LOW TIDE IN LAGUNA DE BAY

They embrace each other again, 

skin to skin, the islets of water spinach

and the surface of sticky mud 

after a week of dancing with the waves.  

The elusive seagull is close by,

roaming in the transient seashore

created by the low tide. 

The islands of water lilies aboard

in the breakwater, lonely 

for not receiving a warm welcome.

The sun is weaving, the twilight

says “Hello”, and in the distance

here comes the blinking of artificial stars

created by the city which deteriorated

that once deep Laguna de Bay.

I am there, standing on the pathway

that once part of the lake’s body,

jealous of the lake’s destruction.

I don’t know; perhaps it’s just me,

drowning in my deep thoughts

wanting to be visited

by low tide one day.

About the Author

John Lloyd C. Casoy is a public-school teacher in the Philippines. He has a bachelor’s degree in Bachelor of Secondary Education with a major in Filipino. Currently, he is writing his thesis for his master’s degree in Master of Arts in Filipino – Literature at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines.

How About it? Who are you?            


Oh. Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? All those houses up that way are for sale. I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? Why are all those houses up that way for sale? What the hell was that? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? What the hell was that? I can’t get the car started. Let’s harvest some of that pronto hey mom look there’s two weasels hey mom look there’s two weasels and get it under a microscope. 

But I don’t see how that can be ‘cause of the big bang. I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Wow we all thought this house was empty, I don’t remember seeing you living here before. I think I got a battery-powered transistor radio. Let me go get it. How ‘bout it? Look down there. What the hell was that? Everything just stopped, just like that. They’re bringing stuff out to the curb down there. Look. Who are you? Something wrong in the ground up there? 

Look. Really? That’s why they’re all selling? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Oh! They’re beautiful! How old are they now? Really? Why are they bringing that stuff out to the curb down there? Wow how time flies. But anyway. Who are you?  

They always say every household should have a battery powered transistor radio. But we don’t got one. [flop] So what’s wrong in the ground that they all need to move? Do you got one? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? The sky up there look at it. I thought you said you had a battery powered transistor radio. I never knew it looked quite that blue. Okay—and no we didn’t hear nothing. That’s something. We didn’t hear nothing. 

Why’d you say you had a battery powered transistor radio when you knew you didn’t have a battery powered transistor radio? No. You didn’t hear nothing? I mean dear God, it was something. We’re calling on neighbors who didn’t come out to make sure everything’s okay with them. 

Why’d you say that eh you a liar? We—nobody knows but there was a big bang up in the sky and all the power cut off. Why’d you say that eh you a liar? A big bang in the sky someplace. Why’d you say that eh you a liar? They reached on the inside of the wall for the entryway light switch and managed to get the lights back on. They looked out. 
What happened?

Why’d you say that eh you a liar?
Can’t tell. 
Just a big bang in the sky someplace.
What?
Why’d you say that eh you a liar?
A big bang in the sky someplace.

Why’d you say that eh you a liar?
A big bang in the sky someplace.
You a liar? A liar? A liar?
You a liar?
No!

So = they left the house, through their never had been knocked on ever, door, leaving their  brand new but already dead TV televisions “McVisionary and Pole” deeply branded dead set behind, and so even though they had got it for deep-free anyway, dear God Gimi Rando McRando never min all that damn anyway, get yourselves out there where you were then Gimi, for reasons having nothing to do with that one thought they had a battery-powered transistor radio but not never went back to get the damn thing here hey were deep seated o’re their elementalized correct element again as-as h-hey, strapped on their cestas, re-entered the court, and began to play. {pillo} 

They still found the game to be su-uperprisingly easy{.} ? Easy sass’ Fly! Pop! so Back! Catch! play Fling! Fly! Pop! so Back! so Back! so Back! so Back!
“Isn’t this game great, great fun?”
“Yes it’s fun!”

HEAVENLY LOVE


In the garden of your love, I find heaven.

You never let me in times of pain.

Patiently, you wait for me unwavering,

Not eating until I return again.


Your smile eliminates my life's treasures,

The most beautiful and esteemed one.

You are the sweetest flower in my soul,

Forever basking in your love's swarm sun.


Mother, I didn't do anything for you.

I never thought of you, I'm a thoughtless girl.

I smiled, I played and I walked along

like a carefree lady, without paying attention to you.


With pride and arrogance, I call myself a poet,

Several lines not rhyming, lacking meaning

Most of them wrapped in colorless paint,

Because I never wrote a poem to praise you.


Yes, I am a sinner, I know this well.

Just to speck, not worth a penny.

Mother, forgive your daughter's wrongdoings.

When did I worship you and your beautiful face?


Honey, "Your presence is my blessing", you always say.

Mother, it's time to go and I will do my responsibility.

Of course, I will do my filial duty.

I will bow down to you in Makkah as well.


Sarvinoz Giyasova was born on April 12, 2007, in the Bukhara region of the Republic of Uzbekistan. She discovered a love for literature at a young age through the stories and poems shared by her grandfather. When she was between 9 and 10 years old, she began writing her own  poems. Her poems have been published multiple times in the "Gidjduvan" newspaper, and she has also achieved recognition for  her work by winning prestigious awards in "Besh Tashabbus" contests.

  Currently, Sarvinoz is actively involved as a member and ambassador of various organizations. In addition to her literature pursuits, she is dedicated to expanding her knowledge by studying mathematics, mastering three different languages, and honing her skills in writing and translating poems in her free time. 

  Alongside these endeavors, she has been an active participant in Judo clubs and National Olympiads up until the age of 14.

Don't Miss Me #DMM 
<--- Title Of Poem #TOP 

Don't miss me when I'm gone,
For I'll be in a better place.
But please, don't forget me,
And the love we used to embrace.

Don't miss me when I'm gone,
For I'll be free from all pain.
But please, don't let my memory fade,
And our moments be in vain.

Don't miss me when I'm gone,
For I'll be in eternal sleep.
But please, don't forget my face,
And the promises we couldn't keep.

Don't miss me when I'm gone,
For I'll be just a memory.
But please, don't let me be forgotten,
And our love become a mystery.

Don't miss me when I'm gone,
For I'll be at peace at last.
But please, don't forget my name,
And the moments that have passed.

Don't miss me when I'm gone,
For I'll be beyond your reach.
But please, don't let go of our love,
And the lessons that it did teach.

Don't miss me when I'm gone,
For I'll be in a better place.
But please, don't forget me,
And the love we used to embrace.

✍🏿🗣🎤 Ike Boat

EVENING IN THE  MEADOWS

In this meadow full  of swampy land.
Adorned with mountains trees, grass, flowers and salubrious evening air.
The sky was looking so glorious  tinged with golden color 
It was a nice evening mesmerized with wild flowers. 

Meanwhile the moon appeared in  the sky with  million smiles.
The fringe sky looked glimmered with  moonshine.
Slowly the moonshine wrapped  the whole  ambiance. 
Every beings lighted and delighted with  the soft moonlight.

The tall trees of the meadows looked beautiful  and meditative. 
A rapt silence reigned in that realm of beauty. 
In the meantime the rustle of the leaves resonated the air. 
There  was whisper of enchanting fragrance  in the  air.

Then rose the crickets that remained hidden in the grass. 
They started  their  hymn in that  enchanting  glade.
Prevailed there a beauty and blissful  air.
Reverberated the meadows with the songs and whisper of night so fair.

Dr. Maheswar  Das
India


MORNING REVERIE OF THE WOODLAND 

Morning  descends with  million  smiles and blessings of eternity. 
The enormous all- pervading  sunshine sprinkles and makes the  entire ambiance colourful.  
The dew-sprawling-grass field looks glamourous and colorful.
The blade of grass dazzles carrying the dew drops in its breast.

The morning breeze enthralls all beings with  an amazing  touch of happiness. 
The chorus of bird-flocks in the  sky enlivens all beings with an infinite peace
The valley  looks  colorful  carrying the tall trees under the enchanting sky
The woodland whispers with glee carrying the enormous shades of  clouds.

The tall mountains of  the valley kiss the clouds with so much ecstasy in their eyes.
The buzzing of the bees and butterflies makes the land a paradisal look.
The narrow brook that flows in the valley carries  the songs of the cuckoo in an enchanting way.
The sky lark and other song birds spread their music spell unheard  of anything of the woods.

The morning  resonate with the  musing of nature seems meditative .
The rapt reverie of valley  is often broken by songs of  birds.

Dr. Maheswar Das
India



FROM DEATH TO IMMORTALITY

Like lightning, you are the spark in everything
The energy in all beings 
How futile is it to cling to matter always. 
How long we will remain as a slave of matter 
Not master
Never greedy to go up
Leaving the dense gross, ascending  to subtle 
How  much inert is our intellect 

Oh Lord  
Raise our consciousness
From darkness to enlightenment 
Make us free from the  bondage of gross matter
for a upward journey From mortality to immortality 
From darkness to light 
From matter to divine
For, immense resplendent 
light is beckoning from far beyond 

Dr.Maheswar  Das
India



Daffodils

Oh delightful golden daffodils
Oh messenger of spring
As I behold you for the first time in the garden green
I fell in love with your mesmerizing beauty
To me, you are a golden love flower of heaven
As l see you, my mind thinks of the spring season
I  look all  around to see the presence of spring
With your arrival, spring has already set in
With all its splendor and glee.

Under the radiant purple sunshine
I  see you in the meadows
You are dancing and swinging in the zephyr
Your fragrance lifted me to the realm of heavenly joy and cheer
Heaven's beauty has nestled in your soft gaze.

How beautifully almighty has wrought you.
How beautiful is your whisper
How enchanting is your serenity and beauty that cheers all
How beautiful is your fragrance that attracts all poets  and viewers
In vale and meadows, your fragrance stirs the air.
Your presence makes the ambiance colorful

Dr. Maheswar Das
India



Dr. Maheswar Das
-------------------------------
He is a bilingual poet, translator, editor, and story writer. He writes in English and the Odia language.

He has been pursuing his creative writing for the last twenty years and has authored more than one thousand English poems. All of his poetical exposition centers around Nature, God, love, and relationships. Some of his poems have been translated into international languages. He has co-authored three English anthologies of poems with his two friends.  Besides he is the co-author of more than fifty English anthologies of poems of many literary groups.

He holds the degree of M.A. in both Economics and History. He has accomplished a Ph.D.  degree in sociology from Utkal University. He also holds a law degree from M.S. Law College, Cuttack. He hails from Mallipur in the district of Cuttack, Odisha, India.

His English poems have been published in several national and international journals and Anthologies and have gained worldwide appreciation. He has received so many accolades from various national and international literary groups. He is a recipient of the Gold Medal award from the World Union of Poets, Rome.

A POSTCARD FROM PERU

	Yerbabuena
We pass a young boy herding four yearlings. They startle at our engine’s grind, the glare of headlights, the shrill horn. In the dawn twilight, other trucks and combis are pulling up. Their passengers climb down, heavy bundles and baskets over shoulders, and enter the market yard.  

The Sunday market in Yerbabuena is one of the largest in the region—and one of the few traditional trueque (bartering) markets that still exists.  Folks have come from the many small villages and hamlets in this Utcubamba River valley, between Leymebamba and Chachapoyas.  

Tarps are being stretched over rickety wooden stands. Offered wares are set out: horse tackle and ropes, sandals and slingshots (for hunting) made of old tires, produce from highlands and low. Wood fires in the comedores spice the growing morning.

Soon the bustling hustle is on.  One woman offers half a saddlebag of corn for plantains.  Yonder, a family is their calf.  All around people are trading pottery for produce from a chakra (small farm), or well-bundled kindling for a trussed chicken (no doubt, this afternoon’s almuerzo). 

I have nothing to trade—but soles (the local currency) are accepted for the bread and avocados I buy before hopping a truck towards the Revash ruins.



 
IN THE FRIGID NIGHT

18-19 March 1994 / Oaxaca to Mexico City (El Oaxaqueño / 2ª class)

I awaken at about 4:30 a.m. Our train is winding deep within the folds of the Sierra Madre. This night is frigid. I dig out my sleeping bag.

A father in one seat holds two of his small children tight. They wear only light cotton shirts. They might be migrating from the warmer lowlands – from Tapachula on the Guatemalan border, or perhaps from the Tehuantepec isthmus. 

On the floor across the aisle, the mother shares their only blanket with the two younger children.

I unzip my sleeping bag open and hand it to them for the night. Father smiles and folds it around his son and daughter. Soon they fall asleep.

I put on another shirt and button up my jacket. Huddled within my seat, I watch the night silently slip by.


 
SUNSET JOURNEY  
 
Across & across miles & miles of flat, dry-green savannah, the land rolling towards dark-treed mountains dressed in clouds, blue crystalline sky brushed with nebulous white, sunlight sheening off rivers graveled tresses braiding. Shadows sink deeper, rose perfumes periwinkle clouds, the setting sun honeys the grasses & trees of these flat, rolling sabanas, scattered settlements gather like the foothills, like the cumulus over that now-nearer sierra. Climbing through three lo-o-ong tunnels & finally into a high valley, pallid indigo sky stippled with clouds, the mountains covered with low brush, dwarf trees, cacti, bare rock folded, twisted, tilted by the millennia … all lost in the dusk.  



Lorraine Caputo is a wandering troubadour whose writings appear in over 400 journals on six continents, and 23 collections – including In the Jaguar Valley (dancing girl press, 2023) and Santa Marta Ayres (Origami Poems Project, 2024). She also authors travel narratives, articles and guidebooks. Her writing has been honored by the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada (2011) and thrice nominated for the Best of the Net. Caputo has done literary readings from Alaska to the Patagonia. She journeys through Latin America with her faithful knapsack Rocinante, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth. Follow her adventures at www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer or http://latinamericawanderer.wordpress.com.

Mommy

My kind and my heaven,
My angel are only you.
In family you are queen,
No happiness without you.

You love us equally always,
You are the best mother.
You have the best kindness,
And you love the best father.

I tend to miss you every time,
Whenever I am far from you.
Not loving you is a crime,
Because the best one is you!