A Baby

A baby knows no race

A baby knows no scent

A baby knows no cloth

A baby knows no ideas

A baby knows a warm lap

A baby knows warm embrace

A baby knows a gentle hum

A baby knows what love is

A baby knows any language

A baby knows contentment

A baby knows peaceful sleep

A baby knows beautiful dream

A baby knows a heart that’s true

When have we stopped being a baby,

Stopped knowing what matters?

When have we stopped feeling,

Stopped having a baby’s wisdom?

Don’t Be Afraid

Summer nights, cool breeze flows to caress

Moon and stars hidden above the trees

Darkness hid the shadows of life

Eyes blindfolded not by silky scarf

Don’t be afraid of the absence of the sun

Summer nights when stars are hidden above

Where is North, where is the Perseus god?

No torch to guide one’s stumbling on a path

No flames of bonfire crackling to give one warmth

Don’t be afraid with the feeling of being lost

Summer nights stranger alone and young

A child scared of the unknown night sounds

Yet twinkling lights were seen flying near and free

Fireflies are so gentle to keep you company

Don’t be afraid, you’re never alone even in the dark

Don’t be afraid though your eyes seem blind

Don’t be afraid though you feel lost and cold

Don’t be afraid of being alone in the dark

You are never alone, just wait and believe

Don’t be afraid, you are protected. Don’t you see?

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.

The Passage of Time 

Long vanished the ancient cold, 
The song of the wolves, distant 
Howling through the downy flakes 
Drifting o’er rooftops and curling 
From chimneys grown cold. 
Time glows like a banked fire 
Against the cold of eons past 
Aching bones of lost love 
Waiting in time to dance again. 
Wilted the love posies given 
By wooers besotted and forlorn 
In the heydays of their passion 
Never to hear sweet promises 
Polished, refurbished and stored 
In the heart-shaped boxes of time 
Or wear the locks of hair in lockets 
Of long dead lovers, sworn 
To vows impossible to keep 
Past the eons of their courtship. 
Old are the dreams, forgotten 
The glory of laughter and youth 
To be lived as the wind whispers 
Beneath the waves of thunder, 
Grumbles into the caves of love, 
Absorbed by the echoing walls.
Longing dies but lives in memories 
Bursting forth in the glory of sunsets, 
Waking on the sunbeams of morning, 
And sleeping in the dust, tracked 
Through the temples of timeless love.



Sacred Freedom 

It’s the soul that is touched by space and time 
And the heart that breaks to poignant rhyme. 
A King can feel like a prisoner within his castle halls, 
While the soul of the dungeon inmate soars beyond his walls. 
Circumstance is what you make of your surroundings 
A castle can be a fortress wherein fancy sings 
Or a prison where only despair is given wings. 
Each step is sacred that you walk in a free land 
Thank God for freedom to choose where you stand. 



Christmas Sonnet 

This, our first Christmas, brings me such delights! 
You are all the gifts I ever dreamed of; 
Every Christmas tree trimmed with sparkling lights; 
Every star on top symbolizing love. 
You're every kiss beneath the mistletoe; 
Every turkey, yeast roll and candied yam; 
The angels I made lying in the snow; 
You're my gingerbread man, my honeyed ham! 
You’re every Christmas Carol I have sung; 
You’re reindeer, Santa Claus and candlelight; 
All the stockings filled I carefully hung; 
You’re the sleigh bells imagined on Christmas Night. 
You’re the glowing fireplace on Christmas Eve - 
All the cookies and milk I used to leave.

 
Sacred Silhouette 

Yours is the sacred silhouette outlined 
Between me and the LIGHT of Creation – 
The deep voice of love from outer space 
Reaching me from the corridors of time; 
The pulsating heart of constancy 
Beating for me in echoing waves 
Of unforgettable love, caught 
In the beauty of thought and desire 
To hold the night in each other's arms. 
Your love touches every cell of my being. 
You are the glow in the mist of morning; 
The chirping cricket on the threshold 
Of love’s open doorway to paradise. 
You are evening’s quiet reverie 
Enhancing my belief in a loving God. 
You are the quiet breath of falling dew; 
The glow of lilies in the moonlight. 
You are a thousand fireflies lit by my desire 
To know the tenderness of your ways. 
You’re the taste of moonlight on my skin; 
My silent steps on the path of yearning 
As I walk in the sacred shadow of stars 
Seeking your soul in love’s rocking cradle 
Suspended from the limb of infinity. 

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.

Golden Blaze

The sun goes down in a blaze

In a flaming golden haze

A pot of gold in the skies

A coin ‘pon Charon’s eyes

Bidding farewell to rich verse

Golden hearts handed to the universe

Leaving mourning minds in a daze

As the sun goes down in a blaze.

Maybe

Maybe I’ll just close my eyes tonight

To find everything was just a dream.

Maybe I will be running to the light

To find it was only a moon beam.

Maybe I’ll forget to say I love you

To find it would be my last chance.

Maybe I’ll forget to pay you your due

To find it would be our last dance.

Maybe I should just hold you tight

To find that you alone make my heart scream.

Maybe I should die in your arms tonight

To find that you will always be my dream.

One can never know how things will go.

We need to take the time and live slow.

From southwestern Michigan, Jerry Langdon has lived 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 an 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 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.

A LOVE FORETOLD 

We met each other for a reason
The myth was one foretold before we ever spoke
From the beginning our hearts were so close
Our thoughts often the same without even talking
Our hearts together beat in perfect rhythm
as we both rested in each other's arms..
A most beautiful and perfect dream together
I know at times our dreams could not find each other
in the sharp brokenness that we both have lived through
But our hearts together are like a shrine in a temple
We both religiously worship in each other's love
Nothing can ever tear it down; it is too strong
God will surely bless such a love as ours... 



SORRY BABY, I WIN

One look at his face and into his eyes
I was hooked at that point but he wasn't surprised.
Six foot six, with long wavy hair, women fell at his feet
but he didn't care.
"Too Easy" he says, with that sweet evil grin
At that moment I thought, I should run far from him.
But my heart was curious, it knew no bounds,
So I decided that I would just stick around.
I'm glad I did because there was much more
than this strong attraction that went straight to my core.
"I'm not a nice guy" he told me quite sharp,
but I knew there was goodness in this bad boy's heart.
The love for him I had was quite real,
it was far more than just lust or his strong sex appeal.
He made me laugh and  Wow!... what a smile,
so I stayed around if even just for a while.
Since that day, the tables have turned,
For me his heart melted, it passionately burned.
He thought he was immune to any emotion
No love in his heart, no speck of devotion.
Little did he know he'd have no control 
against this tough but loving woman's grasp on his soul.
Now it's me who possesses his sweet, evil grin,
"Love Conquers All, Sorry Baby, I win".   


Longing for My Place in This World

I thought I knew where my place was in this world long ago
But I find my purpose changes like the beautiful seasons, 
and I gladly change with each season in my life.
I never was impressed by riches or fame, even though I have had them
I have also been poor in money but my riches were in my life lessons.
The only thing I ever wanted, was a stable home with children.
I got my beautiful children, but a stable home was never meant for me when I was younger.  But... It kept me moving and it taught me so much.  There was nothing I could not get through because of doing everything in life the hard way.
It took a long time for me to see the purpose of that.
I never look at a hard time as something bad, but another lesson learned in my life.
Now, in the latter part of my life, I know where my place is.  It is everywhere.  
It is wherever God places me at any given day.  That is where I belong.  
If someone needs me, God will place me there.  I have been all over the world without leaving my home.  I have learned from people who I have never met.  I have loved children who aren't mine.  I have empathy and I am so grateful for every person I have in my life. I love so many cultures and watch in wonder at their lives.
And I am so glad that God has shown me that my place is not one place or for one purpose, but in many places and for many reasons, and it is exciting!
And, I am truly thankful that he uses me everyday in a different place in this world.  I love my life! 



Escaping Reality

In my secret world that only I can see..
the trees and grass are always green, if only this could be.
I'd never have a worry about memories of pain..
only golden days of happiness and joy that pours like rain.
I've lived so much reality I often have to hide
within my world of make believe to mask the pain inside.
Where fairies, knights and princesses become the real thing.
They take me to a magical place where I can laugh and sing.
Please take me from this darkness from where I've seen such things
as blackened hand prints on my skin and painful tears that sting.
Though all of them have disappeared now from the naked eye,
the scares they left upon my soul have killed the joy inside.
So once again I travel back to my peaceful, secret place
to escape the cold and violence that I lived outside its space. 




Kristy Raines was born in Oakland California, USA and is a poet, writer, author and humanitarian/activist.
She has five books getting ready to publish soon, one with a prominent Poet from India which will launch hopefully soon called, "I Cross my Heart from East to West", two fantasy books of her own called, "Rings, Thins and Butterfly Wings" and "Princess and The Lion",  and an anthology of poems in English," Walking Without You, one in French, "Little Rose Poetry", one in Arabic called," Jasmine and Roses".  She is taking a course in Arabic to write this book. Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing. 

I REWRITE THE FUTURE IN THE SKY, HOPING FOR A NEW TREE

I rewrote the future in the stars hoping a new tree to sprout out
And a new story to begin, wishing the rainbows to duplicate the earth

And its habitats like stars in the sky painting the future was necessary for you because
tomorrow may be too late and our fruits also withered like a lifeless vegetation.
Peace and justice will find its way to the throne of power and all those whose ears are made of
steel will be melted in the ever glowing fire of fulfilled dreams
Those whose tongues denies the truth must therefore assemble with open confessions
and my countrymen will no longer be a bunch of thorns on my flesh

And expectations for a clean environment of metaphors hanging on the sky, the day will soon come and a new generation shall be birthed into this world of we mortals.

Casualties

Yesterday I leaned  on a couch,
And today am on a journey to see 
The casualties of my poem.
My tongue fell into the hole of my head,
And pains like tapeworms slides into view 
To shield me from darkness.

A tree standing without a head
Is my hostess on that plane 
That swallowed the sky and Rebirth’s another casualties.

The Boy who Looks at Nowhere

Walks with his eyes closed,
And hands in sashes;
Leaves limpid footprints everywhere,
When the kerbs croak,
As if at night;
Tries to be abnormal
Even to the abnormal,
Till guilt catch up with him—
Umber empire chocolate:
If chewed quickly off,
No bitterness would linger
On the buddiest tongue.

He starts on his bike,
In deliberate swerves,
Waddling in puddles black
With skins of mud,
Unfeeling
When bits of grits snap into his shanks in fits.

At the store he stops,
Stooping for a plant whose voice has taken flight,
Whose sheen has dimmed
Like his granny’s eyes.
At home he fidgets,
Feeding her with vitamin pills,
Then wash them down with a nozzle
Refitted from the muzzle of a favourite gun.
At night he talks to her
In kinky gutters,
Fearing that the brine of his tears
Would soak her dead:
On the brim of the night,
At the height of her desk.
Quick as a travelling sand,
Frail like a buckling band.

He sings only when it thunders
So that no one hears his howl.

Sail In

All are sailors in winds,
Rigging the bunts of umbrellas,
In shapes of
Guns, cigars and forearms.
But some are only eaten away,
Gnawed by the gusts,
Into turbid pieces.
The wind,
At the palimpsests of their emaciation
In my mind.
But under stirs
Fake leaves wave too,
And some songs sound better on reflection.
Then I’ll view them as stories of mine,
Written in malaport style and the very
Wrong voice,
Thus from which I move on to a next,
Better one to compose.

The rain wafts,
Dyeing the paves black
As if ink
Into a flattened pool.

Echoes of Up and Down

To Lucifer my conscience treks a path
Down upward spirals built in temple’s hull
Such lullabies of orchards are his wrath
What harvest’s feed spurs echoes of the skull?
Do I walk back and back across the seed?
Plentiful with their bewildered light’s star
And I, the gardener tempted by need
Throw careless handful at soils endless scar
In a theoretical where is up?
For I swirl a revolved product again
Directionally paralyzed mix up
this great bed, a flesh, felt like acids hot rain
But, like infinity I am not scale
So I, alone, staggered, walk this trail.