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.
but is swallowed back in fog with a stumble and list.
Flirtatious Alpha Centauri beckons to the telescopes
but poet’s flaccid astronomer fails to focus.
All the usual muses are asleep,
the whiskey and the mistresses, strangers in the street;
neither the etchings on the walls nor the scrimshaw on the shelf
volunteer to help.
Empty poet begs along the Word,
laments poetry’s place as kickshaw at the smorgasbord.
And then — poet imagines
Humanity in its dungeon —
unbathed – hungry as a blight —
encaged in rags — in a hint of sunlight —
a detested defiled diseased
tenement for generations of fleas —
the cell’s metal, complicit embrace of laxity —
a skeletal thread against a mildew tapestry —
cornucopia of hopeless hope
that even a poor pen surpasses the sturdy rope,
that any desperate continuing
improves on the endless end,
–that hacksaws and pardons
may exist on some horizon,
dandelion the shackles,
and be lion to jackals.
ERGONOMICS
Sitting aside the curb a=nursing coffee and croissants, I can’t help but marvel at couples passing by. Nearly every boy is just-high enough that her head lies snugly in the fit between his face and shoulder. And this inexorably leads me to reminisce about baseballs, how they used to lodge so comfortably in my fingers’ arc, precisely like the exact hyperbole of your remembered breast.
the night - the eyes - the sea
in the night
the eyes see
the sea of stars
in the night
the waves water
your pure soul
in the night
the tears fall
from high in the sky
in the ocean of feelings
turned into silver mysteries
___________________________________________
clarity
when I arrived
I didn't see you...
you were hiding yourself beyond an eon
when I came back
I saw you in my dream...
you were hiding yourself beyond a moment
when I left
I felt like you've been here...
since the dawn of time
_________________________________________
dreaming
I see in my dream
I fall asleep on a cloud
I see in my dream
I fly to a star
I see in my dream
I breathe like the moon
I see in my dream
I live like the sun
I see in my dream
I get dizzy in the ether
up there, very high
I see in my dream
you haven't gone away
I know in my dream
you are still here
as in any dream of mine
________________________________________
conditional
if only I could
I would lift you up to heaven
if only I could
I would walk you in the ether
if only I could
I'd keep you away from nostalgia
if only I could
I'd put you to sleep on a cloud
if only I could
I would baptize you on a star
if only I could
I would clone your love
if only I could
I would give you a galaxy
if only I could
I would dedicate an astro-poem to you
_____________________________________________
mirror
pure frozen water
silver surface
water-lilies floating on water
reality reincarnated
close distance
imagined reflection
concealed knowledge
spiral depth
faded concentration
radiant symmetry
inverted imagination
apparition - invention?
___________________________________________
The heart, a scratched record repeating the same melancholic song,
a melody of regrets and missed opportunities.
Its needle, stuck in the past, prevents a new song from playing.
Hope, a small plant in a cracked pot,
struggling to survive in arid soil.
Its roots, weak and thirsty,
desperately search for a little water in the dry earth.
Life, an incomplete puzzle,
with missing pieces we’ll never find.
Its scattered fragments, disjointed memories,
prevent us from seeing the whole picture.
Silence, a heavy marble slab that weighs on the chest,
preventing emotions from flowing freely.
Its relentless cold envelops us in a profound loneliness…
GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.
The market does not support any idea which does not contribute to the further disintegration of the society. – Anand
Dr. Jernail S. Anand
Whatever is administered best, is the best was a highly misleading statement by Pope, but it is considered a gospel truth by the people who have never rested their faith in the best.
Let me first define the best. The unadulterated best of a society are the intellectuals who do not know politics, and who think of a society which is based on the principles of equality, shared affluence, power to each part of the body politic, and finally peace and harmony. But it is no more than a compulsive dream because the people think from the body, not from the mind.
The society moves forward with two basic factors: money and power. Power grows out of the coffers of a rich person. And power has a powerful sense of living with the second best only for whom higher considerations of life matter little. Money is the essential virtue of a society which believes in Power. The best of men, the intellectuals, the thinkers, the visionaries, the people who sit in their ivory towers, sculpting theories yield ground to people who sculpt strategems sitting in the kitchens cabinets. The second and third best, who grab power and the sources of wealth, now have a great responsibility to maintain status quo so that they can stay in power. And, it is here that the worst of the civilization rests.
The society moves forward. If you try to find the crop of the best among teachers, lawyers, professionals, politicians, bureaucrats, business men. you will be disappointed because the best have suicidal tendencies, and we find the second best, the third best, and then, even the worst, in the driving seat.
The society which believes in money and power, soon finds itself lost to the whims of the second best people and their dreams of power. Had the right people been in the driving seat, the world would have been a better place to live in. But because it is driven by insane passions and manipulated by crafty people, we now have a total confusion of values. This world never believed in the best. The best were grounded, ignored and even insulted, simply because they did not believe in pushing forward, or staying in power, by playing foul with their principles.
It is a murderous society, which has lost all sense of the moral and the ethical, and believes in nothing but power, wealth, fame and self-survival. The survival of the fittest means the fittest is the best. We are alive now, among the people who proved themselves the best and the fittest to survive. And it is an amalgam of power, craft and guile which helped people to stay in power, and rule the world. Can we expect joy and happiness in a world in which divine factors of existence were disregarded and disrespected?
The best values of this society are not goodness, kindness, love, compassion, and sacrifice. People are trained not to believe in any such thing, which smacks of medievality. Modernity lies in broken families and broken nerves, and a confusion and chaos, in which your own body parts find themselves in a state of rebellion. If this is not so, you are living in a society, which is not post-modern. As the real life thrust is found in the cities, the virus of postmodernity is spreading fast to the villages also, which believed in peace and tranquility.
What a man by default needs: a house, a wife, a job and an environment which supports life. What a man of wisdom requires: wealth and power. He does not believe in a house or a family. As such, he has no desire for peace either. He wants thrill in his life, even if it kills.
It pains me to think that everywhere, the society is being run by people who are second best. Who are best at their own survival. Who believe that the best men must be consigned to the libraries. The market does not support any idea which does not contribute to the further disintegration of the society. The world’s dadas want more confusion in social ranks, where men fail to find their feet, and their minds are lost in a maze of confusing passions, shorn of ideals. What finally describes this world is: There are no role-models. No examples to be set and followed. No men of character. No people who fight for their principles. The passion with which our elders fought for our freedom, we are fighting with equal passion for dissolution of that dream. The best people found themselves on the gallows, leaving their dreams to their own destiny, in the hands of the second best, who thrive on what they [the best] never thought of. A society minus all scruples. A society which believes in the second best. A society which exalts the worst. And a world which is run by men who possess no faith in essential values of life. By reverse logic, they are promoting the death of the divine, whether it is the divine will, remains to be seen.
[Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, [the Seneca, Charter of Morava, Franz Kafka and Maxim Gorky awards Laureate, with an opus of 180 books, whose name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia]] is a towering literary figure whose work embodies a rare fusion of creativity, intellect, and moral vision. He’s not just an Indian author but a global voice, challenging readers to confront the complexities of existence while offering hope through art and ethics. His legacy seems poised to endure as a beacon of conscience in a turbulent world. If Tagore is the serene sage of a colonial past, Anand is the fiery prophet of a chaotic present. Anand’s genius lies in his relentless ambition and ethical depth. Anand may well be considered as the conscience of the 21st century, carving a unique niche among Indian English writers with a voice that resonates globally while remaining fiercely Indian.]
Nigar Nurulla Khalilova is a poet, novelist, translator from Azerbaijan, Baku city, currently in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She is a member of Azerbaijan Writers Union. Nigar N. Khalilova graduated from Azerbaijan Medical university, holds a Ph.D degree. She has been published in the books, literary magazines, anthologies and newspapers in Azerbaijan, Russia, Saudi Arabia, USA over the years. Nigar N. Khalilova participated in poetry festivals and was published in the international poetry festivals anthologies. Conducted data in the Austin International Poetry Festival (AIPF), 2016-2017.
