by Sherry
The wind comes and the apple sees its chance.
It pulls and tugs, heaves and ho’s,
But the stem is yet supple, green with promise.
The wind dies down, the tree chuckles, and the apple sags.
Next time.
Have you tasted the bitterness of tears of despair?
Have you watched the sun sink through such pale, balmless air
that your soul sought its shell like a crab on a beach,
then scuttled inside to be safe, out of reach?
Might I lift you tonight from earth’s wreckage and damage
on these waves gently rising to pay the moon homage?
Or better, perhaps, let me say that I, too,
have dreamed of infinity . . . windswept and blue.
by Hazel Benson
in dreams we tread
through dewey rivers
in Bryophyta country
the moss forest
where no one can find me
i indulge in this gentle grazing
pace of life; this alien forest
alongside my baggy teddy bear
the world i know so big
attacks my ears
and the relentless pushing
for what i don’t even know
its concerns are not visible
i think i’ll keep on dreaming
in the microcosm
a little longer
Today you read me a love poem
One you had written
It was in Shakespearean language
Each word taking up its own moment
But in that moment
When you spoke
I couldn’t help but wish you weren’t reading
To me but for me
Because of me
Because I am all that you could think of when your professor said to write about love
Because each time you began a line, your mind drifted to me
Because you didn’t know where to begin, so you started at poetry
Because you knew that I would understand
Make asses of us if you must,
when you speak of our misdeeds.
As our ashes settle into dust
please grant us one small courtesy:
Remember we were not just passive cattle
lowing in our country's golden fields;
though losing ground with every battle,
we were digging in our heels.
Tell your children we did not submit to die,
nor smiled dumbly at the drones
that rained death on us from azure sky
and stole our future, our children - our home.
May
spring
fling
her riotous petals
devil-
may-care
into the air,
ignoring the lethal
nettles
and may
May
cry gleeful-
ly Hooray!
as the abundance
settles,
till a sudden June
swoon
leaves us out of tune,
torn,
when the last rose is left
inconsolably bereft,
rudely shorn
of every device but her thorn.
Published by The Lyric, The New Lyre, Borderless Journal (Singapore), Poem Today, Deviant Art and Suravejiliz (Tokelau)
by Silpi Das
Will I ever be free? All those voices say otherwise,
Will I go off normal? Those voices always deny.
I hate how I feel when I look at you in the mirror,
The remorseful loathe poignant in the body;
I feel it in the soul.
Held captive in my mind, in the memories of time,
In the voices of thousands—Now it's hard to distinguish which one is mine.
Do I hate me? Or do I just pretend?
Is not hating me a bad thing?
Is not hating a monster a sin?
I wish there was a quick hand signal one could give
To tell
A pedestrian that one is quickly passing by in one’s car
That one thinks that they are swell
But doesn’t condone their smoking
And wants them to quit
But as for now they just drive by
It’s so very cold
But snow doesn’t fall
There are thick clouds but no lightning strikes
No thunder rolls
No rain
No hail
No sleet