paper tigers straddle
these doorways of perception
while we grow sleep in
those rusted mortal chains
bound by future desires
they block the tirade of jobcentre queues
                                                   gentle
                                               on the breeze
where chapters bind us (lost words)
roar to the core         animal entrapment
they hear you calling     from far away
& freeze in the moment




2/
dissemination murals
crack of dawn shadings
turning off capitalism’s filth
jaws/darkness/hunches towards
failing light
along a promenade at midnight
                                fools’ gold folds into sea
                                entry into schools/teachers decapitated 

from knowledge
fishmongers gone ashore cruelly joke
recording debits from credit card union
debasement’s brass etchings

3/
judges in plaster-cast moons
resulting hybrid benefactors
tracing etchings’
steps of wounded soldiers/
their pleas fall on/deaf ears

rattling drums/rattle snakes
(all)

encircled by bankers’ crumbs
bestowing on the headland
breaking wave gestures
tide’s fortitude

4/
fading light surrounds womb
             plastic cups social discourse
returning by memory’s see-saw swing
democracy’s wild call – a note from the press
motions
to sea-sick sailors (come)
audio then visual deprivations
outside those freezing chessboard nations

men in uniforms
split their sides
castigating new verbs

5/
desperately seeking fortunes
idle chatter frays on mudflaps
the gin-soaked body of wasted away
(passing their sealed lips)

stacked crazy artisans
rest a while this balance

in rear-view mirrors
at the factory’s birth
akin to 1960’s wallflowers

dishing the dirt on helpless presidents
context of the beat
conflict of defeat
bearing witness to eggshell crossroads


6/
dramatic intrigue as
shoelaces recapture
stepping gundogs which
sniff the air
(walking)
charitable cops
disregarding replica prime ministers
fooled into lapsing to
another doggy language
howling in this aftermath
where days emblazon
new colours for old spring collections
daffodils worn in the emptiness
as unemployment discolours
  

7/
junk heart stakes out
gentle malnutrition
seedlings posing perpendicular prosedy
across choppy sea disasters
as gesticulating bureaucrats
wander deserts & gypsy
hymns decline
racial origin
forceful adjectives
hasten to kaleidoscopic horizons
traces on the shoreline
passing scoundrels declare
gaping wounds of love
then whisked off by
amateur chauffeurs
each with splendid haircuts
from 1958 movies
& delicate bone structures
carve intimate knowledge
across these cracks of desire

Clive Gresswell is a 65-year-old innovative writer and poet with many publications to his name. His sixth poetry book, a 16,000-word stream-of-consciousness prose poem Shadow Reel, will be available through Amazon in July.

Snow Maiden

I am telling you Snow Maiden

You will melt like wax

The wind will lose your scent

The sea will carry your identity

I still love you

I know you won’t be mine

Flocks of seagull will be your companion

Your whiteness will be swayed by catkin

Bedouin will find your address

I will be a nomad like time

The speed will hang on one leg.

I’ll wear your nupur in the dance of memory

Will sell morning and afternoon

I will buy lost night.

Modern Saints

A serious meditation carried out

By seven modern holy saints

A well frog sings the song of Shiva

The mountain walks in the hands of the moon

Darkness lurks every night

A flood of kings in the midst of light

A daughter of two fathers

The illusion of shadow in the shell

May find your body

Timeless action is in the womb of time.

Whose is whose? No religion

The moon forgot her address

Everyone is wandering, the path is unknown.

The Drawings

 

The drawings are singing

The wonderful melodious songs are sung with instruments

Enchanting as the painting of Mona Lisa!

The laugh you live in me

For ever and ever.

 

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

13 May, 2023

 


Withered Thoughts

 

The cyclone is ready to destroy

People are taking shelter as the birds fly to other

Fear hovers around the coastal area

Fear disturbs the mind

The sun is so hot, the scorching sun

Hinders to pace outside

We are in this turmoil world

Drooping in the furnace and chokes the breath.

 

 

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

13 May, 2023

GIFT FROM GOD

 

Love is a gift from God

thank Maya by writing about Me.

You have no love for God, but call upon it, imagine that it is there, and pray for the Divine Vision.

That sublime love is hidden in holy books and in people whose mouths kiss the word of God and do not deviate from the path of devotion. Don't trust Maya men when you read love poems,

that's not love, that's lust.

Yesterday someone wrote about the only love,

 today you are the only love

tomorrow some other woman will be the only love.

It is a lie hidden in beautiful words.

Don't believe Maya's illusion

Don't look for love where it doesn't exist.

Pray to Maya with all your heart for protection.

Call Me.

I am Your gift, reveal me and

 keep me secret.

 

I FEEL YOU

 

Every raindrop is your inhale

and exhale

in the heavenly symphony

I listen to the beat of your heart.

Through the touch of the rain I feel you.

 

 

Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia.

She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci's statement, "Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard," is circulating through the blood.

That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them.

As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies, and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube.

Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali, and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers.

She is the recipient of many international awards.

"Trees of Desire" is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems "Moon Circle."

She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists "Mountain Views" in Montenegro, and she is also a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.

April

 

April has long fingerprints on the window

The girl climbs up to the soft cheekbones

Across furrows touched by life

It is morning and freedom smells at the top visible to the inner stumbling

Enchanting flowers will bloom from the fingers,

and smells flow instead of blood

But despite the joy of the will,

her body doesn't recognize the arms that hug her.

 

 

Emina Đelilović-Kevrić (Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina) 

After studying the b/h/s (bosnian/croatian/serbian) language and literature at the Philoshopical Faculty in Zenica she got her master's degree on the subject "Memory construction in the South Slavic interlinear community: typical models of the war camp experience in literature“. She is the author of the poetry collection "This time without history“ and the short stories collection "Erased lives."

Her collection of poems "My son and I“ is awarded by the Publishing Foundation of Bosnia and Herzegovina in 2021. In 2022 she won the second place in the international literature competition "Isnam Taljić“. She is the winner of the second award for the best short story of the regional literature competition "Zija Dizdarević“ 2022, and she won the first place on international literature competition "Nastavi priču“ in 2023. She won a third place on the international poetry competition "Ossi di Seppia“ in Italy.

 

YOU SAID

 

You said;

I will leave!

I will remove the seed of your image from my eyes

And plant it in the hard land of oblivion.

The shine from pupils will easily squirm, 

like a fish from palms.

 

I stood like a tree with many branches

abandoned by birds

and their nests.

 

I'm getting used to it

like earth's ground on dead bodies -

to your headless 

words.

 

Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia.

Winner of several international awards for poetry, including:

Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.,

„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020.

Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021.

„Fra Martin Nedić“ Award, 2022.

She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.

Sin

There was a singer named Tarashanker,
He wanted to treat singer as a 1st number.
One day a man came to him to compete against him,
The man was such a good singer Tarashanker seem.
To defeat the man,
Tarashanker hit upon a plan.
There was a jharbati where the man sit,
To untite the jharbati a man was fix.
By untiting Tarashanker killed the man,
Tarashanker said the people he stopped the accident as long as he can.
The man's wife wanted to God the justice,
The man's son's start singing practice.
God has came to the earth as a stranger,
God has become the man's son's singing teacher.
God made the boy a good singer,
The boy went to Tarashanker and raise his finger.
Tarashanker wanted to the boy removal,
The boy through a singing proposal.
But there was a deal,
He who can defeat ,will give poison and kill.
Tarashanker listened the boy,
Listening the boy, he lost his joy.
Now the cruel man again did that as he did with the man,
But God (stranger) unsuccessful all his plan.
The boy became winner,
He gave the poison to the sinner.
God gave them justice,
By understanding God's justice they pray and practice.

Robiul Awal Esa is a 1st year student of Diploma in Nursing Science & Midwifery Course in  Government Nursing Institue, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.