My Mother 

My mother is my world. 
My mother is really great. 
She always loves me, 
She is my guide and teacher. 
When I need some help 
She is always with me. 
She works hard day and night. 
To make my future so bright

Abdullah Al Mamun is a student of grade 7 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

I don’t believe you actually hear me.

You listen too strongly 

and can’t begin to fathom 

The continual storm of impulsive implications 

that jut themselves into my jugular.



Tearing and gnawing at flesh-

Pulling until skin snaps like spandex-

And I’m bleeding again.



But once the smeared scars sink 

Into my skin and 

I’m healthy like before,

Except now I am a liar.



So I scrape and saw away a little bit

At the end of every day and

Bruise my own cheeks for the sake of honesty.



And now I’m back at square one,

With your ears wide shut

And your eyes closed wide-



Why is the never-changing truth

That if I do not bleed, I must be lying.

Breath of Life
 
My happiness floats on the trills of your laughter – 
And the sacred light waves from your eyes. 
Wave after wave of love’s deep communion 
Drown me in thoughts of you with carefree abandon - 
A soft, loving mist born from the womb of time. 
You come to me from crushing eons of longing - 
On soul prayers scrawled across the pale sky; 
Describing a need and unquenchable desire 
Carried from wind-swept paths of infinity. 
Somewhere in illusion’s towering presence, you came, 
An unforgettable image, dwelling in my soul; 
Beauty personified caressing my thought waves; 
Not born of imagination, for I knew you were real. 
You, my answered prayer, flew to me in a rush, 
Bringing with you all the love I had longed for, 
That I might come to life on your in-drawn breath


I’m the Golden Little Girl 

I’m the golden little girl who talked to trees; 
Who, barefoot in the garden, chased the butterflies, 
And ran laughing through the summer rain. 
I’m the child who crept from the house at night 
And sat in the darkness staring at the stars. 
I’m the little girl whose eyes reflected the wonder 
Of long tailed comets streaking across the sky - 
Who clapped her hands exclaiming, Oooooo. 
I’m the child of bass-throated bull frogs, 
Flashing fireflies, noisy cicadas, fiddling crickets 
And night birds, rustling, in the darkened trees. 
I’m the child at home in the shadows of night, 
Walking barefoot through the dewy grass; 
Hearing foxes barking in the far-off fields 
And feeling the deer sleeping in the deep woods. 
I’m the child whose lips touched the blades of grass 
As she whispered to the earthworms and ants beneath. 
I’m the child who felt a reverence for everything, 
Who, in innocence, knew nothing of the word, 
Holy. 

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.

The Younger

The Younger is the pillar of society
They do yeoman's service for the country or society 
They are the builder of modern civilization. 
So, they are well known to their action.
They have a promise in heart
At the prime moment, they should never lose their heart. 
They take a long march for future
People receive them seriously or not
They try to change our society 
So, they are loved by the elders 
Moreover, they live with amity

Abdullah Al Mahin is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

GET AWAY FROM ME…

I agree in the deposit world, from me,
Well, let's not leave the gold and the castle,
I will fill him with good deeds,
But don't let my life pass in vain.

Do not remember me as bad,
Let them say my name as Mehr.
May sweet memories remain from me,
I don't want to see other people's hatred.

If I am a handful of soil,
But let me have a lot of books.
Well, if not wealth and career,
But let the name of the poetess remain.

Domestic Air Travel



He’s at

The airport now,

He hasn’t flown

In about

Four years,

A combination

Of Covid

And his London,

As he enters

The airport,

The first thing

He hears

Is one of his

Fellow Americans

Asking what

A terminal is.







Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset,” and his debut poetry collection is due out later this year.