The scream of the butterflies


This day undie now,
in the torrent fangtooth sun
it falls down.

After a decade of lying down,
my eyes opened
in my earth shaken house

that gets better.

I’m still alive and kicking.
Hurry up, I tell myself,
hurry to make it tonight, till the first crack of dawn.

My clouded brain is looking for the cause
even in my own guilt,
I bury myself deeper, don’t have someone else like Mengele to do it,

When in Singidunum I arrived searching for a foreign world,
I didn’t have in sight what was imagined,
but a fresh drop of blood down the leg
and an untrained word with no will be spoken.

They took everything from us
our square mandible,
our high brow,
our purple rainbows
our soon shaken houses.

Die die die die young
for the dragon poured water out of his mouth,
when the killers come to take you
when your word is blood and flame.

Are they coming yet to take me
rooted in the last morning of a bullet
the aim is to get me to the windowsill,
while sweat drips onto the dark maps
in my enraged skull and the ink spills.

Full of eyes both in front and in the back
through words and pictures
the tense mind opened,
through the heart, with the need to write
to cousins ​​of true love.

Out there, it’s a jelly-like day
(a glass-like eye)
out there, carrion crow, cavemen
in my sea shaken house
geese, stings and herons
into the night that has passed for days
at whatever speed
is crumbled God
at its peak.

Fears missed
as ours we voiced,
tears mist
has hours rejoiced.

Like peeling an apple and finding worms,
you cut a mouth into the apple,
you carve a grin a bit on the apple… like a toy,
only to have the perfect insect wiggle out.

Broken-winged horses they will fly and fall,
the hoof roars as the red rooster
blackened, sand stars
feverishly shaking looking around
through the magnifying glass,

of delusion in each intestine of imago’s body,
screaming on the inside
terror’s reign of the gut, nothing else,
as if sword-cut, the scream of the butterflies.

And yet another day’s rising sun
befalls my star’s rising light.

copyright by ©Leila Samarrai, 2019

edited by: Obinna Eruchie


Dark, deep and challenging spaces cut in white,
sharp flat does not only show random links
to the dark circles of Dante’s hell.
It is a hell of beings and languages,
a devastated wreckage,
death bypassing speech,
the newly born meaning that stops
the contest of the resistance and challenge,
a helpless page filled with dead bodies.
But I am not a corpse that never dies.

I’m dying a Roman! *character assassination 2

The highlight’s bright bare heels
is underneath
the pigskin.
Is pride rolling like wheels
in your brain’s sheath?
Will you spin
on the table on screens
of the safeguard,
confinement plum with means
to place wings barred
from air’s ring!?Judgement has to encounter those
whose feet have been walking astray;
to have drama ram them, dispose
their whole being on the same day.

Coal and smoke, tar sills quivering in rage
so big to us from the peasant suburbs;
a delay in morale, in a scarce age
the fury’s fist against the wall perturbs.

Like rats playing wheels with their snouts wide-jawed,
ragged railroader skin-tanned by the sun’s flames,
list to my voice that’s both flawless and flawed
and somewhere behind it a lot of names..

I live as a woman,
I’m dying a Roman!

POETIC PHOENIX,  Susan Joyner-Stumpf, dedicated this poem to – me.

(For Leila Mehdi)

Serbian Sage
Balkan Bia
Rise from the Tower of Babel
Where Shinar will again shine
Corner wings of words
To draw your sky-maps
Structures strong will crumble
Around you
But so your Goddess-breath
Shall hold the fortitudes
From crushing such effervescence
Be your own storm
That reeks the sadness
From your heart of all
Those dirty fingers lifted
Out of boneless minds.

In the Sun’s wavering array
Discover new arrows
To pierce virgin Dawns
Not allowing subterranean suits
To steal such humble attire.

You have made your mark
Upon the shifting sand dunes
Of hypocrisy and odium
Cleansed evil eyes of
Their predatory, loathing lure.

Madness is a gift you favor
In intangible realms of
Poetic dovetails ~ ~

We choose our blades wisely,
Those of us who write to
Sustain our ever blood flow.

Poetic Phoenix ~

Do you not already scrape the sky, the stars,
With Soul’s misty flavor?

Taste of Life’s emptiness but, so too,
Drink from the cup of all you have
Given, thus!!!!


Bia IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY; Bia was a minor goddess of the Greek pantheon; Bia being the personification of might and compulsion.

Copyright ©Susan Joyner-Stumpf 2019®

* No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*

Graphic designed/created by sonnetwolf designz© Copyright © Susan Joyner-Stumpf ®

No part of this Graphic Artist Image created by me below may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the Artist.

(¸¸.•*¨)¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)


This is an amazing gift from the incredible, magical poetess, Susan Joyner-Stumpf who dedicated a poem – to me – POETIC PHOENIX
I am so honoured – Phoenix is an extraordinary symbol of resurrection and immortality.
The word Phoenix derives from Greek, it means- red blood.
seeing me as a Phoenix, forever rising from the ashes, a melodious voice that gets sad as it approaches death., but is not it easy for everyone to get over this sad voice when the bird fall dead if the bird fells in beauty and sadness?

Always rising again.
And again.

…a bird of flame, living a lonely life in a distant land, coming to a region inhabited by people only when ready to die, having the ability to heal and rise, impossible to be destroyed.
You, Egypt, lying on the altar of the sun, in Heliopolis, wait for my old ashes for this poem is so good to revive a dead man, Thank you so much, Susan Joyner-Stumpf! I am deeply touched.
and I shall always rise again.
And again.


Dark Eros

You are here again,
observing, waiting within me…
brutal eye

„Turn around“

You arrive
In nudeness
Of a black seam

„Begone, pensiveness ! Leave the red lace
and a ducat to the mourner for the last blues.”

But, behold!

You and I challenge each other
For thirty six years
With pride we welcome the morning
In fornication.

If I would to eat you, sharp ear!
And devoured the hood
If I would… sharpen your dagger
And your spade, Lady, kiss in the darkness
I could with you –with a bullet to the forehead!
Into the creak of the sky

For There and Here
For Now and Never
With a clap and colors
In cold hue

In the womb of a casket, laid and pale
To shine with you in moonlight.