Life is but a dream
Life is but a dream
Sweet yet melting down ice cream
Still be not discouraged, not a scream
Swim bravely graceful bream.
Life is but a dream
Be that you are awake or asleep
Emotions be shallow or deep
Raise hopes beyond mountain steep
Sweet yet melting down ice cream
Life churning wild like milky cream
Still be not discouraged, not a scream
Smooth sailing be in sky so gleam
Swim bravely as a graceful bream
Over and under a flowing stream
Life may be just a dream travelers to see
Praise and thanks to God for the journey
Tear in Darkness
Pain is a burning fire hidden
No water can douse it out
Slowly creeping inside self
Draining life with own life
Snuffing out the light within
Sought freedom with numbness
Even coldness cannot stamp out
Fear, doubt, anxiety, despair
Every chain has a weak link
Every lock has a way to pick open
Every cage has an exit door
Every cell in prison with a desire
Even water has a boiling limit
Vessels have an overflow line
Frozen ice can burst any pack
Smother a soul within its flesh
Volcano burst out its lava
No matter how deeply hidden
But peace is not guaranteed
Smoking poisons up the sky
Nature sends its healing rain
Healing all the hidden pains
Angels see the tears in the dark
Grieving moans heard above
And a soul is saved by grace
Tears of pain to tears of joy
The Tower of Babel ceased to grow
Builders dispersed to be free
Just as trouble pours like rain
So do comfort and blessings
A life born can again be reborn
Tainted yet spread to rewrite on
A new journey without a map
Familiar path to leave behind
Nervous yet without any fear
Faith from fire road walked on.
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.
Music is the voice of the heart
The sounds of music are balm to the heart,
Who played it,
To what religion, race, what nation,
Searching, searching is a stranger!
Most heart-poundingly penetrating,
It is the sound of the call to prayer,
the word of the Koran,
Charming as an angel,
Mother is a lullaby, Mother is a word!
The sound of the spring, the thunder,
Rustling leaves, raindrops,
Howling wind, blizzard,
Each is a note, oud!
When a bird wants to fly for joy,
Songs in his tongue like cranes,
When you want to get into the heart of your loved one,
Like waves in the roaring sea!
Let the wishes be garlanded alone,
May there be mercy and freedom in the world,
Let a song be heard from everyone's tongue,
May music be the crown of glory!
Elmaya Jabbarova - was born in Azerbaijan. She is poet, writer, reciter, translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Shargin sesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for
Africa», «Juntos por las Letras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African's CAJ magazine, Bangladesh's Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.
IT DOESN'T PASS
What is attached to the heart does not pass
Like the seam of a mother's hands that sewed a charm for her son to go to war
Like a rosebud stuck between blooming and dormancy.
Nor the sadness of a loyal dog waiting for its owner at the entrance to the city cemetery gate.
The hunger of a child looking at a bakery window does not go away
Neither is the pain of separated lovers.
All the waiting seems to last for centuries.
Sadness, fear and suffering are magnified when the poor person is left empty-handed at the end of the day.
And until the longing of the heart is not fulfilled, everything seems to be stuck in a vacuum and does not find a replacement if the goal of the heart is not fulfilled.
Maja Milojković, born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She lived in Bor, Serbia, and Hillerod, Denmark. Laboratory technician, artist, reviewer. Internationally recognized poet who advocates peace in the world. Activist in the international organization "RRM3, RINASCIMENTO-RENESANSA Millennium III" Together for the Future of Europe - International Peace Organization. Director General: Mr. George Onsi from Egypt and Franca Colozzo from Italy. She regularly publishes her poems in these two leading newspapers Galaxy Poetic Atunis", Belgium "Synchronicity of chaos", California Her poems have been translated into many world languages and many poems are available on You Tube. She is a member of the International Association of Writers and Artists "Gorski Vidici" in Montenegro and a member of the Poetry Club "Area Felix" in Serbia.
Dreams of Endless Summer
Oh, sacred day, born on the breath of morning;
Rising from the mist of wonder, dawning
Over dusty roads of wayward spirits
Dancing endlessly through the golden wheat;
Waltzing past the green glades of childhood
And the green caravan of trees marching
Endlessly across the distant horizon.
Bring to me the sounds of thunder;
Raindrops dancing on the tin-roof of time;
The sigh of thirsty flowers, dressed
In rainbows arching across the sky.
Oh, sacred day, born of beauty, ever
My delight, knee-deep in the memory
Of endless summer days fled forever
On the sun-tanned legs of yesterday.
The Night Waits for Me
The night waits for me
In the wanton glow of starlight.
It waits for me to walk
Beneath the moonbeams
In the shallow wake of wonder
On the trail of hopeful dreams.
Chaste are the waves of yearning
Washing over ripe innocence
Locked inside the soul of love.
Free the midnight shadows
To walk the endless corridors
Leading to the soul’s awareness
Of its own delight and need.
Awaken the glow of love
To live in the midnight air
Heavy as the dew-fall -
Light as the scent of flowers
Carried on the breath of Spring.
Oh, how the night waits for me,
Caressing the secret longings
Only dreams can ever fill
And patience ever taste.
Each breathless sigh worships
hand-holding darkness
And the hearts sweet reverie.
The stars gaze down at me;
The moon kisses my bare feet;
The night writes love poetry
On the walls of my tender soul.
The night waits for me -
Dressed up in starry finery.
OH LET IT BE FOREVER MORNING
Oh, let it be forever morning
Forever dawn with light just breaking
Over some distant darkened hill -
Forever silky leaves bathed in new-born gold
And silver-throated Thrushes calling In dew-sparkled piety
From swimming reverence high
Atop the minaret of morning;
Misty, flowing notes
Calling the faithful To prayer.
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.
Funeral of my Journal
I have became fading paper
Where my words once were.
Might have said all I had to say
So in reverse they are going away.
Fading into the void, forlorn
Waiting to be reborn.
Time was never on my side
Eating me away inside.
I ignore the hourglass
I know it will all pass.
I am not ready for this funeral.
Not ready to bury my journal.
World of Desire
From hollow shadows rise
Scream to dark skies
The night streets so empty
Bleed like poetry
Hear that distant plea
Veins calling to me
Wanton of eternity
Lusting for captivity
My eden, lost city of light
Enter the night
Where shadows fall
Hear my call
Where the fog does rise
Where my black heart lies
Crimson masquerade
Feel sanguine dreams fade
Black drapes hide so well
Secrets my world shall not tell.
Where candles burn endlessly
Like hearts longing carelessly.
Bleed like a vampire
Enter the world of desire.
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 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.
Twilight Fire
Tonka bean ghosting your nose provokes interest
Sparking flames of desire to escape the gloom
Between my cold lips, secrets go to have a rest,
Midnight is between my desires as I show interest.
My visage is a puzzle, can you pass my test?
As you try to touch the flame, your smile does bloom,
Under the red moon, you catch me and can attest
To the fact that I am worth the risk and your interest
As we make our great escape away from the gloom.
Vaping Away A Lifetime
The youth of today
Smoking their lungs into charcoal
The dangers that lurk behind
Brightly colored pens
Pretending to be harmless,
When they are filled with heavy
Metals and other toxic substances
Behind the apple scent
There is cancer, organ damage,
And medical debt
Each puff is another day that you will
never get back
Each cough is another scar in your lungs
Suffocating you with every inhale
Vaping steals your future
Because it destroys your health
And without that
You have no lifetime to live.
-Come and take as much dollar as you need but stop crying. I hate crying. I hate tears. I don’t want to see anymore tear in your beautiful eyes.
– Why do I take dollar from you. What do you think about me? Am I a beggar? I don’t want to take any dollar from you.
– You tiny girl! But your sound is like the Himalayas. It seems to me that you are a little bit brave. But why are you crying?
-I am not bound to tell you. You are not able to help me. You rich people think only dollar can solve every problem. Dollar is not the solution of every problem. Go to your road and please let me cry. I want to cry and cry. My forehead is burnt. I burned my forehead.
Mr. Patrick is astonished to hear the tiny girl. She seems to under ten. She may be more than ten because none can guess her age accurately to see her structure. She is a stolen girl.
Mr. Patrick comes out from his luxurious car. He is now very close to the girl. He gently asks the girl, What is your name?
The girl is now crying with low sound but she does not answer. She is crying like herself.
Finding no other way Mr. Patrick starts to cry.
The girl stops her crying for the time being. She is surprised and asks Mr. Patrick, Why are you crying? Are you making fun with me. I am not a funny girl.
-I am crying a little bit for you.
-I have no need you to do that.
-At least tell me your name.
-My name is Dream.
-Dream! That is interesting. What is your father’s name?
– It is unknown. I don’t know anything about him. My mother has never shared anything about him. Even she has not informed me Who my father is and what his name is. So, how can I tell you my father’s name?
Dream starts crying again. Mr. Patrick is a little bit nervous but he does not express himself. He asks Dream,
-What is your mother’s name?
Without giving answer Dream angrily asks,
– Are you a question man? Why are you asking me question one after another? I have forgotten everything. Everything.
– Tell me your mother’s name.
– Death.
-Death! How is it possible? I have never heard this name.
– Rich people like you are afraid of this word.You want to forget this word by spending dollars. But you won’t, will you?
Your dollar is not as true as death. Death is dead. My mother is dead. She is dead and a dead woman has no name.
– Your mother is dead and this is why you are crying. Now you need dollars. I want to help you.I want to give you dollars.
-Oh! No, I do not need dollars . If l need l will not take dollars from you.
-But why?
-Simple. Very simple. You are arrogant. I hate arrogant people.
– Take dollar from me. I have enough dollars. l want to stop your crying.
-I need my father’ identity and my mother’s name. My mother’s life. Can you give me any of the two?
– No, no, no. I can’t. I can’t.
-Let me cry.
– Stop crying.
Mr. Patrlck threw dollars into the air.The dollars were flying but could not touch neither the sky nor the tears of Dream.
Mr. Patrick is walking as if he were mad. He utters some words but these are not clear.
