Peonies of poesy Peonies of poesy acting as a parasol from the scorching heat of reality. Amaltas dreams peep through gossamer veils. Emotional myalgia, somnolent hours, a sudden bazooka of rainbow syllables shot through the syntax of memory. Sunflower renditions, The wind in her hair. She wanted a bougainvillea I gave her dreams chiseled out of my bones, Epitaphs of proclivity, sands of time. A glass window and Autumn sauntering on my lacerated bosom. Ballistic oxymoron Seeping through leaked rhymes. The world is but a granule of sand seeping fast through my fingers. The mountains echoed luminous ballads on starry nights. Mist-wreathed hilltops hummed verdant dreams As October bid goodbye wrapped in a silken thread of memory. Clouds waltzed in front of my window. The turf is filled with leftover poems that fell prey to the sands of time. I bit the side of the moon and kept the rest for dinner. My poems lay tired like the old armchair. They gave me a weary smile. The smell of dreams percolated my senses; gestured me with a happy articulation. Life is a conundrum but we must move on Shaking off problems like the little girl shaking off the sand from her sandal. October bids goodbye October bids goodbye Wrapped in the discarded moiré thread of memory. The autumn leaves fall humming a baritone Of love and longing in tandem. The golden tinge paints a carnival like Van Gogh's acrylic landscapes. It acts as a placebo for my tainted soul. Amidst the concrete jungle of monoliths Autumn’s amber tincture renders an ebullient vista. The gleaming sun shimmering through the azure sky reminds me of our clandestine tryst on one such magnificent October afternoon. Verdant dreams glitter on mist-wreathed hilltops. I jettisoned my fears into the darkness of the night and waltzed with the wind's saccharine lullaby. Parable of forsaken dreams heap once again at my study table enchanted by an alchemy of reminiscence. As autumn gradually drifts away making way for the chilly Northern winds. Dreams flutter in unison. October bids goodbye wrapped in the discarded moiré thread of memory. Debarati Sen works in Presidency University Kolkata as a Junior Assistant. Her debut poetry book called 'Blurred Musings' has recently been published. Recipient of the Tagore Award 2022 and the Sylvia Plath Women's Literary Award, Debarati finds emancipation in her poetry! She has also been the winner of the International Poetry Writing competition held by the Elite Book Awards in November 2021. She has also grabbed the third position in the National Poetry Writing Month 2022 contest hosted by the Elite Book Awards. Debarati features in the Council Year Book launched on the occasion of Women's Day 2022 by Literoma in association with the Public Safety and Security Council of Bengal. She has also been declared as an Empalled Author in the International Author's Conclave held by Literoma in December 2021. She is one among the top ten poets of the Women;'s Day poetry contest organised by Delhi Poetry Slam. She has co-authored more than 15 anthologies and is recently compiling her first anthology as a compiler with the Quill House Publishers. Her poems have found shelter in prestigious websites like The Antonym, The Yugen Quest Review, The Kolkata Arts, Lapis Lazuli, The Das Literarisch, to name a few.
Story from Bill Tope
Harpies! Positioned on my back, I lay upon the sofa and observed the world around me. The first thing I saw was that the light fixture in the center of the ceiling had grown longer and was swinging pendulously, making me quite dizzy. The living room walls, it seemed to me, were now breathing, swelling and then contracting in turn. I thought back blearily to the evening before, when I had, at least in my own mind's eye, been both a sexual athlete and a chaste Don Juan in service to vulnerable--and beautiful but very, very young--women. To the best of my recollection I had dropped the acid, in the company of some hippy friends I'd net at the bar, at about ten thirty that evening. They had told me that they always congregated at the same time every night. They said they liked my company and would return. Then had followed a riotous, puerile bacchanalia with anyone and everyone. I wondered briefly, blinking, if I were still a virgin in any sense of the word. What a night! I shook my head. Curiously, I couldn't remember a thing. Just wisps and traces of memory. I felt something, then peered down at my feet, where Baby, my cat, was nibbling on my big toe; it didn't hurt at all, but it was an unusual sensation. I glanced at the windows at the east end of the house, where the morning sun was just breaking over the horizon, turning my white shades a golden hue. I wondered if I should get up--I had to go to the bathroom--but that would have required standing. I weighed the pros and cons of going to the toilet, decided against it. I looked back down my body to Baby, who was sttill busy with my toe. The room felt chilly. I checked my forearms: gooseflesh had blossomed ever the surface of my skin. I thought I detected a draft. I looked at the windows again and the curtains were fluttering in a fresh breeze; had I forgotten to close them? I felt a mild pain in my foot and saw that Baby had bitten clear through the flesh to the bone and was licking the white metatarsal or whatever they're called. Still no pain, however. I grunted. I heard footfalls over the carpeted floor and suddenly there was a man in my ;livmg room: it was my dentist, Dr. Numbnuts. He grinned down at me and proffered a huge, menacing pair of pliers and a cordless drill, probably a half inch device. "You missed your appointment this morning," he scolded. "I'm concerned with your teeth and I wanted to make sure they got the care they needed." His black mustache twitched furiously. "The dentist is your friend, you know," he insisted. With a sigh of resignation I opened my mouth in order for him to proceed. The procedure was long and complicated and loud but again, I felt no pain. When he had finished, I looked at him questioningly and he said, "Your teeth are fine, Mr. Tubs, but I'm afraid that the gums will have to come out! I'll be back tomorrow," he added My eyes must have opened wide, for he said reassuringly, "I'll just transplant your teeth onto your hard and soft palates; you'll never miss your gums!" I nodded uncertainly. From where I lay I could see into the kitchen and the edge of the refrigerator. Numbnuts walked briskly into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door and disappeared inside. Would he have enough air in there? I wondered. I had plenty of beer in the fridge, so he wouldn't go thirsty. Baby had by this time consumed fully half of my foot and was developing a little tummy from all she'd eaten. She had rolled onto her back and was lying there with her paws in the air. I sighed. I was really tired. The dental procedure had exhausted me. Not to mention the wild evening I'd probably had. I really needed to pee, but I wondered if my psychedelic experience would go away if I got up off the couch. No, I decided I couldn't chance it. I'd paid it no mind before, but the television was on. On one of the 24/7 news channels the program host was talking. I edged up onto an elbow and listened intently. "Alien spaceships have landed in Edgewood, Washington," she announced briskly, referencing a city just outside Seattle. "When law enforcement personnel investigated the craft, a portal was opened and the police officers were disintegrated by Harpies wielding a powerful space ray!" Yikes! I thought. Harpies! But as I peered at the TV screen, I noticed a certain familiarity. Those were the same young women who were at my apartment last night, dropping acid. "That's it!" I said aloud. I was doped up by Harpies from the planet Exxon and now everyone's paying the price. And that wasn't really my dentist, Dr. Numbnuts, it was just another Harpy in disguise! Everybody knew that Harpies were shapeshifters! On the TV the Harpies seemed unstoppable! At one point they cornered a woman going through a dumpster and collecting cans of stewed tomatoes and they disintegrated her, tomatoes and all. What if they started making demands of the federal government. The president might be forced to remove LSD from the National Strategic Reserve of Hallucinogens. I forgot where they were stored, but I knew that Dr. Fauci was in charge of it. I glanced at the clock: it was nine a.m., just a little over a dozen hours till the Harpies returned to party. I made up my mind then: I got up and went to pee.
Poetry from Naziru Sulaiman
For the love of the Night Gods A pot layed besides the Tree in the Backyard Of our house, Whom hesitates Anytime, to hear the Stories of the Blackest Monks Amongst his Late Grandfathers,Whom we’re Expelled out of Antagonist will to invade the Beautiful Land of the Stripes Of Mangoes and Oranges, A Beautiful Limelight on the Back Of the Horse We’re Rode back to the Sahara. Now What happen to a Boy Whom Pictures the Statues Of His Extended Family in the Valley Of Garden of Eden Plucking some Fruits into Basket Of No Hope. Bleak, Dream, No home in this Land, For it has Already Been Deserted by the forefathers Of the Monks Fly, Cry, A petition cannot Work For hands Cannot Stretches to Eyes of the Gods, Try, And Ply, Through Routes Under the Construction Of the Black evils. Then you Might Be Able To Prove the Words Of your Grandfathers Wrong Who Fight with their Arms in Ravaged Clothed in Violence Whom Lost Their thought of hope long ago Before the Person Who Might bear you Names was Giving birth to. Today no longer sings songs of Woes For it has No place to Trend. Life Shall one day be a Limelight Of hope, That’s if your Grandfather can be Reincarnated in your Dreams to Give the Swords Of Wisdom.
Naziru Sulaiman is 17 year Old Nigerian Poet and a Spoken Word Artist He was The First Runner up at the Monthly poetry Contest of Fosc Students.He is a member of Of Hill-Top Creative Arts Foundation.
Poetry from Oona Haskovec
Bones Are Full There are so many parts of myself that I wish I could change, The curve in my waist just above my hips, The way my voice defaults to ultra-high when i order my coffee, The presence of my chest. These are the reasons I am not seen as myself. And yet myself as a whole pushes for beauty. I long to see the right kind of beauty in my Eyes Lips Body. I would sell my soul and a half for the chance to fit my brain But i still Love my collarbones, My knees, My hands, My nose, But the love that fills my bones remains forever conditional.
Art from Channie Greenberg
Poetry from Sayani Mukherjee
Dark Alley By Sayani Mukherjee The higher power is a dark realm A pregnant egg of alluring fantasies Laced with savages Of nobility of muzzled openings. I wish upon the cave Abandoned ruggedly inspired Diabolically and Divinely Closed off stream of a simple stare A sudden maneuver Peeping slowly, hooking within The black cuckoo is always nasty Her songs, mythically beautiful Tap dance within her bosom fare Rides my homebody fevers. An abandoned alley smudged between Practicalities mundane My paper knife to hold my worth Sweepingly not to prove anything Just a sullen sweet song To lie beside me the lake house ground To build nests Green reds blacks ribboned whites Ego death of survival guide My womanly virtue vices Boldness coyness All dived down- Under the cave the siren song The dark alley Allowing the evenings to drop down Hushly steadily making no noise The evening prayers Higher powers Dark coins The woman, a dark alley.
Poetry from Mesfakus Salahin
The roar of the sea is in my chest I hear the sound with my best I am alone in an island The sea is without water but sand. Nobody is alive here Dreams visit rare Life sleeps in far Everything cries in an empty jar. Time is desert I am without heart Breath swims in the waste land I walk with motionless hand. I am right here for you Everyday is same not new Can you feel my pain? Can you draw rainbow in the rain? No water can remove thirstiness Your sea is very vast and fearless I am very tiny This is an endless journey.