The List
You get to hear about
Bucket lists
All the time
Around here
And they say it like
They invented the term.
So they tour like desperate
Folks. Old folks trying
To get it full
A bucket full of foreign cities.
Walking on canes,
Wheelchairs, walkers
Hobbling along
Seeing this and that
Filling their buckets
As if their life will fill
With this:
Stockholm, Helsinki, Tallin
Riga and Berlin
Copenhagen and Amsterdam.
They fill their buckets
Like Egyptian Pharaohs filling
Their tombs for their time
In the next life.
Sea Story
The North Sea, just its name reads
like a caption in a history book:
a seascape of crashing waves, one
of those wooden ships, full sails
sailing into a troublesome future.
The North Sea, sounds like an entry
in an immigrant’s journal, the feel
of loneliness and an unknowable
future. The North Sea, even today
seems like a summary of a climate
we all have to face along the way.
The North Sea all around us and
ahead of us, greeting us like it
greeted so many before us, a sea
untamable that we all will face.
Tour Guide
How do you explain a place
You know so well to people
Who know little or nothing about
You or the place you need to
Explain. It’s a job, it’s your job
So you begin. There’s history
And all the details that set it
Up, the forces, the personalities
This war, that occupation, but
You notice the group start to
Doze off. These aren’t students
These are tourists, who yawn
At things they don’t know. You
Can pick out important sites or
Start off on the nature and how
It fits this place and people. You
Can talk about the economy or
The social systems that you know
They know little about, education
Media, the military if you must
And the various religions that vie
For prominence in a country not
Known for its religious traditions.
It’s an avalanche of material with
Little appeal. It’s an audience that
Pays a lot but wants very little. It’s
A job and you do and pretend that
Somehow it makes a difference.
.
Poetry from J.D. Nelson
there is no silence in a men’s homeless shelter . . . late-night cough chorus — today marks ninety days at the homeless shelter . . . misophonia — downtown skyline through the shelter’s dock door window— men snore in the night — today marks five months here at the homeless shelter . . . let’s just sleep all day — purple foam earplugs . . . the shelter at midnight is almost dead silent — bio/graf J. D. Nelson is the author of ten print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *Cinderella City* (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA
Poetry from Ali Sony
My Father My father is my world. He loves me, mother and my sister very much. He is my father, friend and teacher. If there is a mistake, he rules over As well as there is a lot of love Also teaching hidden between this rule. Ali Sony is a student of grade 7 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Poetry from Abdullah Al-Mamun
My best friend You are my best friend, You are very kind. You gave me joy, And peace of mind. You are my best friend, We play and share. You are very nice, True and fair. You are helper, And very nice. You are my friend. Abdullah Al Mamun is a student of grade 7 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Poetry from Mahbub Alam
The Play of Politics Is politics only a play or game? A play between a snake and a weasel Or a tiger and a deer The ruling and the opposition party A continuous process over time and place A struggle for power and pelf In the name of democracy, the commoners cheated But who wins the race? Nature - set up with its own beauty and style We cannot but charm to look at the sight It is the twenty four hours round system On the other side What do we do for democracy? After a long line of death, a government takes place System built, system violated In this dire situation, so much blood shed The experiences we gather break the heart Time opens its gate for some Time takes some confined to bed Politics runs with the toes of tigers or lions Lambs and deer run so fast to escape. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 28 October, 2023 Flash Flood and Firing It was no rainfall last year here Too hot in the summer in this year than so many years last Nowadays it scarcely rains in the rainy season When it rains, rains days together As the meteor shower in the atmosphere at the clear night sky The warmth makes the body of the earth sometimes imbalanced It burns somewhere in the forest The animals turn into like the burning coal in the fireplace Again flash flood without any precaution Inundates the homes and the croplands for sudden rainfall Or melting the iceberg leaving hundreds and thousands of people In hunger, suffering from many diseases How can we protect the world from being destroyed day by day? Though so many meetings are called every year Is there any result? Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 29 October, 2023
Poetry from Wazed Abdullah
The Music In melodies of life, music's sweet embrace, The universal language, a boundless space. Notes weave stories, emotions they convey, In rhythm and rhyme, hearts find their own way. From symphonies grand to a songbird's sweet trill, Music's magic in silence, it can instill. With every chord played, a world comes alive, In eight simple lines, its power we derive. Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade 8 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Poetry from Manzar Alam
Hope in hopelessness Souls are craving to breath in air a little fresh. But the air is polluted By the smoke of injustice Unruliness, suppression and lie. How can we inhale The breeze of the morn and the eve? The wind is giving the smell of rotten things Then how can we breathe and how can we live? Illegal power, money and wealth Are killing humanity and human rights. The present world is experiencing silently the all. Musclemen are amassing wealth Depriving downtrodden, middleclass and the poor as well. And the right of the people crying in vain. But amidst this hopelessness there is a hope With great Shelley can’t we say ‘If winter comes can spring be far behind?’ Surely, surely the spring will come Demolishing injustice, deprivation and lie. (Manzar Alam from Bangladesh. By profession I am a college teacher.)