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
Awaiting Summer

Take me to Summer's show
Where the sea breeze blow
And sunshine glow
To where butterflies fly
Clouds swim in the sky
And no goodbye
A-Waiting Summer's fun
Summer's fun, fun, fun
A-Waiting Summer's fun
Summer is fun! 
Come join and dance with me
Swing your hips with glee
No stinging bee
Summer heat that can't burn
Where snowflakes can turn
Hi! How ya durn?
A-Waiting Summer's fun
Summer's fun, fun, fun
A-Waiting Summer's fun
Summer is fun! 
Awaiting Summer's fun
Spring's dragging its run
Winter's just gone
Come, let's dance as we wait
Have iced chocolate
Summer comes late
A-Waiting Summer's fun
Summer's fun, fun, fun
A-Waiting Summer's fun
Summer is fun!


Great Wind at My Back

May the Great Wind be at my back
Feet not hindered by petty setback
May Great Wind stir gently the pool
Like silken thread around the spool
Will the Great Wind send me back
To jungleland from Eden’s outback
How the Great Wind stir the pool
Tighten thread tensed in the spool
Give me wisdom what to pack
Strenght to carry my backpack
Let not past be just memories full
Of anger and grief make one fool
May Great Wind blow at my back
Feet pushed forward beyond track
May Great Wisdom push and pull
Weave silk threads from thick wool
May the Great Wind be at my back
Feet not hindered by petty setback
May Great Wind stir gently the pool
Like silken thread around the spool
Will the Great Wind send me back
To jungleland from Eden’s outback
How the Great Wind stir the pool
Tighten thread tensed in the spool
Give me wisdom what to pack
Strenght to carry my backpack
Let not past be just memories full
Of anger and grief make one fool
May Great Wind blow at my back
Feet pushed forward beyond track
May Great Wisdom push and pull
Weave silk threads from thick wool

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 Jerry Langdon

Light skinned man with dark short hair and a white collared shirt seated at an angle.
Jerry Langdon
The Flood

It started with droplets on hot concrete
Pooling in the cracks between my feet.
Drop for drop a puddle grew;
Reflecting only you.
I wanted to drown there,
Ringing for air.
On a sinking ship made from love letters 
But the rain is the only thing that matters
The puddle became a pond
Which I couldn't see beyond.
I was but a tadpole
Swimming through your soul. 
Rain drops on the surface writing poetry 
But you were all I could see.
Just when I thought it was all I could take
The rain raged on and the pond became a lake.
I was a steamboat of desire 
The Captain ready to retire 
Sinking into your embrace 
Setting to harbor in this place.
And the rain raged on and fell like thunder 
And I was a ship going under.
The lake broke the shores becoming a sea
Still the expanse can't contain me.


In The Dark 

Does a candle stand a chance
Here where the shadows dance;
When the stars are swallowed in darkness
In the grasp of the gaping abyss?
Can a whisper be heard 
Here where a screamed word
Is carried to a void of endless silence 
In a world of dismal existence?
Is there anything but misery 
Here where everything dwells in agony;
When everything leads to pain?
Can one remain sane? 

From South-Western, Michigan, Jerry Langdon lives in Germany since the early 90's. He is an artist and poet. His works bathe in a darker side of emotion and fantasy. He has released five books of poetry titled "Temperate Darkness and Behind the Twilight Veil", “Death and Other Cold Things” “Rollercoaster Heart” and “Frosted Dreams.” Jerry is also the editor and publisher of the literary magazine Raven Cage Zine which features poetry and prose. His poetic inspirations are derived from poets such as Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. As well as from various rock bands. His apparently twisted mind, twists and intertwines fantasy with reality.

Poetry from Mesfakus Salahin

You Are Nobody

#####

Now you are nobody
No one
The name is also past
The world has given permission
You have no right
You are now a corpse.

Now you are nobody
You are nobody's father
You are nobody's child
You are nobody's husband
You are nobody's brother
No one is yours
You are dead now.

Now you are nobody
Dr. or doctor
Rich or poor
Employed or unemployed
Friend or foe
You are now an emotionless corpse.

Now you are nobody
You are not yours
A few pieces of new clothes,
A little perfume to make the air heavy,
The scent of sandalwood,
Both the eyes will have the same color
Your travel companion

Now you are nobody
Everyone is busy seeing you off
Soap foam
Plum leaf hot water
The special Palki
Green bamboo planks
waiting for you.

The call to prayer was given to your ears at the time of birth
Today is his last prayer
Many will come in groups
Two handfuls of earth to hide you
Everyone will go back, everyone
Today you are nobody's business
Now you are nobody.

What you thought was yours for so long Today are others
The ones you thought were yours for so long Today they are not yours
You have nothing
Without deed.
Time will mock pride's vanity.

Poetry from Laura Stamps

Hazel Haiku 

 

Me? Adopt from a  

shelter? Never. Then I saw  

Hazel. Fell in love. 

 

Frances, the bloodhound,  

drags her owner on walks. Yikes!  

Love my Chihuahua. 

 

Cute dog toys two for  

five dollars at Petco. I  

lose my mind. Buy ten. 

 

Hazel eats too fast.  

A silverware tray is her  

new food bowl. It works. 

 

Puppuccino time!  

I spoil her. I know. But she  

deserves it. She does. 

 

Laura Stamps is a poet and novelist and the author of over 60 books. Most recently: THE GOOD DOG (Prolific Pulse Press, 2023), ADDICTED TO DOG MAGAZINES (Impspired, 2023), and MY FRIEND TELLS ME SHE WANTS A DOG (Kittyfeather Press, 2023). She is the recipient of a Pulitzer Prize nomination and seven Pushcart Prize nominations.  

Poetry from Noah Berlatsky

Your Letters

I have saved your letters.

I don’t remember what is in them.

I’m not sure where they are.

But they’re around here somewhere.

The ink is probably smeared.

I probably can’t read your handwriting.

I probably won’t remember where I was when I read them.

I am not sure I remember who you are.

The words are there though.

They live on somewhere.

like the past on which I was written.

I must have been because here I am.

Next time I move I will throw them out.

Poetry from Mahbub

Photo of a young South Asian man with short dark hair and a short trimmed beard and mustache. He's got on a red jacket with a zipper and behind him is a street and barrier and trees.

A New Year

___Mahbub

Here’s another new year,

It’s time to stop our tear.

So much misery we’ve overcome,

Forgetting them let’s say ‘welcome’.

A new year is a new hope

To start things newly,

There’s no dilemma, no fear

To achieve successfully.

Future lies in us, no doubt,

But we have to bring it out.

No obstacle to our way

But ourselves, anyway.

Poetry from Mark Young

Today the post-
woman brought
me the ceiling
of the Sistine
Chapel. Dam-
aged in transit,
so I’m having
it repainted. A
really dark
blue, & then
I’ll paste some
stars on it.
*
Today the post-
woman brought
me three
of the four
humors. “Sorry
about the
missing one,”
she said,
phlegmatically.

Today the post-
woman brought
me a book en-
titled What is
Peripheral
Vision? I didn’t
see her come
into view.
*
Today the post-
woman brought
me the catalogue
raisonné of a
Flemish Master
who doesn’t
yet exist. I’ve
conceptualized
his creations
with the names
that are listed in
the catalog. I’m
still working on
his creation, am
using that fictional
detective from
Los Angeles as
his working name.

Today the post-
woman brought
me a lifesize full-
color effigy of
Donald Trump. I
put it in the back-
yard to keep the
fruit bats at bay.
My plan backfired.
So much orange
that the fruit bats—
dare I say it?—
went bananas &
have started
arriving in ever-
increasing numbers.