The Passage of Time
Long vanished the ancient cold,
The song of the wolves, distant
Howling through the downy flakes
Drifting o’er rooftops and curling
From chimneys grown cold.
Time glows like a banked fire
Against the cold of eons past
Aching bones of lost love
Waiting in time to dance again.
Wilted the love posies given
By wooers besotted and forlorn
In the heydays of their passion
Never to hear sweet promises
Polished, refurbished and stored
In the heart-shaped boxes of time
Or wear the locks of hair in lockets
Of long dead lovers, sworn
To vows impossible to keep
Past the eons of their courtship.
Old are the dreams, forgotten
The glory of laughter and youth
To be lived as the wind whispers
Beneath the waves of thunder,
Grumbles into the caves of love,
Absorbed by the echoing walls.
Longing dies but lives in memories
Bursting forth in the glory of sunsets,
Waking on the sunbeams of morning,
And sleeping in the dust, tracked
Through the temples of timeless love.
Sacred Freedom
It’s the soul that is touched by space and time
And the heart that breaks to poignant rhyme.
A King can feel like a prisoner within his castle halls,
While the soul of the dungeon inmate soars beyond his walls.
Circumstance is what you make of your surroundings
A castle can be a fortress wherein fancy sings
Or a prison where only despair is given wings.
Each step is sacred that you walk in a free land
Thank God for freedom to choose where you stand.
Christmas Sonnet
This, our first Christmas, brings me such delights!
You are all the gifts I ever dreamed of;
Every Christmas tree trimmed with sparkling lights;
Every star on top symbolizing love.
You're every kiss beneath the mistletoe;
Every turkey, yeast roll and candied yam;
The angels I made lying in the snow;
You're my gingerbread man, my honeyed ham!
You’re every Christmas Carol I have sung;
You’re reindeer, Santa Claus and candlelight;
All the stockings filled I carefully hung;
You’re the sleigh bells imagined on Christmas Night.
You’re the glowing fireplace on Christmas Eve -
All the cookies and milk I used to leave.
Sacred Silhouette
Yours is the sacred silhouette outlined
Between me and the LIGHT of Creation –
The deep voice of love from outer space
Reaching me from the corridors of time;
The pulsating heart of constancy
Beating for me in echoing waves
Of unforgettable love, caught
In the beauty of thought and desire
To hold the night in each other's arms.
Your love touches every cell of my being.
You are the glow in the mist of morning;
The chirping cricket on the threshold
Of love’s open doorway to paradise.
You are evening’s quiet reverie
Enhancing my belief in a loving God.
You are the quiet breath of falling dew;
The glow of lilies in the moonlight.
You are a thousand fireflies lit by my desire
To know the tenderness of your ways.
You’re the taste of moonlight on my skin;
My silent steps on the path of yearning
As I walk in the sacred shadow of stars
Seeking your soul in love’s rocking cradle
Suspended from the limb of infinity.
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.
Measurement of life according to the scribes
All of us have been granted the invaluable gift of life by the Almighty. Each person must decide how to use it. You should expect to experience
a variety of difficulties throughout your life pathways. We ought to make to the most of the possibilities that are given to us. Life shouldn’t be wasted on pointless things. Every second that goes by is an integral aspect of human existence.
It will be a witness to a person’s gain or loss on the Day of Judgment. Therefore, a Muslim should manage his time like a savvy businessman.
I have no issue with advising all scientific students to read ‘’The Value of Time in the Eyes of
Scholars’’ in order to be able to manage their time wisely and utilize it efficiently.
This book exhorts the reader to seize each moment as it comes. When a genius rests,
They rehash what they have written and the information they had learned since they were so absorbed in what they were doing.
Time is not a fabric that can be created; rather, it is an opportunity that comes along only once.
‘’Each day that begins calls out: ‘O son of man, I am a new day, I am a witness of your deeds,
Take advantage of me. If I pass away, I will not return until the Day of Resurrection, ‘’remarked
Hasan Basriy, may God have mercy on him.
Time is precious.
Marjona Murad’s daughter Abdurazokova. On July 1, 2007, she was born in the Tashkent region. She is currently a ninth-grade general secondary school student.
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a glorious death
mice in the attic
where is the hole
here comes the
nightmares at
three in the
morning
lucid dreams of
a glorious death
but you can't help
but wonder if you
are jack ruby instead
sixty years later
and no one wants
the truth
what if our own lives
are a conspiracy
that would make
as much sense as
god or the big bang
theory being on every
channel known to man
otis redding is on
the radio now
a little slice of the truth
---------------------------------------------------------
face the world alone
first hard freeze
winter will soon
be here
it gets harder
every year to
face the world
alone
the songs get
sadder
the days move
along at a snail's
pace
you don't have
the guts for the
shotgun in the
corner
or the brains to
get yourself out
of this situation
determined to
simply run out
the clock
a red x for every
remaining day
--------------------------------------------------------
the entire bottle
everyone ordered
a fruity wine
i asked for the
strongest bottle
of liquor they
had
the entire bottle sir?
you see what
these clowns
are drinking
yes, the entire bottle
they wanted a light
evening to go over
quarterly notes
i wanted to be
either dead or
somewhere else
110 proof with
a glass of ice
i had no interest
in the glass
there was a reason
i enjoyed working
remotely so damn
much
-------------------------------------------------------------------
to see the trees
the leaves are
changing colors
summer trying
to hang on
of course, it will
probably snow
next week
i can remember
going miles and
miles as a child
to see the trees
now, just go on
youtube and watch
a few videos
the way we are
destroying the
earth
those videos might
be the only way the
future generations
will understand what
we once had
------------------------------------------------------
struggling to find a meal
swimming in treacherous
waters
another warm day in
early november
leaves piling up
on the streets
stray cats struggling
to find a meal
the last love of my life
has said goodbye and
the shotgun in the corner
gets more appealing by
the day
a misunderstanding
becomes the edge
of a knife
hope is the last dancer
for the night
you ever wonder why
the tornado spared a
place like this
apparently, mother nature
also knows how to work
a pole
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is stuck in the suburbs, wondering where all the lonely housewives have gone. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Dumpster Fire Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Asylum Floor and The Beatnik Cowboy. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Yet twinkling lights were seen flying near and free
Fireflies are so gentle to keep you company
Don’t be afraid, you’re never alone even in the dark
Don’t be afraid though your eyes seem blind
Don’t be afraid though you feel lost and cold
Don’t be afraid of being alone in the dark
You are never alone, just wait and believe
Don’t be afraid, you are protected. Don’t you see?
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.
We all know that the twenty-first century has evolved into an era of technology. Both young and old people are holding cell phones. It’s a terrible situation. After all, this is detrimental to young people’s futures. Not just children, but also adults… Parents are glued to their phones when they get home from work. They don’t care about their children’s future because they don’t care about their children. Instead of learning, young people spend their days staring at their phones. Unfortunately, not all information found online is helpful, and not everyone utilizes it properly. This poses a serious threat to the nation’s future. Parents should first rectify themselves in order to stop this. It is essential to be concerned about his future and to support his decisions. It is a good idea to set up all the necessary circumstances for them to fall in love with reading and to congratulate them when they finish a particular book or assignment. Children are like flowers, my dear and beloved parents. Be sure to look after it. You will then see positive effects.
Marjona Murad’s daughter Abdurazokova. On July 1, 2007, she was born in the Tashkent region. She is currently a ninth-grade general secondary school student.
They are dishonoured who snatch away the Sleep from innocent people
By envy and egoism of Bayonets,
Who bereave others others from their rights Under the knee of their dirty power,
Who made helpless mortally every corner of
Beloved land.
Until now salty blood smell of thirty lakhs
Bengali floating on air.
Lanes and by lanes, killing fields stand on eyes
With crying of grave silence
Repainting with blessings of memorial.
Across the world holy child of bestial sperm,
Blooming war child carries tearless lament of
Desolate Heroine. Think of,
WHO knows the gruesomeness of war than us!
So, we don’t want war but peace in the globe.
Avoiding starvation with sufferings from the Debris of burnt peace house
Today we are fifty two years old.
In this 52nd Victory Day of Bangladesh, at this Assemblage I am a petty representative
Who am sending peace message to you all
Of the world, a letter with red alphabet and Green envelop of friendship is being delivered To every home of world village.
Today,16 December, in our Victory Day, I wish
A leader of pure soul to come back with calling
Of magical voice of generous life like Mujib in
The persecuted land of earth.
Wishing them to wake up of wounded and Moribund lives for fighting of Independence.
Wishing them to sing a song of freedom.
One day, the earth will give shiver with pandemic of peace.
Aklima Ankhi is a poet, storyteller and translator from Cox’sbazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh. She has a published poetry named “Guptokothar Shobdochabi” written in Bangla. She is a post graduate in English Literature. As a profession she is a Lecturer in English.
