FRIENDSHIP THAT DOES NOT WAVER

for Margaret Maron

Sitting in lightsome shine with country daylight,

A comforting, non-judgmental treasure,

I feel Thank-you shaking me:  a wish surrounds my mind:

Publish your poems.

Feeling talk-back lips more than any errors,

I float loyalty into your scene with timely

Shouts of mystery not of my own writing.

                                                I feel like a barking Corgi puppy.

Sold on remembrances, mindful, searching,

Doggone it, yes!  I want to read your slave-lines

Which assess the family story from its past.

It calls like a crow’s caw,

So that infused by longing to venerate,

Without jokes or importunate flourish,

I ground the pages leading me to your novels.

I find you, therefore, we are.

Lonely now,  questing, I see you, school girl, sitting,

Thirteen, fourteen, forward-leaning toward our teacher, Miss Fisher.

Hearing the lesson-plan, you move your full face, shortly,

spelled “silence.”

We are cousins; I see you turn the pages,

Keeping the moment for yourself, or your part of it.

Loveliness, still a burdensome relation,

yields soft turns in your school-desk.

Traveling homeward, you socialize with darkness,

Spread-eagle with those that fly the field-lights,

Prompting a query:  Where’s the  poem

                                                wanting has touched me.

Fiddledeedee has been scattered on the road in

Your Willow Springs:  it salutes your writing,

Yielding to readers rushing to read our welcoming laughter.

I leave you with good intentions.

Just let days not tangle; hand the friend the poems,

Row along willows what your words you feel are,

Calling with no put off:   how can a friend captain

Mortality’s Protocol?

Time’s a sea-crawl, whereat I am dreaming

I should be still and leave your many poems.

Seeing my work you splurge at sharing

close as my name.

Query from Willow showers in the spaces,

Townships, alone, where once we wrote our longings:

Evil and good have set us onto letters

                                                whose shapes confab.

Tiredness

My sorrows never stopped
I always drink water of sorrows
In the open sky
Here the world always shrinks into
Here the people are walking by
We care for what we don’t
We love for what we actually not
But we are to stay, we are to stand
Feed our children and our beloved
So I have a duty
Regular presence of my physic
You find me so tired
Though I should take preparation for the next.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
24/05/2019

It resonates, resonates

It resonates, resonates
The whispering, murmuring sound of the rivers, the oceans
It sparkles all around the waves to the sky where it mixes
I stumble; fumble but stride to the sand
Try my heart and soul without any fear or joy
The waters roaring, the air so hissing
Throughout this atmosphere I started my journey
Knowing that never to find any destination to steer
I lost in the love boat of you
Here nobody you can see but lots of sign
The love nights filled with so much heavenly joy
Every waves of the waters today resonates the sound ‘LOVE’
Though never to get in touch
It’s more than that.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
24/06/2019

A Death Scene of the Crow

Suddenly the crow heading down into the spokes

Just opening my eyes to the highway

Swings, rolling into wheel

The boy paddling the bi-cycle

Instantly got down and brought the bird back on the ground

Watching left and right

I rushed to the spot

The crow was dying jumping over and down

Just like the cocks and hens or other birds are done for cooking

It flies here and there and over trees after trees

And comes down to the wastes they like to eat

A cleaner or sweeper of our towns or cities

But not to the spoke the head turns into

It is Death- not permits the air to survive.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
24/06/2019

The Love Sight

The farmers cultivate the land

Grow crops and feed the people all over the world

The cultivation of the womb just like that

Where the adults perform the best as lovers

Builders of nation, of civilization

We see the blood shedding for the new

The water pouring for the new

You can say ‘yes’ or ‘not’

Dwindling on the earth

The sons and daughters

The fathers and mothers

Always seekers –one from the others

Every moment we see the morning dew

On every blade of the grass

How time does fly!

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
24/06/2019

We Have a Faith

Today’s burning sun calms down tomorrow

Today’s heat-stroke can make us murmur rippling over the silent river body

If there is no earthquake, no landslide

And no cyclone causing so many deaths, howling crawling

Today’s burning sun calms down tomorrow

Today’s heat-stroke can make us murmur rippling over the silent river body

If there is no smoke and fire over head burning so far

Causing coals to animals, trees and humans spreading over and wide

Today’s burning sun calms down tomorrow

Today’s heat-stroke can make us murmur rippling over the silent river body

If there is no man made crisis for which you and I

Always face to face to mock and cry

Today’s burning sun calms down tomorrow

Today’s heat-stroke can make us murmur rippling over the silent river body

If there is no political handicap or bankruptcy to the area

Making the commons die for

Today’s burning sun calms down tomorrow

Today’s heat-stroke can make us murmur rippling over the silent river body

If there is no oppression to any part of the world throwing atomic bombs

Causing deaths and suffering making history of the pathetic moments

Today’s burning sun calms down tomorrow

Today’s heat-stroke can make us murmur rippling over the silent river body

If there is no falsifying love and sexual harassment

Causing barbaric deaths and hallucination 

Today’s burning sun calms down tomorrow

Today’s heat-stroke can make us murmur rippling over the silent river body

Though the sun is too hot

We have a long faith

It must rain and cool the earth.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
06/07/2019

A Time of Hope

We worry each day

about what might come.

It is a time of darkness

And shadows over come us.

But there is a promising

Light in the distance

That will bring health 

And healing in ways

That man will never understand.

Our future becomes a fulfillment

of that promising light and

with the reality of a life

filled with gratitude. 

My Facebook Friends – MFF <— Title Of Poem (TOP)

My Facebook friends,

They are those I describe as universal family.

For, some bring inspiration to what I write

As they motivate what I do daily,

The good ones are like the sugary sprite.

My Facebook friends,

Show concern to what’s on your mind status.

That’s due to their responsible commentary

It determines the vital point of focus,

Obviously, that becomes secondary.

My Facebook friends,

Mostly, live in their countries of the continent.

But, they’re often seen on the social media

Some don’t have enough but they’re content,

I guess, they do like to read as well the Wikipedia.

My Facebook friends,

Bring to bear, some life’s emotions.

In view of what I read on their page-wall

It may be due to some hurts and frustrations,

However, the religious ones make firm decision not to fall.

My Facebook friends,

Make options to block and remove.

Thus, those they later describe as predator

Above all, there are those to share love,

When it comes to the ones they closely monitor.

My Facebook friends,

Have what it takes when it comes to support.

Therefore, the essence of this global village

Some get involve and engage in terms of good report,

With gender equality and positive mindset we can manage.

Ike Boateng reads from his piece Flood for Fishing

Ike Boat reads his piece POP (Pieces of Peace)

Ike Boat reads his poem Reflections

SOUP IN DA BIG POT 

It’s nevah wat it is

wen you tink of wat it should be.

Da cast of many characters

dat going appear before your eyes

got dere own ideas

as to how da soup in da big pot

going be cooked.

Everybody grabs da ladle

and dishes out wun daily bowl

dat changes its recipe

from one day to da next.

Some people slurp

and adah guys spoon it down                                                                                                  

       like hungry pigs

while all the veggies, meat, and broth,

simmering on da communal stove,

is constantly being added to

wit all kine new ingredients.

If you tink

you wuz going be wun master chef

dat wuz going impose                                                                      

                                             your specific tastes on wun public menu

den moa bettah                                                                                                                              you keep your seasonings

in your own private kitchen.

It’s nevah wat it is

wen you tink of wat it should be

cause wen people gaddah eat

dey going bring anyting                                                                             

                                   and everyting to da table.

DA DAILY MINUTIA

You going get boulders in your eyes

and you going be transformed

into wun block of granite

if you no watch out.

Da composition of tings

going change ovahnight

and da density of da world

going be weighed in tons.

Your possible fate is not unique dough

cause instant monoliths are everywheah

as if dey wuz cut out in wun flash

from wun sorcerer’s magic quarry.

Avoidance is da key

and da trick in dis whole survival game

is not to get too heavy

wen pressure seems to become relentless.

No let da daily minutia

turn into wun threatening Medusa

cause all of dose writhing snakes

surrounding dat face of imminent doom

want to celebrate and hiss

wen da gaze of stone is set on you.

Joe Balaz writes in Hawaiian Islands Pidgin (Hawai’i Creole English).  He is theauthor of Pidgin Eye and the editor of Ho’omanoa: An Anthology of Contemporary Hawaiian Literature.  He presently lives in Cleveland, Ohio.

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at Under The Bleachers, Misfit Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Raw Dog Press and Red Eft Review. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

————————————————————————————————————————the alcohol works better these days 

another rainy afternoon 

another shot of bourbon

for the pain 

they tell me to stretch, do

a little light exercising, go

for a walk 

that always makes me laugh 

these “experts” don’t have

a bad back and arthritis

head to toe the alcohol works better

these days 

they worry about my liver
i don’t i’ve lived over a decade

longer than i ever wanted 

the end can arrive anytime

she wants

————————————————————————-

a soft suicide 

her love was like a soft

suicide the wrists

would bleed

but eventually

give up much like

her the stars

never

aligned we never

saw each

other again the only time

i ever saw

any lucky

stars

————————————————————————–

allowing all the dirty thoughts

i’m the dirty old

man i used to read

about in my teens sitting back and

watching allowing all the

dirty thoughts to

wash over me in

a fever old enough to know

these thoughts would

get me arrested if

they became action but, having lost

the ability to smile,

i get the feeling a

misunderstanding

of sorts is coming

soon

—————————————————————————

wanted to be a gypsy

i once had a woman

who always wanted

to be a gypsy tell me

to seek out a mystery

on the north shore and

all my troubles would

be taken care of 

i asked her to be more

specific and she said

the adventure would

be worth it that was a quarter

century ago, i didn’t

take her advice i’m alone and lost

my desire to travel

years ago

————————————————————————

multiple vials of blood 

i have a feeling

i’m living my future 

physical therapy

sessions medical facilities

on the other side

of the county strange women

concerned about

pulling sticky things

off my chest hair it’s the only pleasure

i can find anymore

that doesn’t cost mean arm or multiple

vials of blood the thought of death

resting comfortably

around every corner