Poetry from Mesfakus Salahin

I am alive


Please don’t say me dead
I am still alive after death
I am living in the pages of history
In the laughter of a child’s mystery
I have conquered death of time
Now everything is mine
Look my face in the Flag
Everyday I rise with the rising sun
Every night I gossip with the stars
I fly  in the belief of patriots
And the hope of new generation
Every moment l listen your heartbeat
I hear what your tongue utter
I am not worried about my life
That I gave in the Liberation War
See, me, I am always with your prayer.
I am always with the feeling of crore
Death has nothing to do
I am over death
I’m still alive
And I will be alive generation after generation.

Poetry from Annie Johnson

Light skinned woman with curly white hair and a floral top.
Annie Johnson
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.

Essay from Chimezie Ihekuna

Chimezie Ihekuna (Mr. Ben) Young Black man in a collared shirt and jeans resting his head on his hand. He's standing outside a building under an overhang.
Chimezie Ihekuna

Nigeria, the so-called ‘giant of Africa ‘ is fast becoming a shadow of itself. From the pinnacle of relevance as being the most populous black nation in the world to a land endowed with enormous human and natural resources, the country is loosing its highly magnified framework of international and global recognition. 

October 1 1960 birthed a nation that would be known to be home to the highest concentration of black people in the world. Known for its enormous resources, each regions at the time survived independently through the instrumentality of viable and sustaining agriculture. The Eastern region was known for the abundant production of palm oil and other related derivatives. Cocoa was an export crop produced in the western region and the famous groundnut pyramid was the symbol of the food strength of the northern region. Together, Nigeria prospered economically.. The political sagacity and geniuses of the Late Chief Obafemi Awolowo of the Western region, late M.I Okpara of the Eastern region and Sir Ahmadu Bello of the Northern region ensured peaceful co-existence as they independently mapped out posterity-driven strategies to make their respective regions peculiar. Consequently, Nigeria, before the coup in 1966 and Civil War of 1967-1970, was one of the best nations to visit from anywhere in the world!

Unfortunately, the discovery of oil was the commencement of what would epitomize the decline of the viable economy. There was a subsequent shift of focus from Agriculture to oil. The 70s saw the emergence of oil gradually taking its stance as the main-stay of the Nigerian economy. The oil boom of the 80s had the Nigerian attention completely focused on the oil sector. A mega-business it was and fast growing, the politicization soon crept in. Before eyes could bleak, corruption was the developing cancer whose anomalous spread affected other sectors of the economy. Hence, making difficult foreign investment to thrive in Nigeria.

As more multi-national companies begin to contemplate leaving the once-prospering economy, the following are reasons their decisions to leave Nigeria would see the light of day

Irregular Power Supply: Nigeria is own to be the parent supplier of the power to neighbouring countries as Ghana, Cameroon, Niger, Chad, Benin Republic and Togo. But it’s ironic these countries experience steady power supply whereas it’s just the exact opposite in Nigeria! Most of these corporations spend on petrol and other alternative power sources astronomical amount of money to keep business operations running. The recurrent deficits make many foreign companies check out of Nigeria to even other countries like Ghana due to power issues. A typical example is Michelin Tires. They shut down operations in Nigeria to set up a base in Ghana due to the incessant power instability in Nigeria.

Unhealthy Political Interference

There is hardly no business set up emerging in Nigeria that would absorb one form of political interference or the other which would pose dents on the technocratic integrity and affirmative philosophy of business establishments. With that in place, private investors would have to cough out certain money to grease the palms of politicians who would use their cronies to disrupt the smooth-running of businesses run by private investors through heavy taxes and unnecessary impositions on company expenditure. If the said company complies to the status quo, service delivery would be affected and quality of products may not commensurate with consumer’s satisfaction. In addition, to recoup the expenses, consumers are being charged exorbitant prices which is actually a counter-productive one! 

Security tensions

The ‘grey-area’ security architecture in Nigeria creates a topsy turvy has created clap-backs by established private investors in the country. The almost-collapsed security system in the country has paved way for several terrorist groups constituting cataclysmic aftermaths to individuals and businesses. With the dreaded Boko Haram, threatening Herdsmen, notorious Miyati Allah, masquerading Unknown gunmen and mean kidnappers destructively interfering the security structure in the North-East, North-West, North-Central, South-South, South-West , South-South and South-East geo-political zones, Nigeria is one of one that nations of the world on the Terrorist Watchlist. That alone makes it unsafe of foreign investment to thrive in the country.

Poetry from Stephen Jarrell Williams

-Trilogy of My Heart-

Nowhere Land?

Nowhere

to flee anymore.

The world

mega trap

tightening noose.

Freedom an illusion.

The final dictator

probably already here.

Birds staying awake all night

chirping and squawking.

Dogs eating better food

than their masters.

AI controlling

behind the scenes…

Lining us up

checking our use

and when our time is gone.

Yet…

there seems to be more

happening.

A stroking of my heart

without a stroke crippling.

A whispering

in the breeze everywhere.

Is it me

or is it God?

I begin praying

looking up…

A twinkling in my toes

and the beginning of a dance…

in the Somewhere Land.

I’m Old

I’m old

but still walking

the streets

always the streets of life

people wondering

how everything changed so fast

so I slow it down

walking a little slower

my memories seeing

there’s more ahead

sun after sun

spotlight.

Strength

My wife takes care of me

with her gracious smile

humming as she works

in our little house

sturdy roof

from so many uplifting prayers

her strength

like the day to night

spin of earth.

Stephen Jarrell Williams has published over a thousand poems here and there and distant places where the light still glows.  He can be found on X Twitter @papapoet 

Poetry from Elmaya Jabbarova

White woman with long black hair and a black blouse with flowers on it.
Elmaya Jabbarova
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.

Poetry from Odina Abdumuminova

Young Central Asian woman with dark hair, a kerchief on her head, and a white knit jacket over a white blouse. She's in front of a bunch of pink and yellow flowers.
Odina Abdumuminova

Your watch is broken

I built a castle of time,
By drawing picture of clock.
I created the work of art,
It was not just homework. 

It is very beautiful, but
It doesn’t make sounds and work.
This is a simple painting,
My sister doesn’t know.

She looked at me and said:
“Sis, we have a problem.
It is well-composed, however,
Your watch is broken”.

Poetry from Patricia Doyne (one of two)

WINE  BOX  DIRECTIONS

You press the perforated circle tab.

This is step 1.  You have to do it first,

if you have hopes to satisfy your thirst.

Now, see the wings? With thumb and finger, grab—

and yank the wine sac’s tough, accordion spout.

rotate it till the hole’s 11 o’clock.

Now keep rotating clockwise.  Seems to lock?

Then how can Cabernet come streaming out?

The wine box sits there, taunting me, and full,

despite directions that would ease my woes.

Easy-open spout? A load of bull!

Perhaps a pliers? Not a needle-nose.

No, just an ordinary grip.  Now pull!

I’ll never taste this vintage, I suppose.

Copyright 11/2023    Patricia Doyne

ETHICS?  SANTOS HAS NONE

 Young Santos spends a lot on grooming aids:

  Botox shots, Sephora creams, and such.

  If he needs cash for splurges, he just raids

  a slush fund. No one really cares, not much.

  

Identity theft?  He’s stolen cards for years.

 Drag queen Kitara? Ponzi schemes?  Okay.

 Outrageous lies don’t bother Santos’ peers—

  they’ve all cut corners. Most have feet of clay.

  But when House Ethics probe uncovered fraud—

  diverting campaign funds to porn and clothes—

  

GOPs freaked out. Will donors nod,

 and wonder where their money really goes?

 Deep pockets are a campaigner’s lifeblood.

 The Santos dirt leaves Congress smeared with mud.

  Copyright 11/2023                Patricia Doyne

                                   

 

 

                                    Copyright 11/2023                Patricia Doyne