Monthly Poetry Magazine

Read the Poems



Read the Poems





Ali Znaidi (b.1977) lives in Redeyef, Tunisia. He is the author of several chapbooks, including Experimental Ruminations (Fowlpox Press, 2012), Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems (Origami Poems Project, 2012), Bye, Donna Summer! (Fowlpox Press, 2014), and Taste of the Edge (Kind of a Hurricane Press, 2014). For more details you can visit his blog at – and follow him on Twitter @AliZnaidi.





Thorns Will Burn


You think you don’t live in trauma? Think again!

You are always on the edge like a broken violin.

Although you are trembling, you can coerce the wildest desert of fear.

Did you see those thirsty lizards & how they followed the trail of the nomads?

You can trace a line in the vastness of the desert.

You can follow the path of freedom despite the thorns of cacti.

Thorns will burn without the sun & the agents of evil will burn without fire.

Bury your trauma under the dust! Don’t swallow your wrath & fury!

Look at this child playing the broken violin with a small bamboo reed!

You can live in the riddle of fear, but this is just a temporary exile.

The storm is approaching & the lightning will pierce the sky,

but freedom is just being uploaded in the people’s chests.

Silence is a calamity. So silence it with your wrath & fury!

Don’t mourn the fall of birds! Rather, sing their fluttering wings!

It’s time to play the (broken) violin… Sweet, sweet like the chirp of the





Words for Rebellion


Antiphons, anthologized.

Antelope, elopement.

A line of ants, discipline.

And from this picture,

anti-climax. This eucalyptus tree:

Life, sap. We might grasp.

Rebellion. Leaves, leaf, falling.

Rain, then rainbow. Rogue sun.

Melting redness, lipstick.

Kiss: a song against silent lips.

Words for rebellion need to bloom





On Beauty


A bird unto itself, the weaving

of a theorem.

The beak releases a cascade

of tunes. {Ringtones.}

Sonorous tunes were glorified atop the vivid twig.

They expel the reverberations

of the screams of birth. Mirth, a

jolly algorithm.

There’s so much the rhythm can carry.

—These tunes pour heaven into the ears.

These tunes remove dirt from the earwax.

These tunes can even transplant that missing part

of van Gogh’s ear.





Of Memory & Light


clinging to new shades of light

is something akin to photographing a cathartic sun

brilliance of beams

easily evades the camera

the architecture of light puddles

is a maze

dark bodies in an attic

glittering thru the trapdoor

light is an ember burning

inside an intertwined bush

it is best to benefit from shades of it

like a human memory

we cannot get access to the whole of it

we only access some faint tinctures




The Next Netflix


If rain doesn’t fall, then why not consider



Why not consider thunder?

As they may eradicate the curse that infested our skies,

the cacophonous roars demolish all fantasies.

Although the battle in my mind is still going on,

why not consider those roars?

The dystopian spells

of the imagined rain showers are dying away.

Those cranky utopian theories are about to ferment.

But, nothing holds when the rainbow begins casting

its mesmerizing spells on people.

So why not consider the rainbow?

Its colours

would otherwise become the next Netflix.