THEME POETRY
APRIL 2022 = REMEMBRANCE
WHISPERS FROM HEAVEN
Zanita Varnado Johns
United States
https://www.zanexpressions.com
I welcome the whispers—softly spoken—
uttering, “I’m so proud of you!”
When love calls from heaven, I smile.
Angelic reassuring voices appear
just when I need a nudge.
Tender messages from my loved ones
comfort me in perpetuity on earth.
I receive and retain them
deep within my soul.
It is well with my soul.
Keep whispering—I’m listening.
__________
NOW THAT I AM OLD
Sarfraz Ahmed
East Midlands, United Kingdom
https://www.facebook.com/sarfraz.ahmed.5268750
https://twitter.com/Sarfraz76194745
https://www.instagram.com/sarfrazahmedpoet/
I watch the world in front of me,
I watch it fall off its axis,
I watch it capsize,
As the waters flow all over me,
Through every orifice,
Through every vein,
On and on we go,
Until nothing else remains,
Except the memories,
Imprinted onto my retina,
They can take everything,
They can have it all,
But they can take the memories,
The things that I hold,
Now that all the love has gone,
Now that I am old.
__________
LIFE LESSON
Cathy Hollister
Tennessee, United States
https://www.instagram.com/cathy.hollister.52
At six years old, in a new school,
first grade games taught him so much.
Be good, play fair, yes that’s the rule,
not always easy to follow such.
First grade games taught him so much,
playing checkers with his friends.
Not always easy to follow such
straight roads. Turn to devious bends?
Playing checkers with his friends,
play fair and lose? Or to devise
straight roads turn to devious bends.
So tempting, victory the shiny prize.
Play fair and lose? Or to devise.
The man recalls his early years.
So tempting, victory, the shiny prize,
but squandered trusted brought on fears.
The man recalls his early years
at checkers and their playground games.
But squandered trust brought on fears,
when he was left alone and shamed.
At checkers and their playground games,
honesty first took its roots.
When he was left alone and shamed.
He was not picked for Duck, Duck, Goose.
Honesty first took its roots.
He knew why, though it was cruel,
he was not picked for Duck, Duck, Goose,
at six years old, in a new school.
__________
GRANDMA AND ME
Jan McKay
Edinburgh, Scotland
https://www.instagram.com/jmcwriting/
People say I look like her
And I see too
My Grandma
Staring back at me
From the mirror
Or see me strangely
Out of place
In faded photos
my own mum held
as a babe in arms
I remember us
Together on the edge
Of the summer holiday spare bed
Looking out
over the lawn tennis courts
across the road,
The daily tailor suited commuter
Whizzing past on his skateboard
His tethered polecat
keeping pace at his side
(yeah,
I know)
And the box of Cluedo
On top of the wardrobe
Waiting to fuel our
Excited after dinner
deductions
And accusations
My little girl question
Because
Grandma knows everything
‘Why do some people swear so much?’
Then her deprecating explanation that
It was likely that not being very bright
Would mean that they might
Not have the right
Vocabulary
To express themselves
Eloquently
The way we do dear
That chat still
comes to mind sometimes
When now as an adult
I curse under my breath sometimes
Or a swear gives my thoughts
That extra punch sometimes
Too much
I cringe
With a dim lazy guilt
A disapproving breeze
Ruffles the pages of
An imaginary dictionary
On the windowsill
Then I remember
How alike we are,
Me and Grandma
__________
SHE CAME TO ME IN A DREAM
Pratibha Savani
United Kingdom
https://www.facebook.com/pratibhapoetryart
https://www.instagram.com/pratibhapoetryart
She came to me in dream
I was at her door
About to leave
Mum came walking up to me
Like I always remembered her to be
As herself
Walking from her kitchen to see me
I was at the front door
She walked up
And hugged me
To say goodbye
It felt so real
The feelings
The moment
I woke up
And remembered it clearly
It was still the very early hours
Of the morning
And I went back to sleep
Waking up again to get ready
I just knew
Today was going to be the day......
i was sitting beside her
later that morning
with my family
.......as she passed away
Jai Shree Krishna
__________
LAST WORDS
Skye Price
London, United Kingdom
If I could handpick
Silver embellished
Undeniable poetic
Last words for you
I wonder what would part
From my lips
Would I relay our past?
List the reasons to love you
Find the scrapbooks from the cupboard
That I never finished making
Would I wish there was more time?
Or tell you that the time was right
Knowing it would still hurt
To keep my thoughts my own
Would I prepare a speech?
Much like our vows
With time woven in
To the perfect choice of words
Words that stand in
For the conversations we won’t have
The goodnight embraces
and routine morning kiss
On the other hand, last words
Are not usually our choice
They can even be something
Otherwise, forgettable
Expected
Predictable
“Drive safe”
“Dinner will be waiting”
“See you soon”
Words can be a habit
Until uttered in finality
Frozen in eternity
As our last words
__________
I REMEMBER YESTERDAY
Julie A. Dickson
New Hampshire, United States
Once I sat with glee on Grandfather’s knee
as he told stories of yesterdays;
I listened intently and then inquired,
“Yes, but do you remember tomorrow?”
He smiled a knowing grin at me, a child.
Thoughtfully he pondered and finally spoke,
“Tomorrow will be a time to wander.”
Grandfather wove me a yarn of intrigue.
My eyes opened wide and I could not hide
surprise at hearing what life might bring.
“You’ll grow and learn, perhaps even explore
far off lands where mountains touch the sea.”
Shifted my eyes to a window, I drifted.
I’d journey to the north to see glaciers
or south to Galapagos to find turtles;
I turned back to hear his tales of Mexico.
Years have progressed since Grandfather professed
wisdom, dancing eyes opening paths
I did not follow, never saw his mountains;
Galapagos turtles long forgotten.
Reading to my son, leading him through geography,
to ask me questions – we explored maps;
my thoughts returned to Grandfather’s stories,
places like Mexico I’d never gone to see.
We talked over the atlas of far off lands; my son asked,
“Do you remember tomorrow?”
I saw my Grandfather’s smiling hazel eyes and
hoped my son would see his mountains.
__________
COFFEE CAKE
Emalisa Rose
United States
It's when I bake coffee cake
that we poured in those pans
that belonged to your mother
that you passed on to me and
I’m filling the tins up with chips
nuts and raisins and I won’t
lick the spoon because you
would scold me for doing so
but then turned away with a smile
that I’m warm with remind of the
times that I baked with my mother.
__________
BARRY’S STORY
John Grey
Rhode Island, United States
The old man used to come home
laughing from the bar,
on his arm, a woman from the mill,
Rita, Jenny, Ruth,
maybe those were the names,
so many, so alike,
with makeup caked on thick, lips Ketchup red,
and sweaters and slacks so tight
their bones clapped when they walked.
I knew nothing then about widower fathers
and women from the mill.
Why the rush to be alone?
Maybe they told jokes behind their hands.
Or smoked two or three cigarettes at a time.
They could have even stolen
more than a sip or two from the liquor bottle.
But whatever it was, it couldn't begin
until I was in my room,
the door closed tight behind me.
He'd be impatient to get me off to bed,
what with his shirt half unbuttoned,
red stains on his cheek,
and Rita, Kenny, Ruth already panting
like a cow just given birth.
Tension mounted with each of my
footsteps up the stairs.
My father's look was like a wind from behind,
blowing hard against me.
__________
GOODBYE TO A MEMORY
Duane Anderson
Nebraska, United States
Once again, I found myself
dining at a Mexican restaurant,
one I had fond memories of,
ordering the same food and drinks
I remembered having
on my prior visit years ago,
but maybe my tastes had changed,
or they had a new chef
and had changed their recipes,
or, just maybe, I had one too many margaritas
my last time around, corrupting the old memory bank,
but now, plans on returning again
were at the point of no return,
any good memories having already
faded into a deep, dark, black hole.
__________
MEMORIES OF SPRING
Kimberly Madura
United States
After the words, my friend
then silence, time, intensity disappears and intimacy fades
Suddenly, once spring evening the breeze comes
around me with a touch of
something sweet and soft in the air
And I remember it all once again, once again
__________
BALANCING THE WEIGHT OF MEMORY
Judy DeCroce
New York, United States
https://www.linkedin.com/in/judydecroce
When I think of it now,
perhaps he wasn’t there,
but he was, and so was she.
Once, she laughed, played, cleaned, and cooked,
while he drank, drank, and drank.
In that time of static; he, the noise,
the unpredictable anger;
and she,
the appeasing love and strength.
She– the sorely missed home I return to.
He— only remembered.
__________
SOLITAIRE
Carolyn Chilton Casas
United States
https://www.instagram.com/mindfulpoet_/
The cards are worn, white edges
darkened by hands
that often held them.
They no longer slide easily
like a new deck,
the bicycle-riding cupid
and his reflection faded,
the numbers and letters
jumbo size for older eyes.
On a visit, my daughter asks
me to teach her rummy.
Her boyfriend’s family plays,
and she wants take part.
I point her to the bottom
cupboard where board
games they played as children
occupy a neglected space.
These were grampa’s,
weren’t they?
She must remember
the many cribbage games
at the dining room table
after dishes were washed.
Or watching him play
solitaire nonstop
in his small home on the hill.
When she leaves,
I take the deck tenderly
into my hands, shuffle the cards
the way he taught me.
I deal out a solo game
and reminiscing, begin to play.
__________
BUT I TOLD 'ER SHE DIDN’T LOOK OLDER!
Ken Gosse
United States
https://www.facebook.com/ken.gosse/
My wife said her birthday was here,
“Yesterday—but you missed it, my dear!”
so she helps me regret
what I’ll never forget
when it comes back around every year.
__________
HE’S NOT HERE
Joshua Factor
North Carolina, United States
He hasn't been for a while now.
Despite gossip typically spreading like wildfire,
some people have yet to
receive the memo.
So, they'll come from far & wide
to the home of this former person
in hopes of resuming their typical
relationship.
When they reach their destination,
the sadder but wiser man answers the door
to break the news to them.
They spend the rest of the trip trying to come to terms with the new status quo
prior to returning to the safety of what they once knew.
Before departing, the man behind the door informs them he left a forwarding address & hopes
they'll write.
The ones who do go on to become legends in their own right
and the ones who don't were never worth his time in the first place.
__________
WAITING PART 1
Jane Fitzgerald
United States
https://facebook.com/JanesPoetry/
https://www.amazon.com/Jane-H.-Fitzgerald/e/B01MSW2FLO
I waited on the path
To catch a glimpse of you
Your smile, your pause
I waited just for you
In train stations
By the hour
At home near dinner time
I waited just for you
Your smile, your hug
Your touch, your light
Your reassuring voice
The eyes that truly said
I am here just for you
And now I am waiting
Waiting, just for you
To slowly die
I hear your labored breath
See a form
That's partly you
And know that now
I will always, always
be waiting, waiting
forever, just for you
__________
WAITING PART 2
THE HOSPITAL
Jane Fitzgerald
United States
https://facebook.com/JanesPoetry/
https://www.amazon.com/Jane-H.-Fitzgerald/e/B01MSW2FLO
How will I ever forget
Those last weeks
Long empty shining corridors
Leading to death
Long days of watching
Your every breath
Waiting for every word
Every look
Waiting to know
That you still knew me
Waiting to know
That you still loved me
How will I ever forget
How I slowly lost you
First your strength
Then your body
Then your mind
How will I ever forget
The empty look
The last breath
I saw you take
__________
OUR LAST WEEKEND BEFORE COVID
Neal Whitman
California, United States
Making Love Out of Nothing at All
Lyrics by Jim Steinman, recorded by Air Supply
found today
in my Navy peacoat pocket
once a scrap of debris
this detritus swept ashore
water, tide, and sand
performed renewing work
over time to shape
this timeless treasure
meant to be saved
we are so glad
to have it found again
this keepsake
it took its time
to be discovered by us
on a remote beach
this jewel, this sea glass
__________
BACK IN TIME
Kath Jo Bryant
United States
So long ago
My mind replays
The things that happened
In yesterdays
The memories sweet
I'll not forget
Like a favorite movie
On my TV set
They bring me joy
And make me glad
Special friends I've known
Special times I've had
Remembrance is
A priceless gift
You can't replace
And gives your soul a lift!
__________
LOVING THREE WOMEN OF HONEY AND STEEL
Antoni Ooto
New York, United States
https://www.linkedin.com/in/antoniooto/
1. ENGLISH IVY
She had a habit
of loving the wrong man
even when every chance to fly free was there
and holding on when all of us were gone.
Perhaps holding on was all she ever knew or wanted…
a kind of permanence she felt necessary
2. A BUTTERFLY
Her heart skipped
slowly or too slowly
fast or too fast
a butterfly rhythm without discipline
concern was only for others
and too, her generous smile proving she was alright
when she died
all fears of loss left with her
so too, a favorite chair
the coral afghan music friends
and letters in a box marked “save”
3. WILLOW TREE
As a general battling a lifetime of illness,
and dread in a wheelchair which anchors
to waiting rooms,
assaulted by invasions of surgeries
she, finally, took back power
as the warrior who set about her end
directed how the final battle would go
and assumed all responsibility—
even when held to a cot, she suffered no fools,
stood her ground where traces of strength
gathered one last time
and with sword lain down…
found Victory.
__________
REMEMBRANCE
Daya Jaggers
United States
Remembrance, please bring through
Clarity
never to forget
what we have done
the misery and pain
the wrongdoing
Swiftly
the bells are ringing
to resurge our collective
Knowing
imploring us to
Facing
all hidden shadows of our pasts
Coming
into our
Golden Heart of light
to reconcile with the
Benevolence
remembering our pure
Original
Loving
Nature
__________
HOPE
Najma Naseer Bhatti
Sindh Pakistan
Keep forward, ‘till the end,
With flare and full of passion
Brighten your hidden abilities,
Just like every new morning,
Before it passes through darks,
Finally, nights are replaced by light,
You may face hindrances,
Keep forward with firm intentions,
If so, then the next world will be yours.
__________
PASSING THROUGH CUDDALORE THIRTY-FIVE YEARS LATER
Vidya Shankar
India
https://www.instagram.com/vidya.shankar.author/
Traffic snarls
Wheels thunder
Horns threaten
Dust rises
LEDs and neons glare
And I
In a car, windows rolled up
Inhaling air-conditioned breaths
Sit stupefied, shocked
The anticipation of joy
Shredded to nothing
As we pass by
Concrete, grotesque faces
Of a developing economy
This town
By the river Gadilam
Thirty years ago
Where I had spent
Three memorable growing up years
Quaint, quiet then
People on foot, bicycles, cycle rickshaws
The chettiar’s car, our school bus
We heard the temple bells
Breathed in fresh air
Wore pinafores and knickerbockers
Played bare-footed on the streets
Ate gooseberries plucked off trees
This town
This monstrosity of a place
We are passing through now
Where one went shopping
To buy happiness —
Is this what we have all become?
Footnotes:
Cuddalore: a district in the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu
chettiar: Members of a land-owning and mercantile community in Tamil Nadu, the Chettiars are pioneers of banking and commerce. They are traditionally wealthy.
__________
MEMORIES
Karuna Mistry
United Kingdom
https://karunacreations.wordpress.com
Outside world of reality seen whilst the inner world extracts the live stream
Memories, a biological virtual copy; a neurological playback lobby
How much memory to compose a poem; how much brainpower to keep it going?
Memories come, what good are they? Brings me regret for things that may
Memories inside constantly play over and over, until another soon takes over
Memories aid or cloud one’s brain tank whilst injury and anxiety help run a blank
A memory is meant to permanently stay so why does it eventually run away?
Memories are how we honour the dead; when grieving, they are very fresh in the head
Memories start strong and vibrant but with fewer thoughts, they do grow silent
Memories are static – or so we think – a psychological reality: an unreliable kink
A smell, sound or sight creates an impression, yet new exposure changes our recollection
Memories are also subject to manipulation; they become fluidic with autosuggestion
Memories fade; but the new way to remember artificial aperture
Photos and videos, they do carry on to the next generation – and beyond
Digital memories refresh your head – keep clicking through until you are dead
Are you a memory millionaire or must you constantly speak a questionnaire?
__________
YESTERDAY REVISITS!
Madhu Gangopadhyay
India
The book fell off the shelf.
Dust layered, pages brittle.
Face down it lay,
She picked it up,
The crumbs of dry petals!
Once scarlet, fragrant
Now withered, remnant,
Strand of a decayed past!
Almost forgotten!
A red rose,
Bouquet of love!
Between the pages of the book
Trapped!
Dream catcher, she had never hung.
Expunged!
Life waded through, sometimes danced;
When the sun pushed through the
Closed doors of clouds,
She laughed loud!
Yesterday winked at her!
Plethora of images, emotions aroused!
Lay scattered on the floor!
Those echoes, now charcoal!
She froze!
Butterflies flying with broken wings,
Invisible bee's stings!
Glancing at the infinite, the sun she missed!
Tears cascading down her cheeks,
Transfixed, she stood!
A fragmented maiden, pain kissed!
__________
SUPPLICATION
Miranda von Salis
United States
Remember when poems came easy
And we sat
Creating theologies as quickly as we abandoned them?
Grinding rocks and reeds into timeless runes
Whose enchantments had nowhere to go.
We did not know then,
What the world had in store
And me with only my prep school Latin
and feigned belief in magic to get me through.
Ego memini nihil,
Ego mimini omnia
__________
I HAVE BEEN TO PLACES OF GREAT DEATH
Nolo Segundo
United States
I have been to places of great death:
Walking the battlefield of Gettysburg,
As a lusty young man of no firm belief
Who stepped between the great rocks
Of Devil’s Den and felt his soul shudder
as though he had been a soldier there,
and died in fear a long, long time ago.
I taught my tongue to the gentle Khmers
As civil war raged and the killing fields
Were being sown—I left before the
Heartless murdering began, the killing
Of over a million: teachers and students,
Doctors and farmers, the old, the young,
Each with a photo taken before dying,
Their pictures taped to classroom walls.
And when I visited Hiroshima, now myself
Chastened by death’s touch, and knowing
My soul real, knowing of meaning absolute
And of unseen forces that work good or ill,
As I stood at the first ground zero, I once
Again, shuddered to feel the pull of madness
(though I knew not if it was my own or some
Remains of that evil which brought the fire
And brimstone of a worldwide war….)
But by then I knew I could pray, and so
Opened my desperate heart and sought
His mercy—and then I saw a sort of angel,
Who took me from that place of insanity,
Healing me while we wandered by the
Beauty of the Inland Sea as my storm
Calmed and left me, never to return….
I have been to places of great death, and
I have felt death’s cold, careless hands.
But I know now what death itself fears:
The Light, the light eternal which carries
Souls beyond time itself, like the winds
Of a Love exceeding all understanding.
__________
MY DAILY MIRROR
Laura Grevel
United Kingdom
https://www.instagram.com/lauragrevel
https://www.facebook.com/LauraHGrevel
As I walked down the street,
a woman saw me filming my moving feet.
She smiled sweetly.
I’ve become wunderlich, un matto gatto, je suis fou, un loco, lost my marbles,
stayed too long in the toilet talking to Hitler about the war.
The Lockdown looses more than clocks
for I took a walk today to see a blackbird play.
No, this will not be that kind of poem! No rhymes!
Is it too late to start over, God?
I could live in Mexico, raise fruit in Oaxaca,
work in stucco, or raise oregano,
eat frijoles, con Hierba de Conejo.
At sixty, get some new ear piercings.
Fearless reds and unashamed yellows dance before me.
The sky lets fall redemptive grace.
My footsteps speed their pace.
I said, no rhymes!
Some Lockdown days loose themselves from the clock of human time.
The lift and the gift of it,
the sift and the gist of it.
I said, no rhymes!
My shadow disappeared today.
Did it tread beneath that tree stump?
Did it slide beneath that stream top?
In Texas, a winter storm has caused a state of emergency,
frozen the whole and cut power to 2.5 million.
In Houston, Mattress Mack has invited people without heat
to come sit on the furniture in his store until their electricity comes back on.
They’ve given up on Lockdown.
Once upon a time I was young and in San Juan.
The fort stood sad upon a rock; waves crashed. The sky was overcast.
Once upon a time I did not walk down the street filming my feet.
__________
HE CALLED ME HAPPY
Heidi Gilles
United States
https://www.instagram.com/the_heart_pages
I kissed him gently,
“hello!”
we didn’t speak,
but our eyes met in a place so familiar –
a place of comfort
and the warmth of home.
As we sat in the space, where he slept
and nourished his now aged body.
(He called me “happy” – a symbolic gesture
of his life of deep, connection to those most beloved)
I remember the last time,
we rode bikes to the beach,
together, with his best friend –
two old men
and a daughter, drinking up the landscape,
as the peddling
brought us to the shore.
I remember the time,
on the mountain, our last skiing adventure -
a picturesque memory in a 4x6 frame,
of a daughter going through,
a difficult chapter,
delighting in a heavenly day,
with her dear father.
(Moments became years,
that turned into memories, so many…)
It is our words shared through time,
that I cherish the most –
about the life we choose and,
the lessons,
but mostly about love,
And, how to honor the gift
of a capacious heart, by sharing it through -
thoughtful expression.
On my way,
planting a soft kiss onto, his deeply wrinkled cheek –
words of love, quietly exchanged by one.
“I love you forever,” I said.
I placed my hand over his heart,
and then, he lifted his index finger,
which met mine, and
served as our last embrace.
“I love you forever,” I said,
As the door closed.
(He called me happy)
__________
WE STAY TIGHT AND CLOSE AT SEA
Peuo Tuy
United States
https://www.facebook.com/khmergirlpeuo/
Digging clams, we stand still, bend our knees
with our duck feet on the ocean’s floor.
Sand and gravel tickling our toes:
Feeling oh so goooood,
with our sarongs lifted up to our thighs,
we make indigenous happy faces.
Digging snails, picking up all sorts of sizes;
black and stone-like peek through.
We giggle, waiting for them to peek again.
Grabbing with our bare hands,
we gathered hundreds.
Chasing crabs----tiny, medium, big ones.
As the tide recedes, we wait for them
to scurry back onto the ocean’s abode.
We walk quickly,
picking them up, they
bite our dark-bronze fingers.
We make funny, hurting faces.
In my dreams...
Every summer, we jump for emotional joy.
We always make indigenous joyous faces.
We can’t wait to go back to share memories
laughing, smiling.
We stay tight and close, never letting go of those good family times.
__________
RIDING WITH PRIVATE ANDREW MALONE
Pankhuri Sinha
India
https://www.facebook.com/pankhuri.sinha.56
Since 2007, that song has been
Playing in my head
Like it used to in my car!
A song so beautiful
And touchy, seems hard to
Even write about
About a slain soldier of foreign country
Not exactly a foreign country though
A country of which
I was slowly becoming a citizen!
Its an amazing process, naturalization!
Almost making you fall in love
With a whole new country
Of sprawling grasslands
And wild daffodils, calling out
With names exotic like
Shenandoah and Savannah
Mesmerizing with rapids, falls, gorges
And strange befriending accents
Like Toby Keith addressing only
The American guys in that imaginary room
Of air waves floating in the sky
Emanating from that radio channel
Becoming my favourite
In my car, as I drove
On roads like sweet home
Maple and King’s Highway
Parking on Boulevard’s like Niagara Falls
Drawing a smile on my face
Unlike any known before!
One day, would I become
A part of that American ad
Of multiple-coloured folks
With dramatically different features
Announcing, ‘I am an American!’
Was I driving, working, behaving
Right enough to be a part of that ad
Was a question that never occurred to me
With so many American friends, so many
Accolades around! And riding almost
With Private Malone
Championing peace!
Was I being overly tested?
Sure, loving one more
Country didn’t mean at all
One didn’t love one’s own!
This slow immigration
This slow identification
With so-many if not all things American
Would it ever mean the forgetting
Of the prick and pain
Of being away from motherland
Mother herself, mother tongue
And so much more!
Not just the lapping waves of oceans around
Green or not and the tall crown of Himalayas
White or not, and we all know
War is a terrible thing!
In schools all around the world
Kids are being taught anti-war lessons
Merits of peace, and nationalism
Linguistically, or moderately
And outside the classroom
With whoever we are riding, or walking
Or skiing or climbing
We know, war is a bad thing
War kills people!
And if you have still not read
The letter by Private Andrew Malone
Please read it, as he hands over
The keys of his old corvette
Sliding on the American roads
As the emblem of peace
Read it please! And pass it on
To the Russian soldiers today
Asking them to rebel
And to tell, their leader
Russia is gigantic enough!
Why should all wars record
The soldier testimony of Auschwitz
Saying, “We were just obeying orders!”
Why should Ukraine have to lose this war
And why should citizens of nations
Revere only their martyrs?
That they must, but they can do more!
And make less war!
Conscription or not!
As I, deported out of that
Glorious ad, and the land of golden apples
Make do, with the song alone
Of Private Andrew Malone
Am visited by strange dreams
Of war time treaties
A frontline of peace days
Frequents itself
Barging in my sleep
With rival soldiers
Standing guard
In freezing winds!
Celebrating remembrance day
And the ghosts of martyrs
Appear suddenly
Totally randomly
Asking simply
To reach across
Shake hands!
__________
POETRY MAN
Michael Lee Johnson
Illinois, United States
I’m the poetry man, understand?
Dance, dance, dance to the crystals of night,
healing crystals detox nightmares, night tremors.
Death still comes in the shadow of grief,
hides beneath this blanket of time,
in the heat, in the cold.
Hold my hand on this journey
you won’t be the first, but
you may be the last.
You and I so many avenues,
ventures & turns, so many years together
one bad incident, violence, unexpected,
one punch, all lights dim out.
__________
A RARE BROTHERHOOD
(a star poem*)
Lakshman Bulusu
New Jersey, United Staates
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/127227.Bulusu_Lakshman
A rare brotherhood
Between my dad and uncle
Went beyond kindred
Dad, his heart so good
Taking a father’s role, through
The years forward
Cared for his brother
From childhood to adulthood
Step-by-step gentler
Uncle chose action
Repaid in countless measures
Dad as his role model
What else can it mean?
I can only say this much
Like brother, icon!
A rare brotherhood
Dad, his heart so good
Cared for his brother
Uncle chose action
What else can it mean?
*A STAR poem (invented by Lakshman Bulusu, NJ, USA) consists of five tercets, each having the syllabic count in lines one-to-one - representing the five triangles of a star. followed by five lines formed by taking the same line (i.e, the line with the same line number) from the five tercets that form the enclosing pentagon formed by the base of the five triangles. Additionally, the last five lines by themselves can form a STAR poem representing a star with five lines converging to a point (similar to asterisk).
__________
REMEMBRANCE
Shail Raghuvanshi
India
https://www.instagram.com/shailraghuvanshi/
https://musenmotivation.wordpress.com/
“Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?”
a month away, a year since you passed on
from the excruciating agony of existence long gone
onerous to imagine you a speckle on an angel’s wing
enduring, a choice you ceased to play resisting;
fallacious on my part to persist with my denial
of your demise, uncanny in its occurrence, a rotten trial
you tersely term as destiny when things could have gotten better
indulged your dreams a wee bit, you preferred instead the letter
tied with a red satin ribbon on the ageing banyan tree
cold in the earth- and the deep snow piled above thee
making a snowman with a cherry nose
reminding me of cherished moments spent close
babbling together, drawing plans for a future
subsisting within hidden fragments of fantasy sutures
transforming girlish whims and fancies
into tufts of cotton floating around like mere fantasies
surfing around local shopping melas in malls
misery, despair unknown to us, our vulnerable ardor standing tall
giggling over witless jokes, recollecting crushes, Hari, Jai and Dave
far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave
assorting bone, flesh, thought and sentiment
a smiling picture replaces the blank wall looking deceitfully eloquent;
your mother places dishes you relished so much when alive
hoping to let you know she still loves you even as she struggles to survive;
your brother, lost without his sturdy pillar of support
searches for your cheerful presence, a lucky mascot
the vagaries of time blurring, rusting, blotting painful memory
the motion picture still rolling, an unstoppable reverie;
should I have embraced her insecurities more willingly-
have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee
like I did yesterday, unhesitatingly, unflinchingly
your diffident skepticism pushing me rigidly
a bond that was to bloom like the lotus
withered like the mimosa, life GPS betrayed by a faulty compass;
who to blame when both languished in torment
now, you are not there for me to love you more with life’s scent-
you connect instead, from the ether, diving into gloomy realms of my reflections
bathing me with your invisible astral light drowning all misconceptions
remembering friendship, stringed with beads of dew I crave
severed at last by Time's all-severing wave.
__________
CIGARETTE SMOKE AND SWEET TEA
Kassie J Runyan
New York, United States
kassiejrunyan.com
He sits.
Rocking in his chair
as he takes a long drag
from his unfiltered cigarette.
His overalls worn at the knee
and patched at least once.
He breathes out
and the smoke billows around him
framing his sun kissed face.
His long fingers tap
the arm of the chair
almost impatiently
as it rocks back and forth.
The smoke still sitting
heavily in the air.
He reaches for the plastic glass;
wet and cold on the outside.
A contradiction to the hot day.
He lifts it, taking a long drink
of his sweetened tea
savoring the moment
before looking right at me.
Blue eyes meeting my green ones
just a grin breaks his face
crinkling at the lines from the years
and all is right in this summer day.
Poem about my great-grandfather (and the J in Kassie J Runyan – Jacob)
__________
I SEE YOU…
Melanie Haagman
United Kingdom
Facebook.om/girlontheedge90
I see you in the background,
Standing out by blending in,
I hear you when you’re silent,
And your patience’s wearing thin…
I can feel all your frustration,
It oozes from your soul,
I can sense you’ve lost a lot
And it’s left a gaping hole.
I can taste your disappointment,
Life’s not gone the way you’d hoped,
But you’ve hidden it so well
Unhelpful habits helped you cope.
I can see you in the background,
Standing out by blending in,
I can hear your thoughts so loud
Reverberating from within.
I can see what you’re disguising,
From the words you never say,
I can see you’ve built a barrier,
To keep the world at bay.
But step outside your silence,
You’ve so much more to give,
You were put here for a reason
So don’t forget to live.
__________
Kassie J Runyan
New York, United States
kassiejrunyan.com
step
step
break
breathe
the snow stops as
the sky opens to show bright blue
revealing mountains reaching
for the sky