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Barking
By Marc Carver - Contributing Poet
I made someone cry today.
Almost made myself cry too.
We read poems in the park.
I wanted to,
Not leave
The words there
But I just wanted the forest
to have them.
For some reason.
It seemed right.
I did not
Want to leave that place.
The place,
where my words were.
Maybe I could chisel the words into the bark.
My mark.
That would stay with them
Forever.
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The Wanderer in the Cold
By Ignacio J Fontan - Contributing Poet
Nothing to see beyond the glow
of the street light
which bathes me in its pale orange halo.
The wind whistles a mournful tune
as I try to quiet the thoughts
vying for my attention.
Every intake of air feels like fists of ice
down my throat, coalescing into a pale
cloud when I exhale.
The night gets colder,
smelling like acrid steam.
A cat keeps watch from underneath a parked car,
eyes shining like two emeralds--
a silent guardian
scrutinizing every step before losing interest,
and rightly so.
All he sees is another wanderer
seeking shelter from the cold.
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Sestina: Dream
By Darryn John Murphy - Contributing Poet
Twilight in front of the computer screen
Moonlit in its ivory white
Silent whispers echo dreams
Thou have known thy gentleness
And I have whispered in the mist
Solemn thunder echo sky
As stars glisten in the sky
Moths are knocking at the screen
As the moon surrenders to the mist
Daylight dream the dream in white
And thou have known thy gentleness
Twilight whispers in my dreams
As I'm sheltered in my dreams
Towards the heaven haven sky
There are times in gentleness
Casting shadows from the screen
Glimmering shadows cast in white
As my breath surrenders into the mist
Deem the day of ghostly mist
As there are whispers in my dreams
Bathed beneath the moon in white
Twilight bliss beneath the haven sky
And there are voices in the screen
Gentle in thy gentleness
Silent whispers call my gentleness
Bathed beneath the moon in mist
Silent passage in the screen
A sense so wholesome in my dreams
Twain thy hand, towards the sky
Heavens knows my dreams are white
Clouds appear in ghostly white
Loving hand in gentleness
Towards the heavenly haven sky
There is silence in the mist
And passiveness in silent dreams
A silent movie picture screen
Shadow cast among the screen, glistening in pleasant white
and there are dreams, in gentleness
Rolling plain in gentle mist, as echoes whisper in the sky
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Africa Resurrection
By Joseph Masanga - Contributing Poet
Supreme in style,
Dignity underneath my smile,
No wonder
I am KING.
Pride in my blood,
Born to win,
No wonder
I'll never sleep on mud;
I am KING.
I live to love,
I was born to rule;
God gave birth to a winner,
Swallow my blood and become a sinner.
Still I remain,
I am KING.
Just like the sun,
I rise.
Without a doubt,
I am the chosen one,
No wonder
I am KING.
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My Heaven Lies Here
By Priyanka Bhowmick - Contributing Poet
My Heaven lies here . . .
Where the silhouette of darkness shelters me...
Where the smiles came to an extinction...
Beckoning angst as my master...
Where the gloomy flowers bleed out their ache...
Yielding themselves to my fate...
Where the never ending darkness dwells...
And the dawn has its no place...
Where the pace of life curtails...
Eventfully converging with hurdles...
Where the sun dare not to shine...
Where wine swivels to venom...
Expressing their turbulent wrath...
To my dark throat...
Where love died and its ashes lingers...
Where paradise never can occupy...
Resentfully I think to myself...
Certainly, this is where my Heaven lies.
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After Burying a Wife
By Donal Mahoney - Contributing Poet
Were she here with me now,
by the waist I would raise her,
a chalice of wonder.
I'd bellow hosannas
and whirl her around,
tell her again that I love her,
press my face moist
in the pleats of her skirt,
ask her to sprinkle
phlox on the curls
of our children
if they are with her,
ask her to stay a while longer
while I do so much more
were she here with me now.
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Poverty
By IB Rad - Contributing Poet
If poverty suddenly mutated
to an infectious disease
we'd frantically invent
a vaccine to inoculate
the affluent and the middle class;
as for those common poor,
we'd concoct a sanctimonious prayer
to restore them in God's favor
and keep them from that moral hazard,
Christian charity.
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