Single malt/ single file one mash/ one glass all you are/ wooden laughing at your stillness loving your silk and ash sipping on your sweet sass you say— life is a blast then bottle it up slow and steady studying— the tasting notes long/ fast/ smooth/ strong no need to linger/ fingering round and round on the tip of your tongue.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by YesMore Content on Unsplash
do you think me a blotted sky with no moon, sun or eyes? do you find my words a soft breeze in double-speak? I had this amazing memory of once loving you before a scream of questions pelted my mind like eyes boring alien-holes penetration deep-space-black lasered by nines forward into the backspaces of lost time.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash
The nebulous atmosphere sifts through a black hole/ dissipates escapes without a glance/ nod/ or an adjustment to the cause of humanity no one cares about it/ no one notices it no change in pressure exists/ upon the lighting of day nor the pending dark/ of night. I thumb through pages of past mentions and accolades/ unencumbered by the chatter and wince at the sight of myself in the mirror— what has become of me? what has become of me? meaning—what has become of me in the sense that I look unsteady/ unsure not in the sense of dishevelment that’s a given I care less for— in fact/ proud of it’s less relevant than the scattered thoughts and projects littering this floor collecting dust/ it’s nebulous.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
The decrepit shallowness we live with day in and day out dictated by a calendar with hallmark bullshit mapped out stealing lineage/ history/ in bits doled out in porridge bowls for misfits/ who live in doggery— think less of themselves than dogs care to consider given into a story of we know better we trod on in misery/ some shiny moments of bliss/ marked on a calendar/ for next year we fold it up/ carry ourselves to post mark it for good times/ celebrations if we have anybody left who cares or wants to pretend it’s a new day/ same as last year— we carry on/ we throw parties/ we throw our lives away.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Xuan Nguyen on Unsplash
sometimes when I’m sitting here writing and staring I get stuck and can’t move— time has no pace space has no time the night became day day became night the numbing of my seat tingles and shocks my back my mind is struck awe-struck by night lost to day— spun into a dream and spilled like milk the black fleck of type peppers the page and I iiiii….I sputter away….
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Hannah Wei on Unsplash
When things seem too stagnant and the world too difficult, ponds and rivers and streams don’t flow, and words and music and lyrics don’t rhyme or reason, a note to fret, a sound delivered of logic or heaven. The negating and the infantile unleash like wild beasts, as the population mounts their ego’s deceased. Humanity pins their faces to walls of social-media accounts and digital digitizing, replaces their hearts and dislodges their brains, and the lovely old lady down the street spews hate, and your neighbors nice family lacks that familiar repose, as you contemplate, how the man over-there, doesn’t show you his cool collection of vintage cars anymore. No more can you claim your humanity next to someone you knew as friend, as they, unrelentingly bash your good name for play.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Elia Pellegrini on Unsplash
As hearings begin tonight, I am reminded of this poem I wrote, after witnessing that crazy event. Don’t know where this will all lead, maybe nowhere, we shall see… but it is worth the time to hear the evidence and progress.
UNBELIEVABLE was written on Coup Day—a reminder to January 6, I can’t unsee…
I have no words
Today
I’m spent, exhausted
Merely from
A viewing
On my screen
A coup… read more
Photo by little plant on Unsplash
I saw a fireball fall from the sky in slow motion low-hanging above treetops hovering like a headlight on a motorbike stuck on brights mode zoomed real close then fizzled out in a black ashen stream of thin air— poof gone into nothingness! Not there. That’s when it became real clear I just witnessed a ball of light falling/ in control/ it seemed— unreal. A falling star controlled by hands unseen— a meteor ship sent from a distant galaxy of our outermost stream of consciousness. A marvel jetted through our atmosphere like Thor raging down from heaven’s door.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Mindaugas Vitkus on Unsplash
LIVING IN THIS WORLD TODAY first appeared on this blog March 5, 2021. I’ve reposted again as the horrid events in this country, and around the world, leave me in a bit of a bummer and stupor today.
living in this world today to wonder
about and pray of not dying
the living live in constant death
and of love and of fear intertwined
like a ball of yarn spun then dropped
in dismay.
living in this world today to ponder
away the life given in love and lust
and sometimes in rage, doped up
by the news bitten from hate.
living in this world today to squander
the love born yesterday to strangle
the innocence of nuance and play.
living in this world today to blunder
the blessing of angels and saints who
deliver from evil the human decay
‘a life worth living’ is what they say
however you cut it, don’t piss it away.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
it all became a thwart towards space throttling, hurtling, scurrying debris a shock wave felt across the world I cross my eyes to see the strange light emanating from the clouds and rearrange my thoughts to match the pace of this new phenom entering from above I shiver and recollect, the same as the day you pummeled your fist into my jaw— and I lost all of my humanity as it was forced into a hyper-reality I live that moment, every moment on end, moment of that moment on end, to that moment on end— to this day.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
My poem RAW WAR has been included in the new release, Issue 23 Spring 2022, of Door Is A Jar Literary Magazine. “Door is a Jar is a print and digital literary magazine of poetry, short fiction, nonfiction, drama and artwork. Our publication focuses on writing that is accessible for all readers.”
Here is a link to the magazine on Amazon.
Paperback: Amazon
Ebook:
Here is the list of Authors:
Tony Abbott
Madinah Jolaade Abdulsemiu
Rashmi Agrawal
Shannon Barbour
Mark Belair
Allyn Bernkopf
Robert Beveridge
Karen Boissonneault-Gauthier
James Bone
S. T. Brant
Corrinne Brumby
Charles K. Carter
R.T. Castleberry
Linda M. Crate
Gail Denham
Sarah Ferris
Sharon Goldberg
Phil Goldstein
KJ Hannah Greenberg
Steven Anthony George
Joe Gianotti
John Grey
Joel Harris
Phil Huffy
Olivia Ivings
Mark Jackley
Meghan Kemp-Gee
Jeffery Letterly
Kalyn Livernois
J.C Mari
Corey Mesler
Coery Miller
Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Cyndy Muscatel
Brontë Pearson
Robert Pegel
Scarlett Peterson
Vincent Antonio Rendoni
Kevin A. Risner
Matthew Schultz
Claire Scott
Beatriz Seeleander
Nora Smith
Gina Stratos
Edward Michael Supranowicz
w v sutra
Mary Grace van der Kroef
Alexandra Williams
Bill Wolak
Fran Zell
NOMINATED #poetry by jay
— Read on artistfromtheinsideout.wordpress.com/2022/05/26/nominated-poetry-by-jay/
Deadline for voting on my Spotlight on writers Interview for publication of the month @Spillwords Press is tomorrow. If you have already stopped and put in your votes, I thank you for very much for the support. And I thank Spillwords for the nomination of my publication and their continuing support of my work.
Okay, I’m game! Looks like I’ve been nominated for Publication of the Month for my Spotlight on Writers interview at Spillwords Press. I would welcome your vote very much, if you find my Spotlight worthy of your vote, as I am pleased to be included in this nomination alongside many other great authors. And, Apparently, registering is quick and painless, as told by someone who voted already.
*Please note, you need to register and/or login to vote.*
Dear writers,
We want to congratulate you all, as your pieces have been nominated due to Popular Demand for Publication of The Month of May!
You can vote here: https://spillwords.com/vote/
Voting will cease on 5/29 and soon after we will reveal the winner.
The world outside is non-existent until I step out the door and ignite the visions— the planets follow my every move— start/stop/start/stop—they circle then drop at hyper-speed— into the pit that’s my gut / circling the drain of past thought lived moments circumvent a new existence / at breakneck speed / a vacuum plunges a dark void a black star burns bright black / if possible // yes possible // shoots past my intestines / wrenching itself around some vague future dream / held in / geometric patterns / in the sky / lit by shattered fragments / of quasar matter gobbling matter / in chunks and bits / no matter exists at all—theory that such matter exists // exists in blips // time travel sends me reeling / skeeter-skittering / teetering on the brink no space or time exists / outside these walls doors creak open / blowing in the dark.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Heshan Perera on Unsplash
MAY 22, 2022 — Today, International Prize for Arabic Fiction chair of judges Shukri Mabkhout announced that Mohamed Alnaas was the prize’s 2022 …
Five to Celebrate International Prize for Arabic Fiction Winner Mohamed Alnaas
I’ve got a sad story to tell those people who have tied themselves to the lie known as the “Great Replacement theory” … the replacement has already …
The Real “Great Replacement” Already Happened — Filosofa’s Word — Barbara Crane Navarro
I have no collection of poems or tiny messages wrapped in wax paper / delivered by little gnomes I see no fortunes ahead / in miniature globes with snow handed to little fingers with pointy wedged toes and there are no fancy delights ringing in our dreams of sugar plum scenes / nonsense to lessen the pain of No! I cannot deliver magic and abundance on twinkle twinkle little star without acknowledging the loss / the tragedy / the sorrow that lands on our door / cleaving open the closed / bitten heart of denial reigning pain / on our cities and towns / onward they march as we cower / we clamor we collide in the streets / the thrumming of the New Year threatens / assaults / our confidence lost in the dreams / some believed / some not / some scurry in doubt / and some— some retreat.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by olia danilevich
My poem THE WRETCH, was originally published on Lucy’s blog, PSEUDOPSYCHOSIS
( formerly known as, Lucy’s Works: A Little Writing Workshop of Horrors ) on June 20, 2021.
Of sin Of abhorrence Of bent and, Of broken. In the dry bough wooden and drifting. Pretenses and pickled mouth Besieged by...( Read more )
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Don’t beg me to enlighten and entertain that intellectual old man who was your professor, or may well have been on his bike pedal/ peddling/ mingling on your stoop charming you to listen to his worldly knowledge and the reading of his little book on astrology and moons. He once gave you a reading typed on rice paper cut, bound and glued, a tiny thumb-book gifted— as clever as his bifocal laughter and 3 speed peddler/ tooting his horn for your glamor and youth. Who made him the boss of you?
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Brett Sayles
