Plate Tectonics Versus Gamma Ray Bursters

An old man remembers what he has been
yet the details are unimportant. Then
the outline disappears, and the meaning.

Good, I can die or go to work, be wise
or a jerk. Rich or poor, the wind and rain
wear us away and it’s o.k.

Ask what matters, that
question. Feeling the seasons, wearing a hat,
loving your woman, a good shit.

Children born. Two cells meet, multiply,
spiral into fetus. The mother is amazed:
an intelligence apart from herself.

The violent rainstorm kept me awake
although the lightning was still far away.
I lay in my bed and listened naked.




Cosmo's Moon

The only problem with "Moonstruck"
is Cosmo's moon could never be so large in winter,
stand for luck.

Mid-winter sledding brought joy
snow, speed, although the kids were beautiful
none were boys.

Walking the boundaries, and the old field
boundaries. Aged maples, barbed wire
past the cambium.

Northern hardwood all the way, except
less than an acre scotch pine plantation
and a few primeval spruce.

Pendant spruce cones in tree tops
colonizing the old field too. Conifers
a primitive civilization.

Lyonia has red, scaleless buds.
Shrub or small tree, maximum height 12 feet.
It's a heath, Ericaceae.

Small, white, bell-like flowers become
seamed capsules, similar to but smaller than
laurel, Kalmia.

The buds had me thinking red chokeberry,
Rosaceae, but of course the fruit
was completely wrong for a rose.

A timber stand improvement now
in the scotch pine would encourage tall
even straight trees, a cathedral.

The maples on the upper rocky slopes
where the skidders couldn't or wouldn't go
are impressive as eagles', hawks' nests.

Mid-summer, Spiraea, field of pink flowers
fully encircled by mountain ranges.
Bees working them.

Nancy, the broker, coming at five.
These 160 acres, a dream, are unnecessary.
Offer 500 dollars per acre.

Not an investment, a sanctuary.
Backed against the Taconic ridge,
real moon rising.




What Have I Seen?

1

Sunrise, late winter
skunk smell
turkey flock
playful otter, too.

The white heron
a great blue,
white phase,
in the abandoned beaver pond.

Purple clematis
its long-awned achenes
in globose heads
spidery, fiery, extravagant fruit!

To identify or classify
birds by
the complexity or beauty
of their songs.

And so
what is over that
ridge or hill
a sink-hole, a sand dune, a steep bluff.

2

What must I do. Organize
the heretofore unorganized. The rabble
of unemployed child abusers.
Molesters of their intimates.

Are there dysfunctional bird families?
Simply put, they do not survive.
We have hope
that everyone alive is essential,

consequential. We classify
and specify.
The commonplace and everyday
is sanctified.

What happens everyday?
Morning is quiet, everyone at work.
Home writing, watching birds.
Afternoon, kids come back from school.

Evening, watch tv.
Scotch and Star Trek.
Captain Picard's problems eclipse
ours who stayed behind.

3

Pray to Allah
and maybe he will spare you
when he sets the world
on fire.

Where or with whom
will I be on that day?
And how many people and adventures
will I find in the wind storm and rubble?

I may live, but will it matter
whether or not I help anyone else to live?
This is no Last Judgement.
Those who have learned or who still know how to live

will survive.
Nobody will go to hell, they will just die.
There is no limbo either.
Anyone who didn't find a way to be immortal is just dead.

So, what am I trying to do.
Organize the unemployed, the welfare mothers
and alcoholics
into a flying chevron of purposeful explorers?

4

The doctor's conscious, organized,
naive attempt to do good,
his legacy, versus the randomness
of the road and the war zone.

There his legacy is his rectitude and natural
rough compassion for the damaged people
he encounters. The difference
between planning a legacy
       
as if you knew enough to control events
and letting the legacy arise
from events themselves, controlling,
insofar as you are able, only

your own actions and reactions.
The doctor's leadership role such as it was
grew out of not his material possessions
like the car

but his mission, his personal quest
to find the young doctors he had naively trained
and sent into the war zone
where all died.

5

July-a cold city
not as great or as gritty
as I thought, summer theater left
the shoe shine bereft of customers

eyes cold as a bureaucrat's
except for our soles
and their leather. Sweat-soaked
girls, the beautiful ones left town.

Emotionless as a bus.
Sparrows, no chickadees.
All that's important happens indoors.
Exercise to philosophies.

You get what you see.
The panhandlers ask
just once, won't risk
friendship, justice.

No sale today
in the finite city
where, for the shoe shine,
pedestrians are infinite, times two shoes.

6

Faith = wait + trust.
But don't anticipate.
Popper prohibits prediction.
Niebuhr expects destruction.

I believe in God
doesn't mean there's a sketch
of a man in my head. It must mean
all will be well in the end.

Satisfied with snow
or summer. And now
with dying old or younger.
Gold or paper clips. Gulps or sips.

In the final resting place
in the city of the dead
are there all night card games
and sometimes open swims?

Each inch, square, or cube of Earth
brim with grasses and sedges, dragonflies and spiders,
      sparrows and eagles.
The tiger lily and the water lily and the lily of the valley,
      the calla lily.
When a girl on a bicycle smiles, that is a smile.

Robert Ronnow’s most recent poetry collections are New & Selected Poems: 1975-2005 (Barnwood Press, 2007) and Communicating the Bird (Broken Publications, 2012). Visit his web site at www.ronnowpoetry.com.

There are good things too!
 
Friends and acquaintances who loved us true, 
Beloved birds chirping with cheerful glee, 
Once again on that shore, sands askew, 
Love's feast they've set, inviting you and me. 
See how long it's been since our paths diverged, 
No arrivals, no tidings brought our way, 
Sweet desires dwindling, barely emerged, 
Arriving at your intent, missing the day. 
Frail souls, blinded by grudges and spite, 
One day the wedding you boasted will rot, 
Fueled by hatred and greed's endless fight, 
The jug will shatter, unable to be sought.
Let's momentarily forget the days that passed, 
Observe the skies, the moonlit night's dance, 
Shake off the dust, let go of the past, 
Rooting our hearts anew, in this fresh chance.

Elmaya Jabbarova - was born in Azerbaijan. She is poet, writer, reciter, translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Shargin sesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for
Africa», «Juntos por las Letras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African's CAJ magazine, Bangladesh's Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.

Evil Brothers

Once upon a time two brothers lived in a village. The elder brother was very hardworking but the younger brother never worked. They had a cow farm. There were ten cows in the farm. Five younger brothers and five elder brothers. The elder brother used to take care of ten cows alone and the younger brother used to rest all day. If the milk of ten cows were sold the younger brother would take half of the money. This continued for several years. One day suddenly the elder brother got upset and said, "I can’t handle your cow anymore." This
started a fight between the two brothers. After the quarrel was over the elder brother decided to sell his cows and go abroad. So that day he sold his cows. On the other hand the younger brother decided to kill his elder brother’s cows. So he went to the farm at midnight
and killed five cows. Next morning his elder brother told him good bye and went abroad.

Hearing the younger brother said “Where did you get the money to go abroad?” The elder brother said he had sold the cows. Hearing this, the younger brother ran to the farm and saw the dead cows and started crying. And said what happened to me while harming to others.

Moral lesson: If you want to harm others, you harm yourself.


Ali Haider is a student of grade 7 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Higher Profession

Heavy rain has been falling continuously for several hours. Since it started raining, Robiyabibi was also sitting in front of the window staring at the patter of the rain.

Robiyabibi’s heart was filled with sadness, as if looking at the rain would wash away the wards in her heart. He was so engrossed in such thoughts that he did not even notice Madina’s entrance. He thought only of his words “it’s raining beautifully”. Rabiyabibi looked at Madina as if she had woken up from sleep and said:

– That’s the rain. With its beautiful rain, it has become a habit to wash away the wards in people’s hearts, – said Robiyabibi thoughtfully.

  – Oh, how did you know? Madina said jokingly

– It’s just visible. Everyone knows that. Just like my mom is a doctor.

  – Well, then why does nobody know your profession? Madina said

  – I don’t have a profession, I’m still just a student

  – In the future?

  Robiyabibi looked at Madina and thought.

  – My future profession… – he thought and:

  – Come on, Madina Khan, let’s hear from you first, – said Robiyabibi in a sarcastic tone.

  “It’s better to say that it’s not clear yet,” he said, and Madina became serious.

This conversation soon spread to Robiyabibi’s school. Now everyone was laughing at Robiyabibi. Madina, who was the closest, laughed at him and belittled him as “useless”. Even his teachers looked at him with pity.

One day they humiliated Robiyabibi and made fun of her. She left the class crying. While she was walking on the road crying, she did not see the car coming and was hit by a car…

People gathered quickly. Robiyabibi was taken away by Ambulance. But it was too late.

In an instant, the gathered people dispersed in an instant, and there was hardly anyone left on the street. However, on a single crumpled piece of paper, written in large letters, were these words:

 “RESPECTFUL OF WHO A MAN WILL BE IN THE FUTURE, WHAT OCCUPATION HE WILL HAVE, HE SHOULD ALWAYS ACQUIRE HUMANITY.

MY FUTURE AND PRESENT PROFESSION IS HUMANITY.

Botirova Go’zal 

With Notes of Irony

Call it dogged by bad luck.
Call it a fool’s prophecy.
Call it fate lighting a cigarette
after it fucks you in the arse.
Call it an albatross around your neck.
Call it an ancestral curse.

Blame it on crossing paths with a black cat.
Blame it on your astrological sign.
Blame it on the neighbour who dabbles
in witchcraft. Blame it on the devil.
Blame it on your treacherous spouse
for opening an umbrella
inside the house. Blame it on a bad penny.
Blame it on a broken mirror.
Blame it on the politician you elected.
Blame it on old age.
Blame it on the youth of today.

Say to yourself you deserve it all.
Say it with gusto.
Say it’s one giant goat rodeo.
Say it’s too late to turn it around.
Say it while donning the paint of a tragic clown.
Say it with self-entitlement.

But for pity’s sake, never say
it’s the sum of your choices.

I CAN NEVER LOSE YOU

Age never mattered when it came to our love
or what treasures we had stored up in our hearts
Only your heart would understand my whispers
The storm in you rages when we are alone
And there is no doubt of the feelings that I have for you.. so special
In my life, I have suffered losses; people and things I loved
I lived through each one, although it was hard at times
Moments ago I lost myself to you and am lost in you now
But to ever lose you would put me over the edge.
I can't even think of it....




IF ONLY FOR NOW

Walk with me if only for now
Wherever life takes us is home
These moments are precious
and life could end without  notice
Dreams can come true or die
I have always been with your through time
I was the shadow that waited from afar
Did you not notice me on a sunny day or
hear my whisper in your ear through a warm breeze?
You could not see me in the past, but I am your future
Only the time we have been given is guaranteed
I will walk with you until we get to that fork in the road
Whether in reality or dreams... either way you'll be mine.




YOUR SWEETEST DREAM

I pretend to not see you look my way
I sigh because the love you have for me is so deep.
You take my breath away when you come towards me
My love for you only grows and I can't imagine myself
ever being without you...
Always take me with you

I long for you to always drown my life with your love
There is nothing you can give me that is worth more than that
I never fear what is in our future, whether joy or sorrow.
As long as we do it together is all that matters to me...
Never leave

And I pray you will always love me as your Sweetest Dream...
Hold me closer





THE REALIZATION OF LOVE

You might not be looking for it, and at times you even try to run from it.
But sometimes it just happens.
You look at each other, you smile, and you just know ... 
When love happens, you can't stop it.
Suddenly, life feels a lot brighter and happier. 
You become aware of his smile when he looks at the little things about you. 
And those little things become the poetry in his heart that he had been missing. Those little things also taught him how to love.




ON EVERY PAGE

On every page of our life together
I will sign my name
because your heart belongs to me,
just as with every memory we share
You appear in every poem I write,
and in every angelic song that I have sweetly whispered in your ear
True, is every love story we've lived
My smile is intentional
for you are mine
Every heartbeat keeps in time with the music of our rhythmic nights  
You are my Everywhere and my Always.


Bio:

Kristy Ann Raines is an American poet and author born in Oakland California, USA. Kristy has five books which will soon be published. One anthology with a prominent poet from India, Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai, will launch sometime in October 2023 called, “I Cross my Heart from East to West.” She has also written two fantasy books entitled, “Rings, Things and Butterfly Wings” and “Princess and The Lion”, a collection of poems in English,” Walking Without You”, a collection in French, “Little Rose Poetry”, and one in Arabic called,  “Jasmine and Roses", to be released in the future.  Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing.

Ah, Death

Once, Death was a fearful word
Cutting life with unrelenting sword
Cold and stiff, underground to hoard 
Some naked, more in varnished board
All that's living, Death eventually lord
No one can choose on own accord 
The time to willingly cut the cord
But then, is Death really just an end?
The goal straight, no one can bend? 
How can broken hearts be mend? 
Where to, grieving prayers can send?
Gathering that one must attend
Careful that words will not offend
Comfort and strength to lend. 
Death is not the end, but a beginning 
From cold winter, comes the spring
New trails for green meadows bring
Knot or unknot the old with new string
Death, must the living yearn or fear?
Emotions and ambitions to stir
The future, sure yet vaguely unclear.


Nah, nah, nah. 

Everyone needs someone to love, 
Everyone needs someone who'll love. 
Coz we're human needing humans
That ain't wrong nor weird
We're not crazy, we're not weirdos 
We're social creatures not bimbos
That ain't wrong, so it goes
A Lone Wolf searching for a pack
Home waiting for my coming back
That ain't wrong to lack
Wanting wings for my head to tuck
Family feathers not wanting to pluck
That ain't wrong to wish luck
Nah nah nah
That ain't wrong nor weird
That ain't wrong, so it goes
That ain't wrong to lack
That ain't wrong to wish luck
Everyone needs someone to love, 
Everyone needs someone who'll love.
Searching, wishing for one true love.
Nah, nah, nah, normal ones

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.