Gay Pride is raised, and Dixie’s down.
The Kenyan king inside his House
has it lit to reflect his crown.
Ms. Jenner’s teats swell in her blouse.
Tag: Leo Yankevich
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Three pamphlets in which he spared none
do not diminish my esteem.
Rats in a stable are not horses.
(How well he knew their beady eyes,
steaming sewers and twisted knives!)The pamphlets are medals on his chest,
pearls of truth upon his canon,
while the gnawed brown beams of Europe
crumble in the metro slums
and France relents once more, and burns. -
May 5, 2015 Leo Yankevich
“Grey Wolves” & “Hedgehog”
Grey Wolves
At midnight they descend the hill,
(fur and flesh caught between their teeth),
howling at the moon and stars,
delighting in the knee-deep snow,
and in the purity of the pack,
while the wise red fox hunts alone.28 April 2015 (more…)
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April 29, 2015 Leo Yankevich
“Lazarus” & “Karpatia”
Lazarus
I came back, the wind whistling in my ear,
dove on my elbow, crow on my torn cuff,
but I could not remember; the long lost year
having left the hourglass like the lovethat sifted through my hands less able now.
Dry mouth my only friend and fiercest foe,
I wobbled past each flowering branch and bough,
neuropathy on fire from sole to toe. -
737 words
Robert Vas Dias, London Cityscape Sijo (Perdika Press, 2012)
Darius Victor Snieckus, The Slow Wheel (Paekakariki Press, 2012)
Kate Foley, A Fox Assisted Cure (Shoestring Press, 2012)
Wynn Wheldon, Tiny Disturbances (Acumen Publications, 2012)
Piotr Gwiazda, Messages (Pond Road Press, 2012) (more…)
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Deep from head to toe
into the second sleep,
sister to the crow,
she does not hear me weep.A continent away,
a sky and ocean apart,
I am her last born stray,
I with my leaky heart. (more…) -
116 words
How bitter to abandon the King Tiger,
long 88 pointed toward the blackened sky;
to flee west for three days in the spring snow
from the T34s of the Red Army;
to toss the Luger, and wave the white flag,
a riddled rag mocked by the grinning victors;
to receive a rifle butt to the jaw
and not a bar of Hershey’s Chocolate;
to wake, with a headache, to a small breakfast
of mud and grass, a cup of yellow piss;
to struggle to hold up a brother in arms,
captured in newsreels that taunt to this day;
to turn your collar toward the camp of saints,
condemned to bear the whips and scorns of time. -
145 words
Tarn Catfish
When viewed from the grey bridge above
they are black submarines that wait
to be refueled. Each collared dove
is their tanked diesel, the sandy shore
of the green isle their pastel plate.With gaping mouths they drag them down
to the bone yards of pike and bass,
to the cold water, deep and brown,
then they release them at the door
between the clouds that pass and pass.
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During last year’s Counter-Currents Summer Fundraiser, a number of our writers issued statements of support. They are just as valid now as then, so we are reprinting them here. (more…)
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October 29, 2014 Leo Yankevich
What They Found
“The dead came back from Jerusalem,
where they found not what they sought.”
—Carl Jung, Seven Sermons to the Dead, Sermon I, 1916Beneath a leaden sky:
street merchants peddling wares,
old harlots exposing breasts,
grimaces and stares,
rats, flies and other pests. -
Some lie alone on carts,
while others who are new,
wait stacked up on the floor.
For you see: there’s a queue
inside the Donetsk morgue.Death masks and private parts
here are processed and tagged,
cadavers on display,
mere torsos, arms and legs,
mouths open, nothing to say. (more…) -
August 25, 2014 Leo Yankevich
BUK Near Donetsk
Beside the fields of rye and flax
there is a road that leads to birches,
pocked with dark puddles and tank tracks,
above which no white dove perches.Green men pray to another Christ,
a Fulcrum falling overhead,
a saviour or a poltergeist,
the sun behind it, fierce and red. -
August 13, 2014 Leo Yankevich
Why Wars Happen, Beings on Earth Die