POETRY

                                                            DEVIL'S HORNS

                                                            Frank Criscenti

                                                             

I am stuck on the devil's horns

heading toward selfishness, 

fallen angels,

and other sinful kinds.

I'm cast off

sailing to the songs of the sirens.

All I ever cared about 

drifts away,

and if this is love

it must be madness.

I turn to liquid

and trickle off my raft,

slipping into blue waters.

Above the sky is split

with banshee shrieks,

and glimpses of the fires of hell.

I see your face in the sudden glare.

You wear 

an indifferent smile,

that is the unkindest wound of all.

I am miles and miles from home

and have lost my way.

ORACULAR LOVE

Con Valenzuela

 a magic spell
now shaping to forever

potion for the heart
love plus more love

initial perplexity 
has become divine

first a big puzzle
now clearer through time

it's You i've been looking for

no more voodoo...

this is real...oh my!!

TIPTOEING HEART

Con Valenzuela

watch me glide
in your ground

I slither
making sense out of my emotions

I scramble
with my tensed aura

I creep in your world
but with all smiles

I wriggle
squeezing my heart in your imprudent brain

I lurk
I sneak
I squirm

I tiptoe...

Small Bottles

Richard Barr

When I was young

and cloaked in disobedience

I armed myself with the weaponry of a poet



Small bottles of venom 

sprung from Thoreau’s cabin

“Never Mind the Bullocks”

I Seek God

Frank Criscenti

I seek God
in the treetops.

In the rising of wood smoke.
Upon the farthest star
that lights up a winter's night.

I turn over rocks
in the stream beds
searching for
signs of heaven-sent
that may wriggle from my grasp.

I seek God
where we imagine shiny things,
and where shiny things exist,
in earth and sky and fire.
He exists in eyes 
and lips
and wombs.
In barren fields
and hidden folds.

I seek God
in a palm full of mud 
that masks five white glistening pebbles.

I seek God
and hold
hope to you
in a grimy hand.
I reach
and seek to touch.

TAKE ME

Con Valenzuela

take me in your arms

hold me tight

kiss me with your eyes closed

lose control

just let go

let your heart speak to me

through the movement 

of your soul

I have wild imaginings 

my most vulnerable moment

I see you..there you are

take me 

take me now...

IF ONLY (for Mama)

Con Valenzuela

If only my tears can cure you
you would have been totally healed

If only my tears can prolong your life on earth
you would have lived perpetually

If only my solitary tears can touch your soul
and assure you of how much I love you

... I would have never stopped crying

                

30.01.2016

To the Unmourned

Emilia Frinculeasa

When we grow old

We become either poems or myths.

We should never become chrystal tears

or broken pieces of heaven

or prospects of ignorant bliss.

Were we not true to our own souls,

to the choices we had

and the chances we missed,

We’d regret more, 
we'd forget the last 
instead of the least

and remember its tragic core.

If it were just for me, 

In times like these

of constant sorrow 
(but such due grief)

the seeds of doubt would replace only

the sour fruit of deceit

and they would feel, 
without filling,

its most fragrant void.

One last pledge be made, 

one solemn truth to admit
and be told

I once passed an olive branch to a man

then let the sun go down

on his faith 

and maybe his love,

after promising him the moon. 

I am sure what they say is all real

that the healing was in his pain

like some whispers are 
in the summer wind

So the echoes I’d hear

Were the fears we’d breathed'n before

And they weren’t in vain.

You see, as youngsters 
there's
this 
tendency

to rush into dead ends.

And as we grow older,

We promise ourselves we shall be poetry

and that we shall remember the white of the snow,

those walks against those crimson-red sunsets

that measured our heartrate

and hope we shall cherish

the hours we don’t regret.

Let’s say it together- youandme

before we are too old!!!

As long as we both shall live

We are two revenants without sin,

Two mourners a half-lifetime away, 
the unbaptised stars above

and maybe a gentle morning breeze

guiding us both into oblivion.

--------------------------------------------------------------- 
Illumination

Heather Camps

Thousands of miles-
Spanning distance and time.
Separated by reality,
But tethered intangibly,
In this space between...
Where does it live?
How does it survive?
Created by an idea,
Supported by a notion,
Fed by a feeling-
That as these messages appear...
You are there,
I am here,
And the space between dissolves,
Intertwined together by invisible ties,
That glow and chime and notify.

My Ghost

Frank Criscenti

He stands,

my ghost stands

on the summit.

He is neither of this world,

nor the next.

One side of this mountain

is covered with redwood, pines, and ferns.

The other side

is weeds and wind-blown grasses,

tumbling into the Pacific.

The ghost throws

light and shadows,

negative space.

He howls and shrieks

plaintive and clear.

Only God or love

can flesh him out.

I can't.

He is a million souls

all parts of his own self.

He loves and doesn't love.

Tells the truth and lies.

Succeeds and fails.

The wind scatters

the atoms of him across the world,

until some little part of the ghost

perhaps

touches you.

MISTLETOE

Con Valenzuela

No! I refuse to kiss you
just because tradition said so
just because it's Christmas

I was devastated
the pain persists
each time you glance at meno more kisses
no mistletoe
no you...in me

ME and I

Con Valenzuela

the solitary air
accepts my admonition
never to look back

pain awaits a lonesome lover
the torment of softly killing a memory
that lasted almost a lifetime

in a box full of love and pain
a new life is waiting to be tapped
i am there

seemingly waiting for someone
then I fully realized
there is no one

just me and I..

Quicksilver Love

FrankCriscenti

Love rolls like quicksilver in the palm,

it easily slips through your fingers

leaving traces of unseen

(toxic)

substance.

Ah, love.

Indeed, madness

as sure as Van Gogh's visions.

Love painted into little rooms

or flung among the stars.

Madness in conception.

It makes little sense in this modern world

of binary patterns

where 10=2.

The idea of camping outside

your would-be lover's door

has become passe.

Dangerous.

Obsessive.

Moments so sweet they hurt the teeth.

Passions' poison ink for Shakespeare's pen.

Love aches and trembles and bleeds and speaks.

Dark Poem

Con Valenzuela

dark spirits
dying voices echo
in the unholy corner of my mind.

graveyard forbidden romance
fiery touch
full moon made them one.

Satan's cloak
never to touch
the perpetual fire awaits you. 

Blood


Frank Criscenti

The blood is taken 
just above the breast 
near the heart.

I can feel the shiver 
and the pulse 
then pierced, the stream of life is ingested.

We love. 
Love comes in shades of red warm and bittersweet.

• Emily Skye
  A way
  
  Pane held firm no turning
  Ram it! Shattered glass
  bleeds crazy paving
  
  Fierce wind forcing
  Stone dry dropped at water’s edge
  cups hands, then sees
  
  No turning
  punches through refracted image
  forced forwards and away

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nothing Left To Feel

Catherine DeWolf

Ecstasy and pain succumbed 
as numb mumbles 
replace howls 

of horror;
tears and joyous laughter.

Death of feelings 
protecting the shallow shell 
of the soul that 
saw, heard, felt, lived 
too long - reeling.

Now, limbo's welcome gray 
as the needle evens 
every score 
one more time 
perhaps two.

Time has come,

expiration date

due.

---------------------------------------

Pumpkin Trash
Mark Smith

.Porches in my neighborhood

all adorned with pumpkins,

fancy pumpkins,

of all colors and sizes.

People don't carve their pumpkins

much, anymore, not in posh neighborhoods,

dressing them in wigs,

gluing on ears,

arms, noses, eyes,

entire pumpkin families,

preferring to have them

last the season.

I love this trend.

I can pull unblemished,

gorgeous pumpkins

from the trash

and transform them

into luscious pumpkin mash.

My snotty sister,

when she found out

my pumpkin source,

said she'd never eat

a trash pumpkin,

no way, no how.

When she's upset,

it's like she's having a cow.

So I tell her that her pie

is made with canned,

so she doesn't have me banned

from Thanksgiving.

And it's not a lie.

Trash canned.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

I COULD NOT FIND MY TEARS

Con Valenzuela

 I could not find my tears 

I lost it in the same moment

 that moment when you left... 

  after I have loved you forever

 

FOREVERMORE

Con Valenzuela

perpetual destiny
changed hues in my world
rain showcased your magic
memories causing a rebirth

the night gave a promise
brushed heaven on my cheeks
sky revealed your haunting smile
brought you closer to my fate

longer than forever
you may hold my hand
you may give me warmth
you can make me yours

until the next lifetime

Christmas Nightmare

by Emilia Frinculeasa

http://therealvirtuality.blogspot.ro/

A

day,

each year,

all ears can hear

the merry jingle bells.

The evergreen of X-mas carols

and too familiar “ho-ho-ho” chuckles

cheerfully escort the reindeer-drawn sledge.

Tonight, I hear

that old man Santa Claus,

is the most wanted around here!

His law breaking counts trespassing,

bribe-taking and down-the-chimney break-in;

Attempted blackmail makes his criminal charges list:

to get his presents, kids have been good and obedient

the whole of the 2014 year.

Witnesses report scones and some milk

have strangely been missing from their kitchens;

While others defend his activity and say he’s no criminal,

only  a generous mind-reader who knows what gifts to bring.

Next year, don't you fear that

with Santa Claus and his reindeer in prison

presents will have to be beamed from the North Pole

under
the

virtual

 fir-trees?

---------------- 

Christmas Breeze

Con Valenzuela

The Christmas breeze is deceitful
It brought your name so swiftly
my sensitive heart was moved again
may it vanish the next moment
before the next drop of tear
I pretended to be deaf
to the whisper of your name
but the gentle air has gone astray
it has put my heart back in vain

----------------

POETRY

Rae Desmond Jones was born in the Australian mining town of Broken Hill, & is descended from a long line of miners and farmers. He left school at 13 and worked in a number of manual jobs in steelworks and factories before going to a university at 29. He published his first volume of poetry at about the same time, and became well known for his capacity to state use simple language to struggle with morally complex issues. His poem The Deadshits (The Mad Vibe, Saturday Centre Press, 1975) was set to music and sung, and was banned for distribution because of its alleged pornography. In opposition to the overdevelopment of the suburb of Summer Hill in inner Western Sydney, he became a local Government politician and became the Mayor of Ashfield for several years. He is mostly retired, but continues to write poetry. 



VI

alone with her mirror,
            too much pancake & lipstick.

in the empty hairdresser’s shop a girl
            watches me pass.

an image glowers back to front, left to right
            insolent eyes, unruly hair.

her eyes are dark & should be beautiful:
            what causes her to hate me?

she is no body to me as I walk on,
           hand in hand with the dead.



VII

without your imagined prescience
            the unlocked gate claps in the wind.

in a universe emptied of meaning
           Suns collide against the iron walls of time.

how the storm beats the roof,
            cars creep by – wombats in the mist.

each month i have lost a friend,
            this is the time of winnowing.

above the clouds i conjure my harvest -
            the light, the darkness & the stars.
--------------------------------------------

LOVE GHOST
Con Valenzuela

I’m a love ghost
I will come to embrace your loneliness
You will be wrapped in my warmth

I will gently brush my tender lips in your cheeks
so I can see you blush in your solitary times

I will creep into your soul
and your body will smoke with love

a cool mist fragrance is my love scent
I will haunt you with it
it will lead to your sleepless nights

I’ll make you imagine pure love
which after all
may just be a fantasy

I’m a heart maniac
I’m all heart and soul
and more

I am just a ghost
a figment of your romantic imaginings

I may be a ghost
but in a brief moment
I can love you

-------------------

Age of Darkness
By  Phil Gutierrez

Then “fall Caesar”!
Now, outside the gates howl wolves reborn
in woods and forests deep and dark,
ruins and runes, smoke and fumes,
witches brooms, bats and cats, fat rats,
Black Death befalls us all.
Woe be unto you, the enemy is here,

lock the door, hit the floor, banshees shriek for more!

Pax Romana, Charlemagne, El Cid the Lord
and Richard Lion Heart, gone.
Replaced by Vikings, Huns and Turks,
pushed on by the Golden Horde!
Only Vlad, Impaler-Count, Defender of the Faith,
Lord of Darkness, Prince of Death, Drinker of the Blood,
Reigns amidst the flames and stakes and castle keeps
Where ravens quote and toads do creep,
amongst the ignorance and evil things,
which thrive on superstitious fear.

Urged on by bishop priests theocracy, whose canon law
In Latin spins the minds and souls of simple folk,
who walk the broken roads of old in Celtic woods
with creeping toads, howling wolves and
banshees shriek, warnings at the vampire’s feet:
The Anti-Christ is near!

Why fell Caesar?

Only the dead shall know, it seems.

--------------------------------

Two Poems by Marko Henry

SHRUNKEN Heads 

I culled the shrunken heads,

dangling leads in this EEE! scape,

this graveyard of scatterings,

past matterings,

momentous grains of sand,

accumulating mounds

burying me

endlessly.

We're all mummies entombed

with our entourage and puppy dogs,

our kitties and goldfish,

showing our permission slips

that promise us

easy access

to Heaven.

I stumbled upon one head still talking,

with sense to keep walking,

with mouse in hand like Lenny

we rolled along,

my merry throng,

and we were all one,

less friendlessly.

SMALL Town LOVE 

Small town love in this small, dry land

runs quick like water through desert sand.

Swirls into constellations, like dirt Devils up to the stars.

Dribbles in condensation down the back windows of parked cars.

Small town love can lead to raucous celebration,

an entire season of elation,

bring out the most bitter disappointment,

put all noses out of a-joint-ment. You never saw such a beast

as when the small town whore hooked up with the small town priest. 

Small town love is sold in the stores with the liniment and fishing lures.

For what has more power to entice our druthers

than the small town intrigues of small town lovers.

Its inception is inhaled in huge carpish sips,

and its rejection is expelled in tight streams through pursed lips.

Did you hear? Did you hear?

All small townies breathe the same fetid air

and dig in the same dirt they all have to share.

So small town lovers learn to exercise love cautiously back to back,

and keep their eyes opened for a blind-side attack.

Small town love is a brutal lesson in stealth

because in small town love your business ain't just your business,

in small town love your business is your health.

And in the end, when push comes to shove,

all the world is a buzz of small-town love.

------------------------------------------------------------

A Ghost Story

(A True Story)

John Black

We approached ancient Warriston Church.

Long high wall and narrow pavement,
On a clear, cold, October morning.

The old man looked happy and at ease.
A smile on his wrinkled face,
suggesting contentment with his lot.

He emerged through the graveyard entrance
twenty metres in front of us,
nodded, and ambled slowly away.

When we reached the entrance to the church
The gate, was closed and padlocked.
And, looking back, the old man was gone.

I recall contentment on his face
And wonder what keeps him here.
On lonely vigil in Warriston.

----------------------

Seeing - with One eye. 

Gael Bage

I elect to hold your gaze,
with a doe's eye, a soft focus.
A secret door swings open
inviting me into your heart.

Our eyes have questions
there are no words to frame
loves eyes hold to promises
there is no need to name .

Eyes are ripples of emotion
successive reflections of mind

Mirroring each unique souls
journey to find their divinity

where my eyes are your eyes
and your eyes become mine
One heart opens, vulnerable,
between us there are no secrets .

The infinite, demands exacting
vision, the objectivity in nature
bores into the soul to discover
the naked truth of our reality.

See and be seen in transparency
death of ego is birth for liberty
a sacrifice that finds the unique
expression to divine our life .

As nature, we sow the seeds
of perspective, cool objectivity,
neither critical nor flattering,
simply how it is, with clarity

Then when the world's soul
joins with man's unique soul -
it becomes the "all-seeing eye"
divine unity shares - One eye .

----------------------------------------

Old School Creed
Emilia Frinculeasa

She believed
in returning to innocence,
in walking together hand-in-hand,
in expecting the unexpected
and the smooth run of musical notes.
She believed,
Come rain or shine,
poets could use the same words
and painters - the same colors-
On the same cloud nine.
She believed
in sharing everything,
in solemnly taking moon-descending vows,
in the pen being mightier than the sword,
in carrying the sins of the past
and borrowing the virtues of tomorrow
inside a border-free world.
She believed love had no meaning
Until your soulmate was born.

--------------------------- 
Trial (Thank you Ms. Gael)
by Con Valenzuela

You may try to stare at my soulful eyes
They would sparkle when you’re near

You may try to hold my hand
and I will lock it for a time
I might even make you my captive in this lifetime

You may try to stroke my shiny hair
That would tickle me
make me smile endlessly

You may try to give me sweet kisses
That would make my day

But If you try to love me forever…

That would me scare me away!

Forever is a dream
A dream for those who choose to believe
This is mere poetry… Halt the fantasy!

There’s no you and me
It’s all a tease baby…

------------------

Heart for Sale
by Con Valenzuela

it’s drumming
it’s authentic
ever alive

like a fist wrapped in blood
my center
my madness
my sadness
my isolation in a crowd
my pure love
nobody knows I’m here
I’m telling the world
my love ain’t free
I feel sincerely
love truly
from this moment on I’ll take a risk
to advertise my heart in exchange of a possible real love
My ads would read :
“ Buy my One True Heart, Take All my Love”
--------------------------- 
Poem: Zero
Erica Loberg

ZERO!

Without my writing 
What do I have 

Zero means to handle reality 
Zero means to breath 
Zero means to survive 

Zero 
Zero 
Zero. 

The number zero is empty 
It's not a positive 
Or a negative 
Number. 

It's plain. 

Thank God I have a number 
To jump up to 
Or fall under 
And never into 
----------------------------

Sunflower

Amanda Edwards

I open out to you
draw in
those last long rays
thirsting
for your light; your love.

My seed glows gold
beating
for you my love
in half tempo
rhythmn and blues.

I stalk you
through the passage of time
imprint
your memory 
before you fade and die.

I make
my final bow to you
curl around my emptiness
and cry.

-------------- 

In Anticipation of Strawberries... 
by Gael Bage

It's heart shape and red colour, 
a symbol of Venus the Goddess 
of love. I anticipate berry 

burst on my tastebuds.White five 
petalled flowers with proud centres 
form a golden promise, portent 

of perfection to come. A fragrant 
sweet juiciness and deep red blush, 
a lover's aphrodisiac. Legend 

says, if you find a strawberry 
twinned , break it in two , share 
half with someone you fancy. 

Eros will aim true - l'amour finds 
both of you. Eat the lush fruit naked 
or dressed with sugar and cream.
-------------------------------------


It's a Weird Thing
Erica Loberg

It’s a weird thing

To open your mail and find an email attached to a name
That you once obsessed about
Over
And over
And over
And you have no feeling
Not like the no feelings
Which is a feeling
To not have an opinion.
But it was nothing. Ah…
Not even an okay.

After deep tormenting obsession
With your call
Your not call
And I call you
And you answer
Or don’t.

After all that sex
I loved so much
And
Didn’t have to
Come to love
But loved it
In the morning
And night
And after
That.

And there was nothing
No dirty sensitive stem
Bursting out of my heart
No sick dizzy feelings
Trampling across the brain
In estranged dust.

Just nothing.

What was a possible more than something
For me
And never for you
Tangled my heart
Forever and more.

It’s a weird thing
Looking at a name on an email
And stopping for a second
To say I don’t know a him
Who?

A moment of wonder
What?
And even now I write
With no ardent penetrating killing painful
No feelings.

It’s a weird thing.

--------------------------------

Love’s Journey
Denise C. Buschmann
Their betrayal was more painful
than the tubes

sticking in and out of you,
draining your gall bladder’s poisons
into a bucket at the foot of your bed.
The doctors said Monday night it had to be removed,
You indicated you wanted the operation.
Your sons refused.
You knew then, what they'd done,
why they’d insisted: we need to be your guardians.
You lay there dying, barely able to speak,
in that diaper and you knew.
You'd signed your death warrant.

Saturday, six nights later, you sent me a message from the hospital,
"Tell her I love her,"
if anything Heckle and Jeckle said, can be believed,
who kept secret your condition until it was too late,
who picked my bones and harried my mind for three years
after you died, with their schemes and lies,
but I tend to believe you did say it.
I can hear you saying it.

As I packed my bag for my flight that night,
I recalled our last conversation.
I’d called you on a lark two weeks earlier.
The last thing you said to me,
I'd apologized about something,
"Oh, you're all right."
I heard a softness
in your voice I hadn't heard since Mama left you,
and I, away at college.

No one will ever know
the outcome if you’d had the operation,
but two things are clear:
They denied you
your last chance to live
and your love for me?
That! they will never steal.

I love you, Daddy!

-----------------------

Box of Tears

Con Valenzuela

my tears have tales and hues 

like sea water in my soul that overflowed 

sweet chronicles that tapped my sensitivity 

a vortex to my myriad thoughts and feelings 

Man Ray

carefree tears for the brief touching moments 

my tears give me power and honor 

I am a vulnerable heroine all my own 

I cry victorious tears when my heart learns to let go 

proposes farewell to the pain of long ago 

to a love that was not love after all 

I cry for Dominic who is my joy 

I cry for my family who is hardly ever there 

I cry for my passion for work 

I cry for the few friends who never left me 

I cry for my imaginary lifetime partner 

I cry because it saves me from further madness 

I cry for the dream of going to heaven after death 

I cry for the hope that my tears will set me free 

each night I check on my box of tears 

and kiss it with a heartfelt prayer

Arlington National Cemetery
Bruce Humphrey

Sit; listen to the silence.
Sit; listen to the valor.

Rest, and listen to the whisper of the wind.

The wind carries the message.
The message is honor.
Honor is remembrance.

The past bristles with dignity.
Dignity flourishes with strength and courage.
Sons, daughters, husbands and wives, forever rest in a sea of grace.

Tears flow, salutes are crisp and rigid.
Valor and honor is laid to rest.
Alone they are not, forgotten they are not.

We stand beside them and bow our heads.
We sit next to them and look skyward.
We love, we respect, and we humble ourselves in their presence.

The thunder of silence echoes through the hills.
The silence of a passing, the thunder of valor is remembered.
Unknowns they are not, forever being in our hearts.

The wind carries the whisper.
Whispers carry the message.
The message is the silence of respect.

Sit; listen to the silence.
Sit; listen to the valor.
Rest, and listen to the whisper of the wind.

--------------------------------------------------

IS DAY THE BEGINNING OF NIGHT 

Irshad Ullah-Khan

Is day the beginning of night
Or night the beginning of day
Is death the beginning of life
Or life the beginning of death
Then stay the time of life
A little longer my God
And leave us to play by Your seashore
For our time with You encompasses
Night and day and is eternal.

----------------------------- 

Coffee in the Garden

Gael Bage

Spring is too beautiful to ignore
she commands my rapt attention
The sunlight highlights new buds

and bounces off star-like celandine.
It polishes a sheen on the lanceolate 
leaves of greater periwinkle, whose 
flowers might easily have dropped 
out of the sky they are so blue.

Spring is a symphony of bird song .
The cockerel struts and crows over 
and over, above the soft coo of doves 
and a pair of blackbirds sweet notes . 
Indian runners quack splash and dabble
in the pond, and from the woodland 
a spotted woodpeckers rat tat ta tat,
in contrast gifts a rapid percussion.


though the roses are not yet in flower
their new red shoots hold the promise
of natures power. Rosettes of leaves
cup pale primroses, and daffodils nod 
in the breeze, this morning's so bright 
it makes me sneeze. The female dove 
is being a tease, her ardent mate takes 
no nonsense and mounts her with ease.

----------------------------------------------

Especially at night

Irina Proshakova

Modigliani

No dreamy chance for me to be your story,

Because your heart is always occupied 

By other girl. And I am very sorry

About it. Especially at night.

No dreamy chance for me to hold your mind

To catch your main ideas on the hook,

Two separated presents are defined.

And other face...it can arrest your look,

No dreamy chance...I am the one, who losses

One of the rounds of important fight.

But don't forget that I don't need excuses. 

They are uncalled, especially at night.

-------------------------------------------------

The Dating Game

Arny Hjaltadottir

Do not dare to be yourself, they say,

Man Ray

If you want to catch a man today.

Play the game of cat and mouse,

The rules are established for the house.

Traditionally he plays at being the “boss”,

Pursuing her for that first “koss”. *

But, if she gives too much, too fast

He turns his back on her at last.

For she is not worthy of his love

If she can not be a pure white dove.

Should you be a woman with any needs,

You better root them out, like bad weeds.

Pretend you are not too interested in him.

For, if you do, you are liable to win,

Your way into his heart and soul.

And isn’t that supposed to be your goal?

So be all woman, soft and cuddly,

If you desire to have Lord Dudley.

The man who was held at bay

By Queen Elizabeth for many a day.

*kiss

---------------------

My Chair
Carol Grover

It is winged
with carved claw feet
a comfortable indented seat

where I can hide
surrounded by
familiar faded tapestry

belaboring
the words and rhyme
invading my befuddled mind

hopeful
there are a few folks who
may embrace my point of view.

Man Ray

Man Ray
---------------------------------

“GIRL” 

Donna Sorah

I came into this world
A mixed blessing
Cast in stone
Emotions all a swirl
Tiny little thing
All alone

“Girl” was my first name
For six weeks
Everyone unsure
Live will never be the same
My mother weeps
She’s insecure

No husband at her bedside 

The family full of shame
Everyone seems torn
This “Girl” now they can’t hide
Suppose she’ll need a name
An identity sworn

So we’ll figure it out together
We’ll raise her well
Leave this town
Through every kind of weather
Who knew it would be hell
With pain all around

My existence the reminder
Of events in time
You can’t forget
The future is no kinder
Outcast life mine
Forever set

I came into this world
Wanted or not
The “Girl”
What brought me spoiled
By hatred so hot
Your pearl

I thought I was unworthy
Of a good life
Of love
My confidence not sturdy
Existing in strife
Everyone else above

So now I move toward freedom
All of your shame
Left behind
You lost but I have won
We are not the same
True love I will find 

------------------------------

'PUNCH LINE'

Darice Strickland

A sense of humor

is a must-have emotion.

It's the frivolous foam

on the beach of an ocean.

Bubbles and lace,

Slithering grace

...to and fro

Then eruptions

of a volcano's calm.

The loosening of fingers

..from a fisted palm

..opening the heart

as a caressing balm,

Softening the crust.

Yielding as the lust

of a loin unleashed.

A burst of peace

to a haunted soul

Rising from the empty

of a bottomless hole

A fresh in the stale.

A drop in a pail

hanging from the pump

Giving life til the bale

warps with the weight

...as a sense of humor mates

with a mirthless troll

Giving birth

to the opening in the maw,

Freeing as a saw

from a shackled paw.

Chagrined by a dice's toss

I find that I am at a loss

of a 'punch line'.

Oh, well.....There was this traveling salesman, see?

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Reflections from Lake Taupo, New Zealand

Amanda Edwards

A seagull wheels and dives along the shore,
Adjusts its wings in calm and measured flight.
Brief skiffs of rain paint shadows on the lake,
A boy holds firm his wild and frenzied kite.

I long to leave this place; soar with the gull,
But something pulls me down and won’t let go.
A distant voice that speaks in ancient tongue,
Not yet not yet: there’s more you need to know.

I turn my face toward the coming storm,
Make still my heart and count in measured beat.
And comb my trembling fingers through my hair,
Refuse to let my mind admit defeat.

By Ci'Monique Green

-----------------------------

WEATHER MASTERPIECE

Phyllis Ames Bey

I am the mist, at the break of dawn, lingering with you all the day long.
I am the breeze on a hot summer day,caressing and cooling you in every way.
I am the moon lighting your path at night...the star keeping you company shining bright.
The sun beaming brilliantly during the day, from dawn to dusk with you I'll stay.
I am the heavy fog which clouds your mind,
by causing misunderstanding some of the time.
I am the storm cloud when things go wrong.
But clearness will come when I am calm.
I am the ray of sunlight in the midst of the storm,
look within my heart for light and warmth.
I am the rainbow, but beware of my illusion.
You may experience euphoria or confusion.
I am the heat in the summer, cold in the winter.
You feel the same in your heart now that I have entered.
I am the wetness of spring,dryness of autumn.
Your hear feels the same, when it ought to.
I am the rain which causes the flowers to grow.
The aroma of the same when my breeze blow.
I am the honey to be gathered not only by the bees,
I am the nectar to be savored by you with ease.
But don't allow me to be the essence in your life,
because your happiness may depend on my peace or strife.
And I wouldn't want you to suffer pain or agony,
while being your weather masterpiece, for you deserve ecstasy.
----------------------------------------------------------------

Stillness
Camille Rose Castillo

Hypnotized by

water diamonds brilliantly
shining on the lake
and by the melodic sound
of song birds,
I'm left in a peaceful
state.

In this moment
I know no anxieties,
worries or pain.
From this realm
of utter chaos
oblivion breaks the chain.

I close my eyes and bask
in this mode of
sanctuary stillness,
while the symphony of
nature's true joys
take away my sorrows
and leave me with
spiritual wellness.

-----------------

Grace
John Brusseau

Waterhouse

And the causes and effects of my life
sit on the sofa with me
reading a book of poetry.

I am not one of the righteous.
I have left too many things undone
that should have been,
and overflowed into
too many other lives
in ways I shouldn’t have.

But here in this room
of my mortal seclusion
I feel the hand of certainty
come to touch my brow.
And I will thank him forever
for the gift of forgiveness,
I a man of ruin in my veins.

Do not tear the meaning
from this passing shot at mercy.
This is me reclining into grace.

You can hold achievement
like child holding candy.
But I have something I cannot replace.
---------------------------------------

~Sparrow~

 Farnoosh Solhjou

Sleeping in my old, ancestral home
I woke up late, feeling lost & alone

Don’t know what made me sit up in haste
Palpitating heart, shaking in such distress

I went up & down, checking every room
Don’t know what I looked for, I was all alone

But I couldn’t get rid of this feeling of doom
So I went outside & opened the pickle-room*

Caught between the netting and the window
Straining, trying to get free, a little sparrow

I went to soothe it, calm it, catch it somehow
My body crescent-like with the world’s sorrow

Talking softly, I gently extracted the poor thing
In my cupped hands it almost weighed nothing

I raised my hands, opening them wide to the sky
The little sparrow took off as soon as it could fly

With its light flight, all my sorrows were lifted
Who had summoned an angel or a little bird?

For the rest of that day and all of that night
I smiled thinking of that sparrow, free in flight 

--------------------------------

~: LAVENDER DANCE

Ci'Monique Green

by Ci'Monique Green

With bare sole

   on the muted face

      of hewn tamarack

          I stir from my reverie

            awaken to purple majesty

          flogging my nostrils

       with sweet lavender 

   dander

      Wiggling / & / writhing

            like a perfumed caterpillar

I let my lashes bow

   in overwhelmed prostration

A fragrant celebration

   of spring

       ushered free to

   carouse with me