toast on the kitchen floor the feeling that sulks in my bone marrow and weighs me down melts into the air pockets of day old sourdough. i didn't know that wanting to die was meltable. i hoped it wasn't now all i am left with is drips of oil and soot i never tracked in on my heel. patches of raw feeling still keep their opaque huddling figures but now it just looks like i have plain toast with molding clumps. the crust is too hard for my crying jaws. i leave it on the cutting board. a staler slice resides in the toaster that i have grown up with so i get crumbs under my nails pulling it out. fresher emotions that give the illusion of being gentle and friendly are spread across the surface with the cchhh of butter knife on bread i don’t close the feelings container because it's a pain in the ass and i always cut my fingertips just enough to feel the texture difference but not enough to hurt i leave a smear of suicidality in the deli container. of course its not enough for a whole slice of toast but thats too bad for whoever next finds themselves foolish enough to crave toast. toast is dumb. it takes the gentleness out of the fresh-baked bread and prods at over-chewed gums. i only find myself seasoning a second toast because it's there and i need something to do. i pull out a fresh plate and everything for my pretty little crunchy mean bread. so many favors i've done. i smeared my feelings out and stared them down like a single poppyseed on a fucking sesame bagel. i also have mixed feelings about sesame seeds. i’ll eat something that i didn't even know had sesame seeds but for some reason i always wrestle with the tiny little flavor between my teeth for hours before i taste it. sesame seeds are also dumb. my stupid little toast is face down on the floor now and i'm not going to pick it up.
Poetry from Debarati Sen
Retrograding I sat by the backwaters of my imagination and gazed at the stars melting in the mouth of the sky. Her smile bright like a glazed ceramic Illuminated the dark alleys of my soul. The admonishing silence raving through the crevices of the moon disintegrated the night's monochrome into pieces. The wind blew it away to distant planets. My attempt to pour the sea into the bell jar fell flat, the brine water overflowed drenching my mouth that parched with fever. The cuckoo's distant farewell song pierced my ears It is time to return now to the orb of nothingness. I tried to tie her words with the windchime Tinkering with the winds from Bosnia. The colors of summer inundated the city. Its fragrance perched on my shoulders. Far away is an abyss that cannot be crossed this evening. The roaring wind mimicked my inner turmoil. The paranoia sprouted like grass. The earth's rotation rattled on my nerves. My head felt dizzy with every solstice. I tried hard to pour life out of an aluminum kettle but it spilled from the sides and messed up my life's filigree. The spectrum of rainbow signaled the dawn's arrival. Another ordinary day was about to take its course. I folded the sides of the night sky and kept it safely inside my lavender purse till we meet again on the horizon's other end! Regards Debarati Sen Bio A published poet and a regular columnist in Youth Ki Awaz and Literoma. Freelancer at the International NGO JPS Medaid. Winner of the International Poetry Writing competition 2021 organized by the Elite Awards. Published debut poetry book 'Blurred Musings' in January 2022. I have contributed to more than 15 anthologies. Works as a Junior Assistant in Presidency University Kolkata.
Poetry from Hongri Yuan, translated by Yuanbing Zhang
Three Poems Written by Yuan Hongri Translated by Yuanbing Zhang I Was Originally The God of the Gods I shall change seawater into honey， smelt the stone into the gold， the bitter is namely sweet， the sun is born from the womb of the night. Oh, my God！No matter what if you are really the God Oh, the devil! No matter how many tricks you have today, I am neither living nor dying I want to put you all into the golden tripod of time. I am originally outside of the earth I will leave one day although I have forgotten many years but I woke up finally today From a little drop of water the world came into being It was originally a tear of mine I was originally the God of the Gods . 4.30.2011 我本是上帝的上帝 我要把海水酿成蜜 把石头熔炼成金 这苦涩就是香甜 这太阳从黑夜的子宫诞生 上帝啊 无论你是不是真的上帝 魔鬼啊 无论你还有多少伎俩 今天 我不生也不死 我要把你们统统装进时光的金鼎 我本在这个尘世之外 有一天还将归去 尽管我遗忘了许多年 可今天终于醒来 这小小的一滴水 诞生了这个天地 它本是我的一颗泪珠 我本是上帝的上帝 2011.4.30 The World Is in a Box The world is in a box the little timeworn world the countries of Lilliput the President of the king's prime minister those kings, premiers and presidents those dwarfs in the scroll of time’s picture They do not believe the additional sun both like a diamond and like gold make you warm in winter make you cool in summer Neither have they seen the sweet ocean nor have they known heaven outside time forgotten those gods who like mountains are the ones the former ancients owned 9.1.2012 世界在一只盒子里 世界在一只盒子里 这个小小陈旧的世界 一座座小人国 那些国王 首相 总统 那些时光画卷里的侏儒 他们不相信另外的太阳 既像钻石 又像黄金 在冬天时让你温暖 在夏天时让你凉爽 他们没见过甜蜜的海洋 也不知时光之外的天国 忘了那些山岳般的众神 是古老的曾经的自己 2012.9.1 The King of The Diamonds The sun was rising in my breast I woke up finally said goodbye to the night's nightmare the world was lit up by me this is actually the real me There is no longer day and night there are no longer newborns and death I got myself back before there was no earth and heaven I have existed from the beginning The world is just my works： a picture, a poem a symphony. Give me a stone I will turn it into the king of the diamonds. 9.3.2012 钻石之王 太阳在我胸膛里升起 我终于醒来 告别黑夜的梦魇 世界被我照亮 这才是真实的我 不再有白昼与黑夜 不再有新生与死亡 我找回了自已 在没有天地之前 我就早已经存在 世界只是我的作品 一幅画 一首诗 一部交响曲 给我一枚石头 我让它变成钻石之王 2012.9.3 Bio: Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet's Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, The Poetry Village, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are Platinum City and Golden Giant. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization. Its content is to show the solemnity, sacredness and greatness of human soul through the exploration of soul. Yuanbing Zhang (b. 1974), is Mr. Yuan Hongri’s assistant and translator. He himself is a Chinese poet and translator, and works in a Middle School, Yanzhou District, Jining City, Shandong Province China. He can be contacted through his email-3112362909@qq.com.
Poetry from Jelvin Gibson
#1 Poem Title: "Kweeju" (Abandon Child) I am kweeju, Born with a black skin, Abandoned by a woman and raised by a hunter Bright, Brilliant, articulate strong and bold; I’m filled with hatred, Skillful enough to attack my enemies. I am kweeju, Often the target is sorrow My future is not confined to charity Give me the gift of a lifetime, Give me a dream, A door of opportunity; I will thrive. I am Kweeju Do not hide my fault Show me my wrong I am like any other, Teach me to dream, And I will become one. I am Kweeju I am the son; son of the soil, Rich in texture and content, Full of potential for a better tomorrow, Lack of motherly discipline and character, But filled with hard work, Teach me to think like the star within me I am Kweeju. #2 Poem Title: Weeping/Moaning We were four in numbers, When we heard the sound of death’s call, Calling our mother under cover, We were shocked and rolled like an ocean, A mighty man of nature, one who gives and takes, But time was not appropriate. Weeping has turned to our morning meal, An early dream has come to an end. She was our sleeves, woman full of thoughts and emotions, One who lighten our world, One who gives us hope for the future has passed on. She left tears in our eyes, Memories in our hearts, Searching for remedy, And finding none. Weeping/moaning Mother is gone, I could hear the voice of a new mother calling from the other side, The little one with such an instigating look. My blood boiled to hear the voice of my younger sister crying, The tears rained down her cheek as a sign of misery. The tree has waved its branches, and the dry leaves have fallen. We work more and play less, The one who holds the dream of an entire family has crashed, Clear waters ran through that fertile land, By the light of dawn, We called it home, We shared a dream, But now it’s gone. We could not change, Or bring back the days, But feel her presence around, And we weep all day. Who Is A Woman? The backbone to a man in time of difficulties; One who lighten the affairs of the family, And the attention she gives, Seeking the treasure of satisfaction, A light in the night of man's trouble. The bridge of every man's dream, The apple in the eyes, The representation of man's life. Who is a woman One that is quiet, millions of things are running through her mind as she stares at you, she is wondering why she loves you so much, despite being taken for granted. She stands by you like a solid rock. Never hurt and taken for granted. Who is a woman Mother to our future leaders One who has the unique character like salt, But her presence is never remembered, Her absence makes all the things tasteless. But, Her smile and commitment, Make a man realize a woman's worth. Author Bio Jelvin Stephen Gibson remains the name. He was born in Montserrado County, precisely ELWA Hospital, on Friday, 8th August 1995, as the first son of four children. Father's name is Stephen T. Gibson, and mother's name is Etta B. Sulonkpala (late), while his stepmother's name is Benetta Jones Gibson. He is from Bong County by origin. He holds certifications in Acting for Stage, Acting for Radio, Artist Management, and Acting for Camera. He is a classroom Teacher; he holds an Associate Degree in Education (AA) (Language Arts) from the Licosess Mobile Teacher Training College. He looks forward to having a B.Sc as soon as possible. His hobbies are writing, reading, teaching, and caring for others. Because of his writing, he gained popularity in the Liberian Movie Industry. He wrote and starred in the movie "Greed" and also wrote the script of the story "Kweeju" (Abandon Child), which was a zone project. His father is his inspiration. He always gives him some direction to face something, gives him the story ahead, and is always optimistic about realizing his dreams. He always says that he is the best and that his family is his spirit.
Poetry from Lori Minor
***** all my darkness waxing moon *** same shit different day cicadas **** in the name of the lord wolfsbane *** mayflies— my fantasy of someone else *** orchid seeds the dig of his nails into my waist
Lori A Minor (she/they) is a queer, neurodivergent poet and activist. Recipient of more than 15 haikai awards, they are proud to be included in A New Resonance 12 and to have given presentations at Haiku North America (2019, 2021). Lori’s sixth book, Hot Girl Haiku, is now available.
Poetry from Adamu Yahuza Abdullahi
SALVATION IN THE EYES OF THE SUN Somewhere, a boy is digging a tomb of memory and ends up having his head hung between this poem. I don't want to start this poem with memories, with lines that bring me more closer to extinction. So when about to sleep, I'll close the windows to not have a taste of the airs that scents more like my brother, still, they sneaked in and romance me with their roughened edges. I dreamt of salvation in the eyes of the sun, the sun came & pour me her rays; they doesn't taste like scented flowers, like vine ripe mangoes. I ran to the moon, the moon placed in my palms, darkened images. I don't know know where else to search for light, I returned to this poem; I saw the dreams of my sister withered in a flower betwixt the lines. I saw with my korokoro eyes the nakedness of her dreams choking my breath. Tell me how more to starts a day than to wake up in the garden of lilies, everything here pop me up to an emissary of tears. I mean to say, here; I am a portrait of a boy hung on the walls of fate
THRENODY To the souls the ground swallowed To the dreams that got ruptured To the faces been robbed of smiles To — afternoons of collapsed skeletons To the moments that ticks in the chest To the days lived in fear— yesterdays of wailings To the fruits that got plucked off unripened To every kin yanked and slewed at Burma To the dirges— The threnodies To the victims of faulty policies— To the Yobe, the Zamfara— where my brothers and sisters await their death. To the everyday mourning news of the television To the widowed, the orphaned To every blood shed— broken promises To the days, where the goats no longer feed on greens To every agony To every pain To every story that falls blood To every dreams shattered I say, let's put our heads and brains together In spite of our homes been war-torned Let's keep our hope alive— fate like a citadel And our bright steps will once again spring love
Poetry from Nathan Anderson
Transit
hollow beacon fly on the wall
juxtaposition (calling)
belting// one // two
belting// one // two
a brick as good
as any other... [flower in the river is as bent as
the metal is bent]
belting//
one
// belting// one // two
two
Soloist
gravity...
a railroad shooting
shooting
shooting
as the flower
condemns
hear the bark
in the only
street
cede the lung to
an open mouth
gone are the days of
lightning powered
stone
desert wandering
oil seclusion
when they arrive they will come
with nothing
what else could they have?
Panoramic Lossless
emitted greeting
[clap clap]
/////shp/////shp////
shpshpshpshspsshpshsphsphsphsph
shpshsphspshssphspshsphsphspshsh
hspshsphspshpshspshpshspshpshsphp
////shp/////shp////////shp
a new number
was invented
invested as a
sugar
skull
death mask
wait until the typing
is
complete
[before]
recitation
visited on
sound
flfkflfkflfklfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkfl
=flfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkf=
+flfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflf+
-flfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflfkflf-
that is as...
Nothing is
trainspotting
skeletal mercury
running through the
ambergris
running running
through the
tunnel mouth
running through the
retrograde
foundation
foundation
a pleasant form of Bodhisattva
Fomentation -nothing-nothing-
flashbang soundscape
fleabag after
manumission
a horse escapes its
union
never the =
only in ghettoised restructuring...
...muscle
...set
...extremity
... ...
ignore all language
Ape Thumb
restful
yes
restful
closing down from shuttle shuttle
to
barely worn
electricity
in
tired
clothes clothes
that you
no
longer
wear
comfortably
a mishearing
shunt! rumble
rumble
[blue take the place of]
========blue===========
======red=============
==========green=========
=========yellow========
oxidising
monolith
give it space!
[to work its]
sounds like a...
[sound take the place of]
========sound=========
=========scream========
========yelp========
======sing=======