Musings Of A Loner
By
Aeesha Abdullahi Alhaji
submersed into husky lines—hypnotised by nature exuberance,
a misfit—growing on parallel lines, ageless, awaiting a homecoming,
un[scathed], to the truth, my existence a bane of contention,
~ousted from a love quadraple~
made my reign obsolete—happiness was not meant for (me).
Poetry from Mahbub Alam
The Firing World The world is firing Firing for what? The world is raging The wildlife is burning Burning for what? Some try to escape the fire Some can't but accept the world It seems to ask the question How are you, dear world? The silence breaks out suddenly thundering in the sky Blazing hundreds and thousands of lives The cloudy sky without rain thunders and fires on the ocean and the earth Firing for what? Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 28/07//2022 A Room for Love Will you lend me your sky? O my dear, will you? I'll be there always twinkling in the night Will you hold my hand? I'm giving you my words We must fly on Make a room for love My sleepless nights and restless days The lively drakes and deer O my dear, can't you see and hear What I feel and what I face Would you like to join the race? Only for the 'yes' comment I can drive for rest of the world The sun rises ----- I know you are watching the beautiful sunny nature I'm standing by you looking behind. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 28/07//2022 Load Shedding The season is for - ongoing load shedding Who knows when and how it happens Appears without notice - shedding on life to lead Time is on and good Time is off and bad Yet time is not to blame What we say can't keep it in words and deeds Say much more than it needs The loaded head can't move forward anymore Burdened as the seedlings dry out in the hot rainless rainy season We like to see the glory that is not yet uttered The untold love like the unseen strength of the ocean Around the green beautiful hills protecting all O my dear load shedding! In this hot, gloomy, suffocating room Can you hear me? O my dear love ------ I like to live well in the enlightened green beautiful world Can you give me the address of my loving care? Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 29/07//2022
Poetry from Sayani Mukherjee
Unison By Sayani Mukherjee Sugar palm hands Of a bohemian soul Need jagged patting To keep a straight face. A mahogany beach and oomph Of nothingness Squabbles hard over Empty nothings. What do i seek now Do i think in music? As happens within An earthen pot The pure sunken smell Jellyfishes, coconuts A slippery witch And two quarters of A ghetto revolution? Fathomless and Disreputable A slow moving sensational pitch As happened in jazz blues The stringing soulful siren A collective unison For peace and justice Human endeavours on earth like tree. Over two three degrees And office clad suits Cats and dogs game A material show buzz Of a pitching ballad.
Poetry from Tony Brewer
All Green Thumbs You can trick a houseplant into believing it is outside by gently brushing your hand softly against the leaves bending the stems as if they are out in the breeze Strangers clustered in a strong wind at a stop waiting for the bus to come ____________________________ Battery Heaven Hard to tell batteries apart lying loose in a box in the back room The bad eventually crust over but there’s no way to determine the good without popping one then another into the remote Try a different pole Try rolling one then the other around with your thumb whatever it takes desperate for signal Get the angle right Get close enough & there is enough juice to get through tonight No negotiating with a spent cell but power predictions are possible & frequently wrong The pizza place in town that takes dead batteries has a slot in a 5 gallon bucket lid for them Who knows where they go from there Battery heaven is filled with cheapies that come with toys very obviously of lower quality than the ones bought at the store Do it wrong & kill a car The smoke detector cheeps until the corpse is removed Even the rechargeable don’t last forever ____________________________ My advice is to get out of this town before you turn 20 Otherwise the broken store fronts start to worry you You might transmogrify into a lamp post become a fixture around here Not like Gary who inherited the hardware from his dad George Bailey-ing his way through his 50s as girls softball coach & people love him More like Sandy who will never leave – there’s too much out there she wants & feels she doesn’t really deserve but there is always just a little less than what she needs right here It’s fine – it’ll be fine The train doesn’t publish it’s schedule so the terrorists can’t formulate a plan but it always seems to roll through right when you think maybe I shoulda left that one time & then it’s gone & the crickets return in the night certain everything will be just fine & it is, isn’t it? ____________________________ Our first date 1986 Took Mindy to see Platoon We both liked war movies Empty theatre perfect for making out except one angry vet sobbing down front in the horrible fog They killed the good guy is the only lesson learned Too stunned even to hold hands we liked it yeah – great film Barber’s Adagio for Strings swelling & enveloping me later when Mindy takes me into her mouth on a gravel road next to some field my hands clutching air just like Willem Dafoe ____________________________ Waiting for the future to arrive as advertised I hear a juvenile hawk in the dense canopy of the abandoned house across the street 1000 years wheel across the starry starry until something different happens & is it? Every hill is always the one we choose to die on My car narc’d on me now I’m too scared to drive killing machines with fascists Clock sounds digitized making “simmer down” motions with their useless hands Everything is late late late can’t happen soon enough Even waiting is a waste of time and energy in the midst of a long-haul dream Let us then toast to the ever-under-construction freeway & pour one out for all the dumb bugs wending wayward into death against the grills & shields of inevitability Waiting for the 20 years implicit in the next advance turn signal on too early been on the last 100 years I awake resembling something extinct & pissed off about it Not false Not spiritual Not grief Anticipation & the wearing down of might cliffs to something manageable A fun time on a wild ride left with penetrating desire to go go go again
Tony Brewer is a poet and foley artist from Bloomington, Indiana. he has been nominated twice for a Pushcart Prize and his latest book is Pity for Sale (Gasconade Press). He is executive director of the Spoken Word Stage at the 4th Street Arts Festival and co-producer of the Writers Guild Spoken Word Series. More at tonybrewer71.blogspot.com.
Poetry from Chimezie Ihekuna
The Feel of Christmas Every day is a celebration day But on this day, it’s a Special Day; the feel is just not ordinary Every day is a merry-making day But on this day, it’s in itself a Merry Day; the feel is just not a ‘’normally’’ Every day is a reflection day But on this day, it’s a Stand-out, Sober-Reflection day; the feel is just not temporarily Every day is a gift-exchange day But on this day, it’s a memorable Boxing Day; the feel is just not materially Every day is a should-be ‘’Christmas’’ day But on this day, it’s actually a Christmas Day! the feel is just not a mere Christmas frenzy!
Poetry from Christopher Bernard
What Is the Opposite of Politics? A shift of rain in the trees. A snow globe in a sandbox. My cousin's scuffed knees. What is the cost of mercy? A spade of silent rust. You'll never know if justice is less refined than dust. Who is that fellow singing? I never knew his kind. You say he's rough and tender. I hope to live forever if heaven is his mind. _____ Christopher Bernard’s most recent book is A Socialist’s Garden of Verses, winner of a 2021 PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and named one of the “100 Top Indie Books of 2021” by Kirkus Reviews. He is founder and a principal, with Ho Lin, Steven Hill, and Jonah Raskin, of the webzine Caveat Lector.
Poetry from Shakzoda Kodirova
A rose You are the epitome of beauty. The king of flowers is the rose. Bringing joy to the surroundings You open rose. If I see you, it's mine My dust will spread. My heart is full of joy It opens, rejoices. Your fragrance is all around Gives a lot of joy My mother who loved you Their hearts will light up. Your colors are also different Yellow, pink, white, red Always be like this The king of flowers is the rose ! ✍️ Shakhzoda Kodirova
Shakhzoda Kodirova was born on May 20, 2007 in Navoi. From a young age she was fond of literature. She started writing stories and poems when she was ten and her poems have been translated into many languages and published in many countries, including Uzbekistan, Germany, America and Belgium. She is a booklover and coordinator of Girls’ Voice. Also she is an official member of GFS and an ambassador of the Iqra foundation. Her first book My Grandfather’s Garden has been published in Uzbekistan. At the moment she is an editor of Germany’s Raven Cage magazine and of Synchronized Chaos, and she is am ambassador of the IFCH and SPSC foundations.