French Fry Etiquette She left me sitting alone in McDonalds Didn't take a bite of her Big Mac Or touch a single one of her French Fries She grabbed her Coke then walked away And never even looked back I thought about eating the fries Although I had lost my appetite It wasn't because I was hurt by the drama She spreads ketchup on top of all of them Instead of dipping each fry I'm sure you know the type When it comes to eating French fries Her method doesn't follow proper etiquette Even though it bothered me I never said a word Because she gets pissed off so quickly And becomes belligerent I didn't understand what just happened It left me totally confused Why did she Super Size her order If she wasn't going to eat the food We had a date to go for dinner I couldn't figure out why she got upset I told her she looked gorgeous But maybe a little overdressed She looked surprised when we arrived And said McDonalds you've got to be kidding How insensitive of me to take her to McDonalds for dinner Knowing her favorite hamburger joint is Burger King JSB 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
Poetry from Mahbub Alam
In The Autumn Afternoon One day in the celebration of autumn I would be your mate Mind stirs on In this faint afternoon The sky smiles on the red sun with the colors of the leaves Over head and the surroundings welcome all the way The flock of birds and the colorful butterflies Someone from the back seem to say something astonishing Mind dissolves by the flowing water Peeping here and again flying there Play in soft, green dense bushes All happiness of love takes place Makes a new tune in the heart All your glory talks out smiling Ah! the beauty of the golden scene. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 31, October, 2023 Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos from America for seven years.
Poetry from Aklima Ankhi
Migratory Soul My soul is resting here under an umbrella, Hearing the rhythmic roar of big waves, Observing dead Oyster shells heart quivers. They come from mysterious abysmal burg After completing their life journey. Looking at the vast open sky, I whispered to the chariot wind; When are you taking my migratory soul, To that unspotted sea of empty garden? Soon heart filled up with an obscure pain. Aklima Ankhi is a poet, storyteller and translator from Cox'sbazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh, she has a published book of poetry named "Guptokothar Shobdochabi" written in Bangla. She is a post graduate in English Literature and she is a lecturer in English.
Poetry from Maja Milojkovic
HER NAME At the bottom of the river you sleep, and then you emerge on the soft palm of the sacred hands that lift you out of the water. You feel your awakening; there was enough sleeping, others would like to see you the way you are. Oh, a stone black for this world, but for eyes that see deeper your name is… Shila. Oh dear, you immediately soften the river where you were found as if she is also rejoicing with you seeing you above her very clearly, and in her bosom rested your dream. Drops of water are gliding down your dark smiling face, and a ray of light illuminates your sweet gaze. You travel on the sacred palm to the river bank, they place you on pure silk to rest, and then you go to your throne, not for you but for others who are eager to see you. You are neither a black stone nor a woman, You are a living soul that has a form and a name. My hand moves towards you, I give you a flower that smells like spring, and my soul wakes up again when it sees awakened eyes, and understands the meaning of yourself. Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci's statement "Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard" was circulating through the blood. That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them. As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. "Trees of Desire" is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems "Moon Circle". She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists "Mountain Views" in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.
Poetry from Manzar Alam
Stop Please, killing Still, I hear the echoes of the words That the dying baby of Syria or Palestine uttered. He said in the next world he would complain to the Lord Who has created us all. He threatened the world that he would say everything The cruelty and injustice that he suffered. He would ask his Lord what was his crime And why was he killed? When the innocent was taking to the grave The air was heavy with tears and sighs The helpless mother how helplessly she cries. Certainly, certainly our creator had heard That heart rending complains the baby had made. The Almighty God had punished the world By sending Covid – 19 Corona Virus. The world has then seen the rallies of death. But the hardhearted killers would never stop To violate the rules of the Almighty Lord. Still are they killing countless a day Destroying the houses, hospitals and tents. Which religion allows you to kill innocents And burn hospitals, churches and mosques as well? Blood of Muslims, blood of Jewish Blood of Christians , Buddhists and Hindus All are red and look the same. Then why such rivalry why such crimes, Why the slaughtering of people And deprivation of right? Stop please, killing stop genocide. Don’t drop your bombs don’t fire missiles. (Manzar Alam from Bangladesh)
Poetry from Faleeha Hassan
Prayer I beg You, God, Help us: We who are children just turned forty, We who still don’t know how to shake the gooey skin from our pithy words. We haven’t wandered aimlessly with a dog Merely Because our grandfathers’ bones have been filling the cemeteries that our streets demand. We haven’t drunk coffee, Because the noise of their artillery really didn’t allow us to sleep. Please, God, When you are nigh, we shouldn’t dream of sheltering under blankets; We want to see no matter what You have in mind for us I beg You! Don’t make matters go from bad to worse! We're still kids-- Forever. Translated by William Hutchins Faleeha Hassan is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq. She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian. She is a Pulitzer Prize nominee for 2018 and a Pushcart Prize nominee for 2019. She is a member of the International Writers and Artists Association and the winner of the 202 Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine, the winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021), one of the Women of Excellence selection committees for 2023, the winner of Women In The Arts award for 2023 and a member of Who's’ Who in America for 2023. SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023 Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
Poetry from Graciela Noemi Villaverde
IN THE PALM OF MY HANDS This is what belongs to me, the small scene of everyday life and the infinite ephemeral This is the incredible photo (undeveloped) from the first image stamped on my retina, at his side I save here In the palm of my hand the secret, the plot, the grace Magic dimensions Blessed, heavenly peace That filled my days and today they are lost My shy astonishments are recorded spent in pleasant hours that the hole of the night took away in the palm of my hands are recorded those cicadas, always hidden singing to the times... Lulling the days of my childhood I also have recorded the resistance That stubborn resistance and the enclosure of solitude. The task and the unsuspected grinding what does it mean to me GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer. Poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina. Based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters, author of seven books. Poetry genre. Awarded several times worldwide. She works as she, World Manager of Educational and Social Projects, of the Hispanic World Union of Writers .UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. Commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.