Poetry from Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa

Light skinned Filipina woman with reddish hair, a green and yellow necklace, and a floral pink and yellow and green blouse.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa
The Town Fool

Bob never stays at home
He never wanted to be alone
In the street corner with lively tone,
Dancing with pointed hat like a gnome
You have odd jobs you want to be done,
And your lazy hubby's out of town
Just call Bob, he will not let you down
Don't give Bob money, or he'll be gone
Bob loves cookies and hot chocolate,
Surely your groceries won't be late! 
Once a stranger used it as a bait, 
And poor Bob met a violent fate
The whole town went into great uproar
No one believed, for Bob, such horror
Stranger caught, he's seriously beaten
Even judge didn't think twas bad thing
Why the fury? He's just the town fool.
Getting all worked up, they're just ain't cool! 
Bob may seem to you just a fool,
But he's well-loved by all the people


Women Empowerment 

W isdom gathered through blood and tears
O bligations done with loving smiles not fears
M arriage is a bonus and not a necessity 
E ngaging in any desired opportunity 
N urturing the family, society, human community 

E nvironmental awareness for rehabilitation
M otherhood deserves honor and protection
P eace and prosperity is her deepest ambition 
O utspoken yet meekness of the soul makes sense
W omen encompass the balance of existence 
E nvisioned future without its chaotic norms
R ejuvenate nature in its realistic forms
M en can be stronger with women as equals
E mpowered without barbaric rituals
N ations will have survival chance to course
T ruth be told, women can be your salvation or curse.


Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry. 

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

Poetry from Annie Johnson

Light skinned woman with curly white hair and a floral top.
Annie Johnson

I Am She

I am She, the ageless feminine; 
Bringer of life via the veins of time and blood;
I am the midwife of celestial birth;
The ears of humanity’s soul songs;
The conscience of all who breathe and speak.
I am the life force of spirit and flame;
The bringer of knowledge through error;
Through waves of anguish and tears.
I am the moist lips on the act of procreation.
I am She, the joy of creation’s repetition;
The steadfast reaching for perfection
And the holy quest of all that is beauty.
Give to me your tears, your laughter,
Your creations, your brightness of spirit.
Place your love-flowers on my soul’s altar;
Share with me all that brings joy or sorrow.
I am She, Mother of a puling universe;
Everlasting as the light of the sun;
As the moon swelling tides of the mind. 
I am She, the ageless feminine; 
Bringer of life via the veins of time and blood.


How Do I Express Such Love

Deeper than darkest darkness; 
Higher than heavenly light;
Love that is true is boundless;
A carefree, uncharted highway
Leading to completeness in life.
The soft-spoken words of love
Are more soul-swelling lovely
Than the notes of a golden harp
Or the trills of a crystal flute
Echoing from love’s symphonies;
Skipping gaily over time’s promises;
Fading in gales of forever-afters.
I see you in my wildest dreams;
I hear your footfalls in the halls
Of all the empty house loneliness
That ever haunted my yearning.
Your love whispers on the wind,
Fill my ears with expectations
And dreams of love’s tomorrows.
How do I express such love for you?

Annie Johnson is 84 years old. She is Shawnee Native American. She has published two, six hundred-page novels and six books of poetry. Annie has won several poetry awards from world poetry organizations including; World Union of Poets; she is a member of World Nations Writers Union; has received the World Institute for Peace award; the World Laureate of Literature from World Nations Writers Union and The William Shakespeare Poetry Award. She received a Certificate and Medal in recognition of the highest literature from International Literary Union for the year 2020, from Ayad Al Baldawi, President of the International Literary Union. She has three children, two grandchildren, and two sons-in-law. Annie played a flute in the Butler University Symphony. She still plays her flute.

Poetry from Jerry Langdon

Light skinned man with dark short hair and a white collared shirt seated at an angle.
Jerry Langdon
Special Place

There's a special place in Hell, for me.
Its streets are built on misery
And paved with agony.
Now I've tried to live free of sin
But life was a game I could never win.
I tried to gain Heaven's love, but all in vain
For I was already struck by the Devil's bane; 
Forever my ball and chain.
I would find no retreat
For on the day I was born I met defeat.
He rejoiced as he knew a righteous soul; 
Sold for a simple lump of coal
Would forever pay the toll.
And he would not wait
Until I stood at his infernal gate.
He brought it to me in my crib
And would never loosen the grip.
So began the trip.
The curse placed upon my infant bed
Builds that special place when I'm dead.


From Southwestern Michigan, Jerry Langdon has lived in Germany since the early 90's. He is an Artist and Poet. His works bathe in a darker side of emotion and fantasy. He has released five books of poetry titled "Temperate Darkness" and "Behind the Twilight Veil", “Death and other cold things” “Rollercoaster Heart” and “Frosted Dreams” Jerry is also the editor and publisher of the literary magazine Raven Cage Zine poetry and prose. His poetic inspirations are derived from poets such as Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. As well as from various Rock Bands. His apparently twisted mind, twists and intertwines fantasy with reality.

Poetry from Mesfakus Salahin

Death, My Confirmed Guest


Death, my confirmed  guest,
Very often I forget you
You must come to take me
To the land of infinity. 
I should have to adorn myself
With flowers of good deeds
To receive you freshly and happily.
But l have spent time in vain
For nothingness in the wrong track
I do not know when you will come
But it is constantly true that you must come
Everyone can break promise except you
You do not cheat with time
No one can stop you.

Cristina Deptula reviews Clive Gresswell’s Shadow Reel

Cover of Clive Gresswell's Shadow Reel. On the left, a yellow beam of light extends down through a red background. On the right, the words Shadow Reel are scrawled in a red font at the top, then there are some white lines and "Clive Gresswell" in full and repeated in part in a sans serif font. Background on the right is black.

In Clive Gresswell’s Shadow Reel, fragments of thought seep through consciousness like a shadow of a film documenting our waking existence. 

Like our background internal monologues, there are no chapters or verses, only thoughts of varying lengths. Yet, the ideas connect loosely to one another, with a word or phrase in one fragment often echoing something in the next. For example, on page 28, we read “map gold. etchings to the emergency rooms. elegies of doubt.” Gold is an element in fine artistry, etchings are a type of visual art, and an elegy can be written for someone who did not make it home from the emergency room. 

Some words and ideas are recurring, such as “tomato,” mentioned 62 times in the manuscript, “blue” a little over 30 times, and “metalanguage” used 33 times. Metalanguage would be words about words, a commentary on the experience or nature of reading and writing. So perhaps Shadow Reel brings us a glimpse of what comes after we read, how we meditate on certain thoughts or images after we see or hear them, when we continue to process them at a level beyond literal meaning. 

The book also carries a distinctly British sensibility, with mentions of Liverpool, Birmingham, the Chancellor, and the moors. It’s grounded in a culture, if not a specific address. 

The language is relatively complex and Gresswell uses literary devices such as alliteration: “a conglomerate of cheerless conservatives” (page 33) and “the pale puce of his postulation” (page 31) and varies syntax so that the book sounds like an experimental composition. He follows e.e. cummings’ style of avoiding initial capitals while still using periods, letting the individual fragments of thought loosely flow into one another. 

Readers can imagine Shadow Reel intoned in a crackly bass radio voice, with an emergent rhythm that seems to arise spontaneously and never becomes monotonous due to the variety of sentence lengths. It’s a voyage worth taking into the unconscious. 

Shadow Reel is available here.

Essay from Sarvinoz Mamadaliyeva

Young Uzbek teen girl stands in front of a bookshelf holding an open book. She's got long dark hair in a long ponytail and a white collared shirt under a black jacket.
Sarvinoz Mamadaliyeva

Investing in girls’ education

If you educate your son, you educate one person, but if you educate your daughter, you educate an entire generation.

My name is Sarvinoz Mamadaliyeva. The problem I want to talk about is related to the education of young people, continuing their education, and entering the workforce. And I am going to talk mainly about girls’ education. Because it is better if the girls of the nation study! We know that in our country, that is, in Uzbekistan, an 11-year compulsory education system has been introduced. Post-secondary education is optional. Good education is also provided in schools, but nowadays it is difficult to enter university without going to additional classes and courses. That’s why, in Uzbekistan, the majority of girls’ education is deficient at the university or tertiary level. In postsecondary education, the gross enrollment ratio (GER) for female students (ages 19–23) is a mere 6.33 percent. This small number, however, does not indicate that young women are content with the status quo or that they are hesitant to pursue further education. Rather, it is a result of the expensive additional lesson and then university fees, insufficient support, and outmoded social norms that require young women to enter conventional family responsibilities following secondary school.

For example, when I was studying at school, I had a classmate who was good at biology and chemistry, but her family didn’t have enough money to teach her. After we graduated from school, she became engaged and married. But what if she studied? Wouldn’t she become a good doctor?

Once, I heard about Malala Yousufzai, who is a girls’ education activist. She had contributed to girls’ education in Pakistan. Nowadays she also has fund and spends it on girls’ education. Her actions really inspired me.

I have searched for solutions for this problem and found that some actions have already been taken in this field, such as educational credit, without any percentage. If a girl is accepted for a master’s degree, the tuition fees are covered by the government. But there is also a solution I want to share. And I think it will help a little to improve the lives of girls in my community. Of course, right now I can’t have a fund and provide girls financially, but I’m going to launch a project called “Her Opportunity” to teach English to 13 girls for free for 10 months I want them to take at least B2 after that course. Besides I have a friend who studies in Russian faculty at university and she also can help me to teach Russian for other 13 girls.

Well, in conclusion I want to give those girls an opportunity to make their dreams come true. Because investing in girls will certainly pay off.

About the author

Sarvinoz Mamadaliyeva, born on September 5, 2004, in the Tashlak district of Fergana region, is a dynamic and ambitious 19-year-old. Demonstrating her commitment to education, she is currently a 2nd year student in the Foreign Language and Literature Department at Namangan State Pedagogical Institute.

Sarvinoz’s journey is marked by passion for language and literature, reflecting her dedication to personal and academic growth. As she continues her studies, she embodies the spirit of promising individual poised to contribute meaningfully to her community and beyond.

Story from Ellie Ness

We arrive in Rome to the Ryanair fanfare that really means “You’re twenty-four miles away from your destination,” and not “You’ve arrived on time”.

I have pre-booked the coach from Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino which will take us to Termini Station in the city centre which is just as well because there are wildcat train strikes and taxi drivers have joined in unexpectedly.

It’s charcoal dark by the time we arrive at Termini and painted sex workers are beginning to ply their trade. Hectic hustle and bustle of unloading cases segues into other coach passengers melting away into the darkness and, when it’s our turn, I try to ask the driver how we’ll get to the hotel near the Vatican but he shrugs and suddenly doesn’t speak any English. My Italian is inadequate for unrehearsed conversations. 

It looks too far to walk at night from my tourist map opened up under a streetlight and it’s in the days before smartphones and Google maps.

I am swithering about trying to get a room at the seedy hotel on the same street when a small man appears and asks, “Are you looking for a taxi? I can take you.”

I could take him in a fight, I think, so let him put our cases into the boot and we buckle up in the back of his tiny car.

Any feeling of relief disappears quickly when a huge, thin man squashes himself into the front passenger seat and childproof locks click down.

Trapped!

I grab my teenage daughter’s hand as she gives me the side eye. I want to remain calm for her sake, but my hands are clammy and there’s an acidic burn in my throat. My head throbs.

The driver and his partner chat away in their own language, and I stare out of the window trying to get my bearings. It suddenly twigs for the driver as he catches my eye in his rearview mirror and he starts to tell us where we are, pointing out the Colosseum, and “That way to the Trevi Fountain. You’ll get nice gelato there.” Il Vittoriano, Monumento looms like an old fashioned typewriter in the distance, the men laugh.

He drives too quickly through the cacophony of city streets. He seems to be an expert at driving too close, too quickly and weaving in and out of lanes without signalling. Horns scream and shriek and brake lights burst and spark in front of us. We seem to be washed by red light inside the car, faces eerily devilish.

I weigh up whether it would be preferable to die in a road accident or murdered in a strange city.

Finally I see a landmark close to the hotel – the rotunda, Castel Sant’Angelo – that I had been looking out for. Hadrian’s mausoleum looming above us might signal that this car ride isn’t as dangerous as it seems.

Miraculously, we arrive at the drop off point for hotel reception. I give the driver a twenty Euro note over and above his asking price.

The driver’s just been a chancer trying to earn extra during a strike, not a murderer or slave trader in cahoots with his lumbering friend.

€20’s a small price to pay, I figure.