WOKE UP THINKING ABOUT THE PEOPLE OF UKRAINE

by Bunkong Tuon

Lightning lit up the night sky

Thunder crashing the world.

My bedroom walls shook.

Windows felt like they were about to explode.

And my foundation crumbled.

I was again back in the jungles.

The fighting happened mostly at night.

The moon hid behind the smoke and branches.

Trees stood still. Everything was quiet but the sounds

Of rifles and rocket launchers and the screaming 

Streaming out of the mouths of children and parents.

There are no winners and losers in war.

There are only civilians who didn’t ask for any of it.

Bunkong Tuon is a Cambodian-American writer and critic. He is the author of three poetry collections and a chapbook. His prose and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in New York Quarterly, Copper Nickel, Lowell Review, Massachusetts Review, The American Journal of Poetry, carte blanche, among others. He teaches at Union College, in Schenectady, NY.

THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS

by T R Poulson

I wish all emergencies could take place like this:

a theater in the city, stage guns made of rubber

and metal to withstand so many drops and hits

in rehearsals, forgotten lines and flubbers.

The line: I am not throwing away my shot,

as the killer creeps in—Lord show me how

to say no to this—that flutter, why not

here among the songs? The heartbeat now

slows, the patron falls, as Aaron Burr’s pistol

pops. Dying is easy, young man, living

is harder. It plays out as in a crystal

ball. Gun! No prayers, thoughts, forgiving

this time. If only hearts could always feast

on rhymes, as the attack of living lurks, looms,

the gunman a mere actor, a ghost deceased

long ago. I want to be in the room 

where it happens, where everything is just

musical, where lights give me an eyeful,

where words spoken, though fiction, I trust,

and paper walls surround non-shooting rifles.

T R Poulson lives in San Carlos, California.  Her work has appeared previously in TheNewVerse.News, as well as in Rattle’s Poets Respond, Verdad, J Journal, and others.  She enjoys basketball, windsurfing, and going to plays, including a recent performance of Hamilton in San Francisco, which took place the day before the performance in which there was a false shooter alarm.

MEMORIAL

by Eric A. Weil

Image source: WN / Sayali Santosh Kadam

Twenty acres of cabbages
ranked in military green,
harvest coming soon.
My nostrils twitch
with that raw-earth smell,
and I think
of soldiers’ helmets
on rifle stocks
standing between
pairs of boots
in the sand.


Eric A. Weil lives and teaches in Elizabeth City, NC.  This poem is from a series tying the landscape and wildlife of eastern NC to an inescapable weariness about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Eric has published two chapbooks, A Horse at the Hirshhorn and Returning from Mars.