Unforgettable Loves
Love lived from afar to afar,
Like an angel sent from the divine,
Neglect it not, for someone's worth,
The beat of your heart, the breath in line.
Daytime's dream within your gaze,
Bestowing moonlight upon the night,
Should the dream fade, unheard it be,
A sigh of that moment, taking flight.
Love known in this world as ardor,
A matchstick tending a hidden flame,
Embers untouched, unburned by time,
Desires held close, their passions untamed.
Life written together with her by your side,
Both a reality and dreamscape combined,
When you find your place, cease to wander,
It's the honeyed voice you've longed to find!
05.08.2023.
Elmaya Jabbarova - was born in Azerbaijan. She is 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.
dash of language
The rabbit given to Alice on her 18th birthday
Gnaws the church candle
***
the heaven of the taste of hate steorite
¤
dead sun wrinkle colors
^
the hunger of nailed hands
●
candied birds overhead trees
○
toy soldiers in front of the black abyss
~
hatred will rise into the air and
burst so that everything around turns red
□
for all these years of life
сhildren and adults died
with special cruelty
inside us
***
breathe out and don't breathe in
I love you so much that the flower withers in the sun
let my head be cut off by the train at full speed
and the wind will bring my breath to you
now breathe
calmly measured
who made you up?
who made you?
what is the Lord silent about with the rustle of leaves?
the crunch of leaves and bones under our feet?
our footprints with you in the sand
high tide
***
Less than humans
A man without a spine
Performs bending
Outside
Clean
Nameless
Like snow on the edge of sleep
Who will touch her curve
Who will de-energize her vagina
Who will touch her soul
Do it in the dark
Do it against the darkness
Do it against the darkness
Squeeze all the light from the heart
Clenched fingers gnaw warmly
Eyes shine, silence swallows semen
Moans of pleasure chase the siren
***
to stand in eternal glory
flip through the prism of time
to gnaw its granite with its own life
expect a grant from heaven
hope to become angels after death
hope to become clean and naked again
***
Art is a crime, says death, with eye sockets wrapped around the fluttering eyelashes of crumpled corpse grass. Art is theft. The tub of night, wrapped in a kiss of indescribable sadness, without words or dreams, cracked and the closed eyes of people ready for the cemetery poured out of it.
Everything was already in the world, so everything new is stolen. All silence. Everything is a mouse. The gnawed border of feelings from which there is nowhere to escape. The ghetto of people painted with the red paint of spilled blood. Take us death to a magical paradise by the nooks and crannies and at least to hell anywhere, somewhere where weapons have not been invented.
***
He said let's do it in missionary position
Then it became quiet
A black hair fell on the snow-white sheet
***
Marauders of the sex shop when the owners left
The child got lost in the shopping center
A newly born orphan begs for alms
***
smoke is seen outside the city
autumn mist is missing
life floats away
***
sarabande in the ears
when we were born music became our homeland
all our lives we fight with silence
our whole life is a war with silence
***
the hole in my body is growing
rubbish is pouring out of the hole sand and thoughts
I draw a sculpture with my body
I draw а human with my body
***
I was invited to think madmen
the nightingale gives a night gala concert
there is a war for time
it's time for war
soft people with cruel humanity
my lips drink juice from the frozen ice of tears
I am madness frenzy insanity folly lunacy
my voice means death on the eve of the last endless war
***
children sing earthly songs
doves are silent in the sky
аnd which one of them
invented the nuclear
mushroom?
***
to burn in fire while alive - not a single
european Dante dreamed of such a thing
our moral window is shattered by the sound of rustling red flags
our eyes shine and lips sing a universal song
all people are really birds
all people are really trees
all people are really ordinary people
world of non-existent balance
world of non-essential balance
approbation of guilt that was forcibly squeezed into
the heads
black people with a white (empty) conscience
enter our temple and kill us
sorry
***
souls huddle with each other in a cauldron of justice
what kind of ghetto are they trying to drive us into once again?
who is trying to play cat and mouse with us?
who is trying to play billiards with our bodies and souls?
don't let the wolves be hungry
don't let the wolves get fed
don't let people turn into wolves
no animal is harmed
not a single hair will fall from your head
we won't let our humanity be destroyed
we won't let humanity be destroyed
so be it
***
diplomacy
diplomac
diploma
diplom
diplo
dipl
dip
di
d
dead and war
MOTHER
Have you ever been in debt beyond your ability to pay?
That's what I owed to my MOM!!!
First I took a life, then I got endless love, I got youth, health, a beautiful figure, and beauty...
How about a replacement??? Instead, I got on his nerves by being manly and capricious. And then I got all my black hair by talking about my ridiculous problems, pains, and expenses... In exchange for all that I got, my mother asked God in every prayer for me to laugh, not to feel pain, to be happy, not for herself...
My mother, what a miracle you are. We were happy for each age, not because you are getting older, but because my child is getting older. The only thing worth saying for what we have received from you is our love, we loved you very much. We can't pretend it's youth or stubbornness, but we love you so much, mom!
I asked God to stay with me all my life, bless us and make our lives beautiful. Today I praise God for creating me as your child, for giving me a mother like you... I'm fine... I'm fine Without MOTHER
Author Bakhora Bakhtiyorova Asliddin Daughter
Αbout poetry
Poetry
Is a very demanding woman
She knows how powerful are the words
They can win a war
The right verses must be used
Poetry
Needs loyal men
Needs time
And caring
As you take a white paper
And you give your self
Creating sentences
With your heart
A woman need so
Much caring
As the poem
Is ready
To come out of your
Stomach
Or your heart
Feelings Never spoken
Feelings never shared
A woman was never loved...
Poetry
It is the way
We see love
Ourselves
Be loved
Wishes to become true
Poetry
Is our freedom.....
...
We have asked not to be forgotten....
But we forget to live
We forget to love
We forget to say hello and thank you to people they were there for us!!
We asked to be patient
We have asked to be kind
But they never teach us about the selfish person
The evil people
They snakes they are among us
That are waiting for our moments
The small moments
To come
And destroy
We have asked to believe in ourselves
We have asked to be positive
But they never explained that
We will be the only that we must do that
As people are occupied with make war
Make money
Have power
I do what they asked but i walk forgotten....
In the battle field...
Lost Eagle
An eagle wants to soar the sky
Yet overwhelmed by the vastness high
Desire to be out of cage so free
Need to be warm and safe in a nest be
An eagle warmed by the golden sun
Yet rash and burns never been fun
Cravings for the sweetness of nectar
Detest the addiction with no holds bar
An eagle flying for desired goal
Yet struggle with currents running afoul
Fight routes twisting gone hayway
Lost in heaven's blind maze way
An eagle no different from the eaglet
An egg lain for business not nature set
Searching beyond reason's mystery
Yet know its wings has no sanctuary
An eagle forever wishing the sky
Yet caged in anchored from flying high
Desire surgeing wanting to be free
Quite contrarily needing the security in a nest be
Silent Lamb
Scorching wind lashed on the tattered skin
Not to cool but burn right down one's shin
Breeze unwelcomed, fiery ember's kin
On opened wound, awashed in biting hot gin
Light bouncing off a discarded serrated tin
Lazer torch slicing a rotten fleshy bin
Pricking a human bag thousands of a pin
Memories battled, all virtues and one great sin
Heavy log burdened a bloody shoulder
Naked heels on sharp path of crushed boulder
Passage unyielding, shaky feet flounder
Entertainment, for bloodlust to plunder
Sweat and blood to cool a disfigured face
Spittle and slaps, adornment of disgrace
Time and Death impatient in the race
Such a slow, grueling journey pace
So far and yet so near, the goal of a hill
A place where justice is vexed nil
Iron nails hammered flesh holes to drill
Sturdy post raised up, viewers had their fill
Thunder sounds the sky did rend
Shakes and quakes through the ground earth send
Angry insults and curses haters tend
Yet the slaughtered lamb remained silent...
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.
Trump in Chains
It is well posed,
one must give the devil credit:
defiance shouts, frozen in fury,
at the top of grievance,
as petulant as it is silent;
the furious eye, triumphant in mockery,
disdains the camera and, through its harsh lens,
you.
But there is no gratification.
A dull ache, sequela from a blow,
taken long ago,
swells in the soul
of even the most opposed
when faced with this
humiliation.
No: no gratification,
only sorrow
at this portrait
of the folly of mankind
at war with itself, nature, and the gods,
taken in the bowels of a southern jail.
There, but for the grace of the devil,
go I.
Christopher Bernard's collection The Socialist's Garden of Verses won a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and was named one of the "Top 100 Indie Books of 2021" by Kirkus Reviews. His two books "for children and their adults," If You Ride a Crooked Trolley . . . and The Judgment of Biestia, the first in the series Otherwise - will be published in November 2023.
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.
