The Whale in the Sky
To live in a world where
the pale pearl of a cloud might
be filled with the shadow presence
of a whale,
swimming through the sky,
rising and falling in massive
flight, spouting cumulus from a cavern
mounted on its considerable frame,
and meanwhile, on the earth below,
only beautiful animals, no more slithering
creatures tapered at one end and filed
like knives on the other tip,
ready to cut us down, undulating
threats moving with soiled gleam.
Paradise
Before you, I was nothing but a sinner who wanted to be a bird’s feather to rest my journey by the gate of heaven
With you, I am a different man who will be a dove to fly out of the universe all the way inside the world of paradise
What Will Remain
What will remain of me today or the next coming year, will it be worth a bird’s feather
The only grief in my bloodroot is the sad song of nightingales like a wedding with a mother in a picture frame
In this life I could live foolishly and lost in problems with a place in darkness to weep till I die
The tattooist of previous wars asked me about my homeland I told him that I was sold to the land of happiness
With a friend who broke my trust, a woman who died before loving me, And parents who denied my existence
What will remain of me, not an expensive pen, but an unreadable diary of the depths of my soul
The Silent Lake
Sitting in the front of the silent lake, with a wind blowing the tree branches, to hear the voiceless conversation ‘tween the leaves and the flying birds
the lake is shining like my tears in the night reflecting the light of the hanging stars with the moon watching my grieves covering my woman from the heat of my nerves
The wine I drink on my own will never wipe my yearnings from the scent of yours, the smile of yours, and the silky body of yours sliding above my flesh in the times where I was reaching over your lips
Life is wonderful because of you, standing in a white dress, with unbuttoned buttons unzipped zipper in the back, waiting on the sunset to unwrap you for a beautiful memory with no end, but a little sleep next to your long hair
Tears of The Sad Stars
The other day; I wore my Victorian suit and I poured myself a cup of English tea. As I take my first sip, I saw a giant Viking ship, sinking quickly. In seconds everything was calm as if nothing happened but a flying
dragon was eating the cold moon. Meanwhile the cookie monster was eating the cookies of the kids who died in the Viking ship my cup was not filled with tea instead it was filled with tears of the sad stars
–Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad on May 8th. From Iraq, he came to Canada at the age of 10, the same age when he wrote his very first poem back in the year 2000. He also has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world. And he currently studies Political Science at Concordia University in Montreal. He recently has published two chapbooks “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline” through Alien Buddha Press. They are available for sale on Amazon. Many of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook.
Thunder Night
Michael Robinson (right) and fellow contributor Joan Beebe
It shook the building with a roar,
the darkness matched the violence of the booms.
While the sound of a tremendous explosion,
Continued…
Hide under the bed, I recalled from childhood.
This was no ordinary thunderstorm…
It was a finality to it all.
All my sins laid out in front of each clap of unforgiveness,
Into the night my sins were like a sideshow.
You stole, you cursed, and blasphemed, among other sins,
In the middle of the evening and into the night as the clocks blinked,
It was certain that my life would end in the midst of a roaring storm,
On a Sunday night, while my soul was in a state of panic.
I lit a candle and lay quietly in my bed…
as each drop of rain brought a feeling of forgiveness.
The Dreams and The Keepsakes
“Unrequited love is a poignant state of heartbreak, with no remedy. But it is a heartbreak mirrored in the very intimate and necessary art of being able to see, to appreciate and to come to love our selves. A blessing then, for unrequited love.” -David Whyte
I dreamt I was a cosmic canopy
for your night terrors
soak up the sweat
with warm towels
lay the boards down just right
so that nothing unwanted gets in
haul the tarpaulin over the wood
in winter, keep the home fires burning
and a small square of light
outside your bedroom door
I wouldn’t need to know what you’re thinking
every minute of every hour
the wind through the poplars
would be enough
and you down the hall
writing your memoir
tearing paper and starting from scratch
dreamt I was deep-water coral
you were light cast into dark
unwavering, beautiful,
inside and out
I’d live at the bottom of any mountain you’re on
you’d never even have to come down for me
I’d send my prayers up to you
one by one
tied to the foot of a crow
be still, oh, be still here
when I wake
I pray.
The Immortal Pumpkin
Photo credit Leticia Garcia Bradford
Pumpkins large and small, orange and green
Lie in the fields under brown and gray leaves.
The eyes of the pumpkin watch.
Halloween, Halloween.
Their green stems eye the pleasure of those dressed.
Witches, ghosts, young and old celebrate the Eve.
They look for signs of spirits and some feel their presence.
The Immortal Pumpkin knows.
He has grown in the fields.
Watched the celebrators in search of eternal life.
Some feel the signs of the ghosts, evil devils and loving angels.
The pumpkin knows.
The pumpkins watch.
Eliza Segiet
Translated by Artur Komoter
Life Occurred
For some
Life occurred
behind the thorny wire.
There, Numbers were born
– they worked,
– they died,
and death?
it visited them not only
during a bath.
To all
those
in striped, dirty suits
could have occurred –
Life.
