Insatiable How did it come down to this—that I Question the once bright-faced moon Now a blackhole lonelily drifting Through space; ravening for, or On galaxies and planets arranged Neatly in the cold lunchbox Of a prodigious school outcast Have their icy mother forgotten To warn them today against sweating The small stuff; like, if they can't help But look in the eye of a tormentor They must speak with the resolve Of a continent in a deadly headlock With a flaky tectonic plate ------- Emeniano Acain Somoza, Jr. considers himself the official spiritual advisor of his roommates, Gordot and Dwight - the first a goldfish, the other a Turkish Van cat. His works have been published in The Poetry Magazine, Moria Poetry Journal, Fogged Clarity, Everyday Poem, Loch Raven Review, The Buddhist Poetry Review, The Philippines Free Press, Troubadour 21, Full of Crow, Indigo Rising, Asia Writes, Triggerfish Critical Review, Troubadors 21, Gloom Cupboard, TAYO, Haggard & Halloo, and elsewhere. His first book, A Fistful of Moonbeams, was published by Kilmog Press in April 2010. His second, Kleenex Theory, published by Createspace-Amazon, came out in 2015. He is busy anthologizing emptiness and boredom at the moment.
Poetry from Santiago Burdon
Fonty The Vegan Vulture Fonty was a vegan Vulture. Other Vultures tried to offer their advice Told him they were created as carnivores and eating meat Is an essential part of their diet. He stayed true to his commitment to be a vegan Ate fruit and berries but they never satisfied his appetite He began to steal stale bread from pigeons Crows kept him away from the cornfields He was too weak to put up a fight The Vulture Committee knew he wouldn't last much longer Sure enough he died from starvation The Volt joined together as a Wake and all said a prayer Then they quickly ate him. Judge Santiago Burdon Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequilas Bad Advice, Lords of the Afterglow, Overdose of Destiny, Architect of Havoc.
Poetry from Luis Berriozabal
Into the Valley After Gil Vicente I go out into the valley, out into the valley, I go, where a nightingale sings of lost hope. I go out into the valley, where bitter lemons grow. I go out into the valley where my rosy cheeks have enough of the sun. There is no fruit for my labor. There is no love. I go out into the valley, out into the valley I go, as I sing of false hope. My gentle skin burns. I’m too pale for the sun. I go out into the valley where the nightingale sings the saddest of songs. * 57 Going on 60 I am not only alive and in the present, I am not in the future and the past is gone. My memory is the worst of all. I might as well be dead. I have two years left. I have one toe in the grave. That is the future. I may not have two years left. Who really knows? The present is fleeting. The past was a blur. And I never believed in the fountain of youth. * Moving Around I hide at night in a home by a river of debris and mice. Of Mice and Men, I read that book. I used to love The Moon is Down. Moving around makes me so tired. * Bundle of Dreams I was born and I will die. I will die and I will have dreams. I will meet my grandparents on the other side. My hair will grow long again and I will be young. Isn’t it great? This is one of my dreams. I have a bundle of them. * Words Words betray me. I leave them stranded in retaliation. They get dirty with no one to tend to them. Blank-eyed, they look at me with numb attention. Their false smiles sting. The words convince me to take them back. In a stream of consciousness the words start a poem on the importance of second chances. More poems come out wrapped in barbed wire about America’s wall. I take a mop to the blood on the page. I can’t clean it. The killing has been going on for years. Our life, our lives are fed to the black night in the desert. Off the rails, a would be leader peddles fear to his lot. My vote and my words are my most useful weapon. I take a pen. I write down the story I have to tell. Nobody can stop me. I must keep faith in myself.
Poetry from Jessica Barnabas Joseph
A JOURNEY TO THE UNKNOWN Life is a ball which rolls different faces. She gives you a part as a present, You have a beginning and in this mystery Lies also an end Life is a journey You are a journey, too.
Poetry from Praise Danjuma
THE MYSTERIOUS BIRD A rare bird that you hardly see in the day but in the night, creepy. what a bird on earth perches on trees and poles scares you with its voice as fear and sorrow travel into your heart a bird with a circle-shaped eye, creepy and her ears hear ten times more than humans what a creature nature so endowed. By Praise Danjuma
Poetry from Kande Danjuma
A VISIT BY MY INNER CHILD A child, in his innocence, whispers hope into my broken soul. She said: trust the dreams long held onto, your dreams would soar, someday. Thanks to the sense of joy and possibility felt as a child whose hope rises like the light of dawn though adulthood is a journey riddled with challenges and responsibilities. Now, my inner child reminds me again and again of the magic that exists within me. It tells me to connect with my curious self and recapture that innocence that believes the sky is a touch from my finger. I now know how to let go of my worries and bury my fears deep beneath. I ride on the wind of courage and trust the light in me that buries the shadow of the darkness. Today, hear me: I have mastered visiting the whispers of my inner child as she reminds me that hope is a tray serving juice to forlorn dreams. Hope awakens my dreams and can do so for you. Kande Danjuma (Kdy)
Poetry from Audrija Paul
RAIN The grey grasses can no longer console the tears of the clouds. Their joy of welcoming the pacific rain, Has faded in the darkness. The petrichor seems no longer serene. Where is your soothing beauty, O' rain? O' rain! You stole their food and then their heart. Don't extinguish their burning pyres now. The soil, not being able to bear their agonizing pain, Held their bodies on her lap. Oh you! How cruel you are! You took their lives, who craved your presence, who appreciated your healing power. Oh rain! You made the dazzling fire roar and burnt everything down to ashes. How can you, O' heavenly rain, be so cruel?