Poetry from Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa

Light skinned Filipina woman with reddish hair, a green and yellow necklace, and a floral pink and yellow and green blouse.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa
A Vision

We all come to make a promise happen
Beg you to welcome us with arms wide open
Individual Muses together we Awaken
We all as one family a duty is given
We bring to you our sacred mountain
You bring us your wind and terrain
Let us Heal the world dying with pain
Our spirits blended evil power to drain
Our cultures and skills to Inspire
Let there be no more slaves and master sire
To Unite for true Change to transpire
No Pride No Greed No violent Desire
Let us forge a chain of Equality
All men be free even in Diversity
Show the world true meaning of Humanity
Artists and Poets, that is our moral duty
Let us be blind to Colors of Race
Let us be deaf to Discrimination phrase
No Gender No Age to hide our face
No Fame No Richness No Name to trace
We shall all stand with our heads up
Each one in loving arms to wrap
Let no lies or doubts set up trap
We all rise with Honor on our lap

Words be True

Words may cover ones heart
Yet time shows where they start
Lines connect to tear them apart
Beware from goal never depart
Words may cover as mask
Yet time will put them to task
Lines to show the inside of a husk
Beware one's own heart always ask
Words may others convince
Yet time filters all ever since
Lines drawn whether a lie wince
Beware one's own truth never mince
Always walk on one's true path
Lest one gather the judge's wrath

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.

Poetry from Annie Johnson

Light skinned woman with curly white hair and a floral top.
Annie Johnson
Moonlight Memories
The moonlight lingers long 
Over the shadows of my soul. 
Penetration eludes the mind 
In the silvery brightness of being. 
Waves of longing sweetness 
Hold my body prisoner 
Of memory’s braille fingers 
Touching my body’s holy places 
Lingering as the face of dawn 
Peeks in the curtained window. 
All night long the wild gypsy song 
Played across the softness of night 
And drew its bow with aching delight 
Across the muscled hardness 
Of your straining body, dripping 
Such honey over my glistening skin. 
Is it any wonder I resent the day; 
The hours dragging morning 
Past the fresh memory of your mouth 
While I dream of our shadowed bed 
Hung with moonlight, tracing 
The outline of your heaving form? 
O hurry day and draw the shade of night, 
For I am bathed; perfumed; and waiting, 
Wearing nothing but the memory of your kiss!

Time Was
Time was when a gale wind 
Swept across the field of wheat 
Making it look like a golden sea. 
Time was when the windmill whirred 
Filling the water trough for the horses, 
And the chickens scratched in the barnyard 
And the rooster crowed heralding dawn 
While I dreamed under winter covers on my bed. 
Time was when I could see my breath in the air 
When I stuck my head from under the quilt 
And smelled the scent of fresh coffee; pancakes 
And hot Maple Syrup and heard bacon frying. 
Time was when I jumped eagerly out of bed 
And greeted the outstretched arms of day 
With golden legs ready to run joyously 
Over the fields, meadows and streams 
And taste the wind in my hungry soul. 
Time was when the earth laughed 
Like a high-spirited child running through puddles 
Making mud pies and humming to itself. 
Time was when I dreamed of growing up; 
Being a woman; becoming a bride; having babies 
And flower gardens filled with tender longings; 
And I dreamily awaited someone I knew, I knew. 
Time was when you came calling like morning dew 
And I opened the door of my soul to you.

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.

Poetry from Aziza Mamadaliyeva

Central Asian teen girl with long dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a gentle smile. She's in a pink blouse with floral ruffles and is in a restaurant with white tablecloths behind her. Some vintage records are up on the wall for decor.
Aziza Mamadaliyeva
New Uzbekistan

Every corner of my country
It is blooming
Changes are in full swing
The eyes are happy

The head of our country is the head
Support us
Change at every step
It will surprise you.

My country is rich in history
Every corner is sacred,
To such a great country
Many people like it.

Of great scholars
We are young people,
First at every step
Shakhdam takes steps.

This is my country in the world
There is no comparison, there is no equal,
Everywhere is rich in history
There are many holy places.

Sometimes this language is weak
One look is not enough
I will describe it again
I won't run out of words.

Mamadaliyeva Aziza is the daughter of Dilshodbek.
She was born on October 19, 2006 in the city of Chust, Namangan region. Her first book "Joy of Youth" was published in 2021. Aziza is very interested in reading books along with writing poems. She is the district and regional prize winner of the "Young Reader" competition. A number of her poems are published in district and regional newspapers. Aziza Namangan has delighted many fans with her poems on television.

Poetry from Sinanbinumer

Abdul Raheem, who used to be an autorickshaw driver in Kerala, reached Saudi in the first decade of the century. He was hired by a family in Riyadh to take care of a differently-abled teenager along with driving duties. The boy used to breathe and eat using the help of a device attached to his body.

One day, while driving with the 15-year-old, the boy assaulted Raheem for stopping at a traffic signal. While trying to calm the teenager down and protect himself, Abdul Raheem ended up pushing the medical device on the boy's shoulder unintentionally. As it fell inside the car, the boy became unconscious and passed away, Onmanorama said in a report.

In 2018, Raheem was sentenced to death as the family refused to grant amnesty. The Kerala man's appeals were rejected and the Supreme Court upheld the verdict. However, in 2023, Raheem received a ray of hope as the family reconsidered and decided to accept diya (blood money) instead. They demanded 15 million Saudi riyals, approximately Rs 33.24 crore, which was to be paid within six months from the deal's signing on October 16, 2023. 

With the deadline fast approaching and Abdul Raheem's fate on the line, people across the stratas of life in Kerala joined hands to crowdsource the money. Until last week, the crowdfunding effort could only manage to find Rs 5 crore. However, as the deadline loomed, an aggressive campaign was launched via social media and the volunteers managed to find the entire amount in just four days' time, 

Why I mentioned the real story of Kerala ? 
It is a movie that trying to halt the prosperity and love between religions and cast 

The Kerala Story is a 2023 Indian Hindi-language drama film directed by Sudipto Sen and produced by Vipul Amrutlal Shah.[1] It stars Adah Sharma, Yogita Bihani, Sonia Balani, and Siddhi Idnani. The plot follows a group of women from Kerala who are coerced into converting to Islam and joining the Islamic State .[5][6]Marketed as a true story, the film is premised on the Hindutva conspiracy theory of "love jihad",[7] and falsely claims that thousands of Hindu women from Kerala have been converted to Islam and recruited in the Islamic State.[8][9]

So Kerala didn’t have story like this, so this is not the real.

Today we seen how the Keralites treat every one

A tiny oversight cost him his life. 
 18 years spent incarcerated 
 No aspirations, no desires 
Seven days remain before death.
 The tears were shed like spring.
 The mother, in despair, 
thought of her cherished son. 
34 crores for one life.
 No money, no forgiveness 
 The remnants of humanity 
 The insight of society with an aspiring mind
 The civilization that was portrayed as 
radical and narrow-minded shown true humanism. 

Saved him with four finger days.
 Tiny branches that are connected 
by various boundaries 
 The genuine world's lifesaver 
No hue, no faith 
 Neither wealthy nor impoverished Combined, 
providing the shed 
 The Humanity Day 
 The day of God's pardon 
 Dreams as actuality 
 The modern era's angles 
 With the courteous customs 
and principles proud of every second. 
 It feels like we were born with 
human emotions and died as human beings. 
The real Kerala story 
 Not just one, more than the blood money

Written by Sinanbinumer  

Poetry from Kristy Raines

White middle aged woman with reading glasses and very blond straight hair resting her head on her hand.
Kristy Raines
On A Beautiful Spring Day

I met you on a Sunday, on a beautiful Spring day
You watched me from the back of the church
I just walked by you and never uttered a word.

Everything was blooming and you drove by me
You asked if I'd walk by the lake with you,
On that beautiful Spring day, I smiled and nodded, "yes".

You picked me flowers and I cherished those wild flowers...

Time went by and like flowers, so bloomed our love
A year later on a beautiful Spring day, we married
Holding a bouquet of Spring flowers, I whispered, "I Do".

One day you got ill on a beautiful Spring day
With all the beautiful flowers blooming, you passed away

Years later, I stand here on a beautiful Spring day
All the beautiful flowers blooming now remind me of you

Maybe on a beautiful Spring day with the sun shining
You'll be holding wild flowers for me at Heaven's gates.

And together we will walk again, Forever...
On A Beautiful Spring Day....  

The Wings of Love

When I feel you near, at times I can't breathe
Your presence makes me sigh, and my eyes close
trying to compose my feelings that can't be denied
No doubt that even after death this love will not die
The wings of love surround us on this beautiful night
and will lift us up above the heavens to meet the moon
This memorable evening never to be forgotten and
one that will go on and on through the passages of time
I find you even in the most unlikely places of my heart
and I have new eyes that see only the most Beautiful You
I am the sky that fills you arms and heart tonight
as we dance beautifully together between the stars.

Where Love Resides

Where golden strings play songs so sweet
and the many colors of red reside
there also resides my love 

When the song of a sparrow touches my soul
and the signs of Spring show off their colors
So also shows the colors of my love

If the rains come and clouds shadow me
and if my tears fall like the drops that stream down my window
they cleanse my heart so love can shine through again

And, what comes my way, whether happy or sad
I know tomorrow will bring a brighter day
For I look to the heavens and know, the greatest love resides there

Kristy Raines was born  in Oakland, CA, USA.  

She is a poet and prose writer. Kristy is also an advocate. for the Rohingya refugees living in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh.  

Kristy has five books getting ready to publish this year.  One with a prominent poet from India, Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai,  which will launch soon called, "I Cross my Heart from East to West", two fantasy books of her own called, "Rings, Things and Butterfly Wings" and "Princess and The Lion", an anthology of poems in English, "The Passion Within Me" and her autobiography called "My Very Anomalous Life."

Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing.

Poetry and art from Brian Barbeito

Carved metal heart tied to cloth with a brown string.

rain earth cold but once the summer sun and your eyes plus birdsong I remember (for Tara)

all the time through both the nocturnal wild and the structured parts also. cold, wind, ice, and sleet. grey, dark, opaque, and even rueful. the old church and its tombstones the roof crying on the sides and the tears not flowing but racing down to the cemetery earth. poor old field mouse is probably even saturated w/that and also sadness. where did the summer and the sun of the summer go to?- once I think, there were purple and yellow wildflowers that lived on the edges of fields,- fields verdant and inside the woodland passageways great healthy vines sometimes climbed trees old and full, so full of character and warmth, of nuance and energy, robust w/the stories and spirit of the good things of the countryside.

I think, also, that your eyes were brown and spoke of many things, things of now and of ancient continents. the other souls,- well their eyes only appear brown from a distance…something to do w/the light or angle. but their eyes are green and blue and grey, things the world lauds and celebrates,- but the world is wrong, the world has everything backwards, for it is your brown eyes that are above the rest and that make the world settled and whole, no? yes. of course. I can see. you tell me about the owl and the birds and look upwards much of the time. and the birds. they always sang for you. against reason and logic I would say they never sang for me like that when i was there alone. birds and butterflies, little streams and water washed stones. I think we stopped there and watched everything and the living dream of the world was much better than it is today.