Curse
Dark thoughts tickle
Within my brains
And my words trickle
From my veins
Until only emptiness remains.
Runes building poetry
Under pooled ink.
Words become a mystery
On sanity's brink;
I could cross if I dare blink.
My pen leaving craters;
Page upon page.
My words are traitors
To my rage.
These lines build my cage.
My nightmare breathes
With every verse
While my heart wreaths
Under my own curse
And the pain is growing worse.
Far Off Doors
Failure is the only thing I've succeeded.
I'm good at getting lost on the way.
Not seeing that you were all I needed,
While nothing could get me to stay.
Still nothing could fill the void left behind.
The emptiness is a painful longing.
Hiraeth in my heart; tormenting my mind.
Wanton of a paradise without belonging.
My soul haunts those forgotten halls
While my body walks along other shores.
My taunted heart screaming silent calls
That wish to knock on those far off doors.
From South-Western Michigan, Jerry Langdon lives in Germany since the early 90's. He is an Artist and Poet. His works bathe in a darker side of emotion and fantasy. He has released five books of Poetry titled "Temperate Darkness an Behind the Twilight Veil", “Death and other cold things” “Rollercoaster Heart” and “Frosted Dreams” Jerry is also the editor and publisher of the literary magazine Raven Cage Zine poetry and prose. His poetic inspirations are derived from poets such as Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. As well as from various Rock Bands. His apparently twisted mind, twists and intertwines fantasy with reality.
Midnight Soul and Hay Meadow Heart
Night comes creeping softly
Like a ghost descending the stairs
Dragging reluctant shadows behind it
With a dark beauty that mystifies reality;
Flooding my being with midnight skies
And lining the walls of my soul
With planets, suns, orbiting moons, swirling
Nebulas and covering the Sistine ceiling of my soul
With the layers of a million Milky Ways.
My super-conscious is a blackness
Lighted by a billion twinkling stars.
There is just room enough left in my psyche
To fill each crevice with the scent of new mown hay
And the site of the burgeoning meadows of home
Over-flowing the memory banks of my heart.
When Tomorrow Has Flown
When tomorrow has flown
Into future memories
Where will love be then;
Still strong between us?
Will your mind burn
With indelible images of me
Swirling just below instant recall?
Will your heart still ache
From the memory of my touch?
Will my undying words of love
Still echo in your chambered soul
When tomorrow has flown?
Love does not seek assurances;
It lives or dies within a dream.
Within the soul of yesterday
Love comes naked and barefooted;
A deep passionate flame
Burning in the wonder-filled darkness
Where twin souls are melded by time.
We are alive on sacred promises
And the murmuring madness
That comes whispering through time
To bind us soul in soul, as one.
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.
Let's save the "dying" World!
It's your turn, Oh scholar, Oh poet,
Humanity is dying before your eyes.
The greedy say everything is mine
He divides what he doesn't have into a hundred!
Make an invention, brainstorm,
Say such a word, let it touch the heart,
Let the soul-conquering song be sung,
The world has come to life, they are alive again!
We extend a helping hand with care,
Let's save the "dying" World!
Elmaya Jabbarova - was born in Azerbaijan. She is a 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.
Broken the Chain
I shall break down your chains
Even if nothing else in me remains
You have insulted me enough
Another one, will be too much
I shall break down your chains
I had from you suffered pains
Your hands have left my skin scarred
My total womanhood, you tarred
I shall break down your chains
My child's safety, from you, gains
All the beatings and control at home
Has peeled off your shiny chrome
I shall break down your chains
Marriage, no longer, my loyalty sustains
Now, the time came to find happiness
A true man, to comfort my loneliness
I have broken down your chains
My mind, my heart to wisdom trains
New love, my- self respect regained
I'm no longer an object, spirit maimed
Free verse
You harness me to own, process, and sell
You dig up walls and force me to redirect my path
You corrupt my purity with trash and poison
I rather flow and be abused rather than freeze cold
You pluck me from my life giving roots
You tear each petal and make ridiculous wishes
You squash me so my scent be bottled
I rather bloom and be destroyed rather than be ignored
You kissed me, to drink my life away
You praised me, to control my thoughts
You give some, to get everything else
I rather be used than to feel worthless in my eyes
You starved me, stealing my food
You make me work, taking my wages
You beat me, enjoying my tears and screams
I rather suffer, than left alone, nowhere to go
And we allow ourselves not to be free
To be used, misused and abused
For nothing is permanent even life
We rather exist in a moment's illusion of joy.
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.
Why? !!
Why?
Are you always on my mind?
Every second, every moment?
Are you in my soul?
You don't know ...
Why?
I can't go, you can't go either,
My pillows are wet with tears at night.
The stars are holding me in mourning.
You don't know.
Why?
Do you keep writing gazelles?
Is it a band or another beauty?
Shormikan peshonam yo azal, azal?
You don't know.
Why?
Did your love blind my eyes?
Do you have anything to do with me now?
Does it matter, spring or winter?
You don't know ...
Why?
My heart sank,
You have broken my broken tongue,
Oh, give back my poor heart.
Silent ....
Why?
Many questions, unclear answers,
It is clear that I will be separated,
Now love is abgor, feelings are broken,
No answer ...
Why?
Why?
Why ?????
You don't know ....
Sharipova Zuhro Sunnatovna (Zahro Shamsiyya) She was born on April 9, 1969 in the Nurata district of the Navoi region. Her first poem was published in 1985 in the Gulhan magazine. Uzbek publishing houses published works in the journal "Sharq Yulduzi", in the literature and art of Uzbekistan - "Ma'rifat", in various regional and district newspapers. World almanacs in Canada, -2017 in Dubai WBA 2018 "Turkish poets of the world" (Buta 3) 2019, "Muhammad Yusuf izdoshlari" 2017 almanac. She published her book "Ismsiz tuigular."
IN THE PALM OF MY HANDS
This is what belongs to me,
the small scene of everyday life
and the infinite ephemeral
This is the incredible photo (undeveloped)
from the first image
stamped on my retina, at his side
I save here
In the palm of my hand
the secret, the plot, the grace
Magic dimensions
Blessed, heavenly peace
That filled my days and today they are lost
My shy astonishments are recorded
spent in pleasant hours that
the hole of the night took away
in the palm of my hands
are recorded those cicadas,
always hidden singing to the times...
Lulling the days of my childhood
I also have recorded the resistance
That stubborn resistance
and the enclosure of solitude.
The task and the unsuspected grinding
what does it mean to me
GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer. Poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina. Based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters, author of seven books. Poetry genre. Awarded several times worldwide. She works as she, World Manager of Educational and Social Projects, of the Hispanic World Union of Writers .UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. Commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.
Prayer
I beg You, God,
Help us:
We who are children just turned forty,
We who still don’t know how to shake the gooey skin from our pithy words.
We haven’t wandered aimlessly with a dog
Merely
Because our grandfathers’ bones have been filling the cemeteries that our streets demand.
We haven’t drunk coffee,
Because the noise of their artillery really didn’t allow us to sleep.
Please, God,
When you are nigh, we shouldn’t dream of sheltering under blankets;
We want to see no matter what You have in mind for us
I beg You!
Don’t make matters go from bad to worse!
We're still kids--
Forever.
Translated by William HutchinsFaleeha Hassan is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.
She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian. She is a Pulitzer Prize nominee for 2018 and a Pushcart Prize nominee for 2019.
She is a member of the International Writers and Artists Association and the winner of the 202 Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine, the winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021), one of the Women of Excellence selection committees for 2023, the winner of Women In The Arts award for 2023 and a member of Who's’ Who in America for 2023.
SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023
Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
