I Wish The Blind Would See

I never wish,
When pains crack her words,
On the wall of our hearts.
I wish the sights of the blind,
Would penetrate the northern star. 

I wish a second would be given to their 
sight.
To see the natural gifts of life. 
I wish they would see, those beautiful trees, 
Waving their branches unto the lord. 

I never wish for a blind eye,
To become a dark eye. 
I wish their hands would work with their eyes,
To print pictures of their lives. 

I never wish darkness would paint her styles 
On their faces. 
I wish the eyes of an owl, were another name,
Given to the blind. 

I never wish their sights would become darker, 
As a night wishing for a daily light. 
I wish sticks were not their favorite vehicle,
In every dimension. 

I just wish the blind, would sit beside the
 deaf, 
To discuss those broken feelings in their 
hearts. 
I wish their eyes would swim in the pool of light. 
And their ears would dip,
To the sounds of the sea waves. 

Poem By: Amos Momo Ngumbu, Jr.

Postcard from the heartbreak residence 

too many times, i have lay on my bed for a girl who doesn’t understand the worth of my tears.
how can a camera man keeps taking many shots of me & there’s no proof to show my existence? 
i believe i am just another sad nightmare getting used to viewing myself through broken objects. 
i remember when i prayed for her kingdom to come like the bible teaching us to seek first the kingdom of God & everything shall be added to it. 
i have done many things to her body: i asked & nothing was given. i sought & nothing was found. & i knocked but her body refused to let me in. 
this room of mine no longer knows her name. i have burned pictures of her drawn on my pillows, bedsheets & curtains.
once she was a river where i could swim for days. but she transformed herself into an ocean where i fell before her feet. 
i still do remember the love we held. of kisses & touches we shared on my father’s back porch. 
i still do remember those long conversations, those long walks & cold night hugs.
right now, there’s no history of her in my cellphone: whether received, missed or dialed calls. 
i have regretted of singing her back to sleep & blessing her tongue with rich ingredients of salivation. 
it was a sinful love affair. i pray & promise to never give myself whole or enough to a girl.



Biography: 
Edwin Olu Bestman, poet and engineer, writes from Monrovia, Liberia. He has co-authored several anthologies and the author of two books, Genesis and Raindrops. His works have been featured in Ducor review, WSA, Spillwords, Odd Magazine, African Writer Magazine, Agape Review, Eboquills, Literary Yard, Poetry Nation, Ngiga Review, SIM, Nantygreens, Sipay Magazine, Afritondo, Rising Phoenix Review, AfroRep Journal, Madness Muse Press, Rigorous Magazine, Arts Lounge, Fiery Scribes and elsewhere.

When Electricity Falls In Love

Something in the sockets so crazed that romance has dizzy dates,
For the wiring is false as soot and meaningless as lint,
Cables that hang in the air as if the sky arrived late,
A rod nipping the flesh until the tinge burns prints,
Explosives are the voltage of a lover’s fate.

I remember that I am here not because of the path that lies before me but because of the path that lies behind me. I remember that which matters most… We are still here!

Morpheus, character in the Matrix movies, spoke these words to inspire the resistance force during one of the darkest times in their long battle with oppressive machine overlords. He encouraged them to keep fighting not because they were sure to win that night, but because they had withstood many other obstacles in the past.

This quote, and the release of a new Matrix movie, makes me think of the world surviving injustice and a pandemic for the past two years. I acknowledge and mourn that not everyone has survived, and some have been left with lasting scars. That said, sometimes just living through a global crisis and remaining a person with the capacity for love, courage, kindness, humor and creativity, even without any other visible achievements, can be a serious accomplishment. Sometimes being ‘still here’ is all we can do, and we can be very proud of that.

Contributors to this month’s very large issue are all asserting that they are all ‘still here,’ and referencing the different sources of strength that have gotten them through these seasons.

Abigail George describes her psychological struggles and the medication, books and creative writing practice that keep her sane. Chimezie Ihekuna and Dave Douglas take refuge in their Christian faith, where God’s love expands their perspective on life and comforts them during loneliness and regret. Hongri Yuan, in works translated by Yuanbing Zhang, talks of stepping outside of our human experience to find spiritual transcendence.

Michael Robinson reflects on having made it through very dark times and come out the other side, while Mahbub’s speakers seek rest and solace on land or at sea.

Abdulloh Abdumominov urges us to make the most of the time we have, while Scott Kaestner shares pieces about being okay with living the life in front of you and not shackling yourself to unrealistic expectations. Duane Vorhees reminds us to ‘count the cost,’ to think of what’s involved when we seek revolution, spirituality, or wisdom.

Laura Stamps describes lives and relationships that have fallen short of our dreams, and the surprising ways we care for each other, and ourselves, at crisis points. Ashley Wang’s piece affirms relentless hope, always asserting that tomorrow will be better. Christopher Bernard resolves to take action to preserve the environment and inspire the rest of the planet to do the same. To him, we can kick our carbon addiction the same way he quit smoking.

Katrina Kaye reminisces about love and the memory of love, about small tokens of others’ presence and care. John Thomas Allen seeks to capture and personalize a bit of his abstract love, to have a token in his hand as well as in his heart. John Edward Culp compares the creativity required to adorn a canvas with the imagination required to understand another person.

Some writers bear witness to difficult times. Christine Tabaka speaks of mothers’ empty arms, the death of relationships, and other human griefs. Bruce Mundhenke captures the fear and dread of a planet under attack. Howie Good relates death and destruction in a more surrealist, darkly humorous manner while J.J. Campbell conveys the loneliness and quiet dignity of caregiving and the end of life. Ahmad Al-Khatat longs for love in a landscape depopulated after war while Nguyen Thanh Hai mourns a missing companion. Karen Boswell writes of a random memory made sweet through loss.

Susie Gharib also writes of relationships hurtling towards inevitable ends. In subsequent pieces she celebrates the life enrichment brought through travel, as Robert Thomas does with his extensive depiction of Marrakesh’s street markets. Sterling Warner’s poems incorporate more ordinary venues (cities at dawn, carousels) along with the exotic locales. Ian C. Smith’s speakers sail into maritime adventures of strength, bravery, and beauty.

Abby Ripley describes the power of thought and ideas in shaping prehistoric human lives. Far from being a luxury, imagination helped our ancestors find food and water and shelter on the savanna. Saurav Ranjan Datta also references history, celebrating the lives of powerful women leaders in a new book, Goddesses of Fury: History’s Most Daring Queens. In the spirit of the Matrix films, Andrew Dibble’s short story probes the linguistic systems created by humans versus intelligent machine-learning algorithms.

Mark Young’s impressionist literary pieces reference art, creativity, and learning by experience. Vernon Frazer’s work elides the ordinary rules of syntax, creating its own world of sound and syllable arrayed on the page. Patrick Sweeney arranges phrases on the page in a semblance of meaning. Michael Todd Steffen’s words paint canvases in homage to visual artists’ work, while Norman J. Olson reflects on his legacy of art based on the nude human figure.

James Thurgood crafts pieces that seem simple but encapsulate deeper thoughts and truths. A boy’s unevenly tied shoelaces evoke parents’ inability to ensure children’s lives will be free from risk, a teen’s romantic gesture becomes a meditation on the passing of youth.

Peter Cherches also references ordinary life, sharing the thoughts and memories coming to his mind when he thinks of formerly popular songs and TV shows.

Ike Boat promotes the writing of a children’s author and literacy advocate, Dennis Mann, while John Grey ponders what items we collect and what knowledge we seek, as some facts inevitably slip out of our grasp with time, like water evaporating from a thirsty land.

We hope that you will take comfort and find strength within these submissions and join in the literary exchange of ideas.