LAUREL LEAVES POETRY


Monthly Poetry Magazine



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POET AND POEMS OF THE MONTH

BRIDGET EU YOKE LIN




Read the Poems


poetandpoemsofthemonth

FEBRUARY 2016


aliznaidi

MR. ALI ZNAIDI

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 –aliznaidi.blogspot.com and follow him on Twitter @AliZnaidi.

 

 

SELECTED POEMS

 

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


nightingale.

 

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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


again.

 

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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.

 

 

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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

 

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The Next Netflix

 


If rain doesn’t fall, then why not consider


lightning?

 


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.

 

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