at your millstone, picking your grapes
and your cherries, nothing but another
way to climb the ladder and justify
what you lack inside. I dare you,
dear brother, to drop the bomb because
we are no longer afraid of your nuclear
wrath.
The thunder is distant in our ears
(they have bled so much we cannot
hear). We have no senses, burned
our noses, plucked our eyes out,
made us blind to violence, made us
forget about our neighbors, made us
apathetic, about ourselves not even to
care.
Sing song circus dropping bombs
nonchalant, just a passing glance,
distant as the thunder, this memory
never to forget.
You can listen to Michael’s poem at our MySpace:
http://myspace.com/newpolishbeat
