Poetry from Michael Robinson

Middle aged Black man with short hair and brown eyes. He's got a hand on his chin and is facing the camera.
Poet Michael Robinson
WALKING with JESUS

Matthew 16:21 (NIV) -”Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

My witness is that Jesus told me to pick up my Cross and follow Him. I have found my life in walking with Jesus, carrying my cross in all kinds of situations. Walking through the light and darkness. Walking through the dry seasons in my life and the storms in my life. Walking each step following You, Lord. Your yoke is easy for on my own there is pain and sorrow for what I have lost. Your salvation has removed that pain and loss. I have been restored. My salvation and redemption have brought me eternal salvation. For I walk with you, and each step is a step of joy and faithfulness. In this life, there is peace, contentment, and joy. In this life, there is freedom from the pain and suffering that had held me captive. 

My soul is following your commandments to love others as myself. I love myself because of your sacrifice on the Cross for me. It is that ultimate denial of self which brought my freedom. Freedom brought with Your suffering and humiliation and finally Your Crucifixion. A sacrifice of the ultimate love for me dying on the Cross. You gave me a glimpse of eternal life preparing me for God's Kingdom. You showed me the Kingdom within me: mercy and forgiveness and gratitude. It is this mercy that brings me before your Glorious Father, as I kneel, at the altar of my heart. Moments in solitude and quietness are the essence of who I was created to be. Yes, I will pick up my Cross and follow you for you are my Lord, King of my redemption. 



CONVERSATIONS with GOD

For Dee my mother


 My foster mother Dee always spoke about God and Jesus Christ. God knows, she would say, and God doesn't like ugly. She always listened to the gospel station that was her life and took care of us children. Washing and ironing clothes and cooking our meals and preparing us for school. Washing our faces and combing our hair and putting Vaseline on our ashy skin. 

Our clothes were always clean. We were taught manners and to be respectful to all adults. Mostly, I remembered feeling alone and empty since my biological mother had left me. Dee took me in when I was two weeks old. I lived with her until my aunt adopted me at eight years of age. My conversations with God started at eight. I remembered Dee always talking to God aloud. Talking to God came naturally to me. Dee always talked to Jesus and she insisted He listened. Maybe He would hear my prayers. My fears and loneliness and anxiety were overwhelming. Walking the streets of D.C., I was afraid and felt terrorized with good cause because of the violence and turmoil in the streets.  


My aunt adopted me at age eight.  My aunt was Catholic, and being Catholic, she took me to Mass every weekday and Saturday and on Sundays. It was at a morning mass when the priest summoned me to the altar. I was to assist him on the altar to serve communion. This was my invitation to serve God as well. I stepped onto the altar. God wanted me in my street clothes. God wanted me. I genuflected (kneeling and making the sign of the Cross). The priest opened the gate and I stepped onto the altar for the first time, standing to the right side of the priest carrying the host plate (this is used to catch the consecrated host so it won’t touch the floor if it falls.)  

He served communion to each person, as they kneeled at the altar to receive Communion. He walked to each person kneeling with their eyes closed and their tongue out receiving the body of Christ. There was a sense of reverence for helping serve the body of Christ. I felt a personal calling to serve God and a closeness to God. Looking back on this experience. I realized God was real and wanted me to serve Him. This feeling of connecting to God never left me. 


My conversations with God began shortly after that first encounter. I had a place where I felt wanted. It was Holy Redeemer Church. From ages eight to ten, my refuge was the church. The calmness of God’s presence was the same as that first time serving communion.  I longed for God’s calming presence within me. There was a calling within me to recapture that loving and warm presence of God. 

I sat in the front pew and observed the altar candle burning (which served as a reminder of God's light always burning). I studied the white candle burning as it flicked side to side. This was God’s light and I watched it calmly. The colorful votive candles burned with various colors. red, blue, and yellow as I sat  there alone with the Holy Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.) The ceiling was covered with murals covering the dome.  Angels adorned the dome in a pretty sky-blue background with white wings.  There were statutes of Mary and Joseph and other Holy figures. This was the Holy family of Jesus. 

Poetry from Jesse Emmanuella

I now understand the meaning of hiding myself in myself
Myself finds myself crawling and craving towards the broken shadows of my grandfather's grave
I drank from my his grave till grief mastered my ancestry
Flaunting my name, myself drowns in my thoughts
Suddenly
She knocked on my soul
I entertained her footsteps while she dined drinking my wine
We shared the same bed and bread; I became her wife
Living an invisible life
Myself and her


Jesse Pheebemi Emmanuella 

Poetry from Duane Vorhees

Macedon’s Alexander

born in myrrh, died in velvet
lived as verb, lived as helmet
Babylon’s fatal pander

WEATHER REPORT FOR BLIND OPTIMISTS

Proudly, dawn brings out
those debutante clouds of swan --
black vultures
are secluded
from this slack culture,
tragedy is outlawed
from all our strategies.

Gradually, stratosphere turns lapis lazzuli.

CENOZOIC

Dinosaurs didn’t stay
dinosaurs, did they?
They became chickens
and museum exhibitions.

What about us?
Hitchhikers once,
between exits,
and not yet fixed
to this landscape
of no escape.

ONCE, ONCE

At one time some people believed
that the elephants
had sex but once:
No wonder such a memory!

Once, I thought love was measured
in some mean distance of imaginary numbers
from whole digits to infinity squared.
One perfect combination. (The tumblers
turn and twist.) My sandpapered fingers
bared to the wrist. But secrets hide
            in the between.
Once, love was obvious as the ebb and
flow of ocean is to charts and sailors.
(But sea, O sea – you scene of unseen
sights – you graveyard of mariners –
a gale, a new leak, or a sleeping watch,
and your white wave just swallowed me like bread
            unleavened.)

Does a lemming really embrace the sea                                                                                       
with a lover’s greed?
To know the sea, roughly
one taste’s enough.
                                    But what about love?

TRAD

So we pooled together our quarters
to buy a beige wedding dress
and hire a birdsong processional
and a greenwood wedding hall.
Deciding to forego a sermon,
we said those words that we meant,
and we solidified everything
with wine kisses and smoke rings.
But then this mud ball rolled below us
and moved us separate ways.

Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh

People on the roads and in the gardens

People on the roads and in the gardens.

Sunny bunnies eyes, hands, sounds of whispers of people, plants, wind. Sheaves. State institutions. And in every way so rich. Fresh buns, honey, clean water, hot morning coffee, cold morning dew, evening clean air, morning bells of hemingways, evening prayers and excitement: suddenly someone will hear, suddenly someone is still in heaven.

The abundance of grass, the variety of fire, the rain, the light, the mud of the roads, the nonsense of the neighbors, the flights of birds, the scent of flowers, the black circles under the eyes and the minibuses1* are not adapted to happiness.

 - I don't know what to do now ... -  the woman despaired.
- Everything will change tomorrow! - her husband's hope.
- When I grow up, I will not become an adult? - whether it is hope or despair of the child.

Hotel room for one person.

The address of the former. Lover's phone. Despair. Tears of silence.
Little boy with a toy in his hand and hope in his heart. Kindergarten with painted wallpaper. Kindergarten is like a garden. Eyes, like beetles, and want to fly, like Exupery. The mother finally comes to the nursery after a long working day and takes the child home. The guard nods disapprovingly. The mother pretends not to notice. The country pretends not to notice. The guard finally falls asleep quietly on the post. The robbers finally wake up calmly and take up their criminal post.

Taxi again ...
Apology of good and mythology of evil. Three dots. Question mark. Two for punctuation. Four for content. Three2* for the essay. The teacher puts his hand over the journal with grades and for a moment...

A woman sings an aria of a virgin at the opera house, as if she were in fact a virgin. And the night club, which is not so far from here, is about to close due to someone's vandalism and - law enforcement officers, and above them - someone else and - someone else, according to the hierarchy.

A cup of tears, drunk with a trembling grandfather's eye.
Firecrackers under the window.
The final stop - the cottage.
Curves. Hands, their intersection. Plexus of bodies.
Animal bodies. Kitten, bunny, piglet, puppy, duckling, baby. Well, just grace! And still - forcemeat in the city market.

Umbrella instead of blue sky, grayness instead of self.
Abyuz underfoot, comet tails, space rockets.
Movies after ten in the evening, when the younger sister finally went to bed. Sometimes she's really mad.

The afterlife of my grandmother's village.
Chocolate Santa Claus, who remained in the refrigerator from the New Year holidays and miraculously survived.
The face of untruth. The face of the grass.

Walt Whitman, Charlie Chaplain, Uncle Misha from a kiosk on the next street.
Bookshelf of the spirit.
Perfume associations.

A birthday present, and a huge cake (and cousin's complaints about low wages).
Burning. Giants. Giant mountains. Giant people. Mountain people. And somewhere nearby - stone ceilings of misunderstandings, Easter eggs of complaints, easels of cries, dwarfs of humiliation - as soon as it is tolerated.

"New songs are always reminiscent of ...". Key: "Delete message".
Stars above your head, a dream of space, grass, roadsides, a smile on your face - and we are on the way to a fairy tale, but it's time to grow up.

In short, it is impossible to convey this feeling of a home that no longer exists ...

 This is a reprint from "minor literatures"

* 1. Here in the sense «Marshrutka» (Ukrainian: маршру́тка) or routed taxicab, is a form of public transportation such as share taxi which originated in the USSR and is still present in Russia and other countries of CIS, in Baltic states, Ukraine, Armenia, Georgia, Turkmenistan as well as in the territories outside of ex-USSR, such as Bulgaria. The role of the modern marshrutka is theoretically similar to the share taxi, which uses minibuses in some other countries. The first marshrutka was introduced in Moscow, Russia, in 1938.

* 2.  Unsatisfactory score with 12-point school system of Ukraine.