Brihintha Burggee - 1 Poem

Bereft

Your love makes me cry.

The love with which you never loved me.

Your love songs torment my nights.

Songs you never sung. Only hummed.

Your touch burns in me, the gentle

touch that slaps me each drunken night.

A bitter sunrise for every honeymoon,

a pinch of salt in every sweetness.

You make me dance to the tunes of a nymph

on the broken nails of my coffin.

Remember how you adorned me

so childishly?

Like a newly wedded bride,

with wine dripping on my forehead

and the white shroud glittering

around my neck.

The shattering glass was writing

the melody of this beautiful threnody.

And the silver anklets with which

you’d bind me before the start

of the charade?

Your unusual force kissed my ankles,

scarring them.

I am but your showpiece.

As the beads scattered on the floor,

each heartbeat was un-writing your name.

Wishing now that it could have

un-loved what seemed to be so perfect

O strayed Soulmate of mine.

BIOGRAPHY: Born in 1994, Brihintha Burggee is enjoying the experience of writing her first poems. A student of the Loreto College, she lives in the busy town of Quatre-Bornes, in Mauritius.

John Swain - 1 Poem

A Fire Wheel

The mountain held
a basking serpent
like a fire wheel,
I placed a coin
on its rough tongue.
The nights gained
a poison momentum
from the shift
in visions relating.
And when I sat bewildered
in the last shatter
overwhelmed
by the divinity of my enemy,
I drank wine
from the sieve
of his bitter open arms.
Then we became kin
to curse and sadden
her third person,
the methods unlearnt
to read omens,
so I could find worth
and we could go on.

Biography: John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Crisis Chronicles Press published his most recent chapbook, White Vases.

Gary Beck - 2 Poems

Extensions

Ghostly images
the unknown future
blur horizons,
smile endless vistas,
cloud preconceptions,
identity conclusions,
temporal stases,
hunger resolution,
finite boundaries.

End of Season

The last leaf
flutters, falls
as we huddle
in protective domes,
artificial bubbles
sheltering us
from extravagant destruction
by careless custodians.

BIOGRAPHY: Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director. A collection of his poetry 'Days of Destruction' was published by Skive Press. Another collection 'Expectations' was published by Rogue Scholars Press and 'Dawn in Cities' and 'Assault on Nature' are being published by Winter Goose Press. His novel 'Acts of Defiance' is being published by Trestle Press and 'Extreme Change' is being published by Cogwheel Press. His poetry has appeared in hundreds of literary magazines. He currently lives in New York City.

Donal Mahoney - 1 Poem

Pretty Girl Now Passing

Look so pretty you
no sound floats
out of my mouth

as I sit silent now
staring through you
boring in

wondering
what it is that
does this

to me now
and every time
I see you still

just out walking
talking
laughing with him

BIOGRAPHY: Donal Mahoney has had work published in The Rainbow Rose and various print and electronic publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. 

Neil Ellman - 3 Poems

The Power of Thought 
(after the painting by Michael Kvium)

It comes
goes
whack-a-mole
whimsy
of thought
frightful images of
dragons
under the bed
then
princes and princesses
all dressed up
popping up
the power of dreams
memories piled
like
broken dolls
forgotten
remembered
with different eyes
the power of thinking
what might have been
or could.


Manao Tupapau (The Spirit of the Dead Keep Watch)
(after the painting by Paul Gauguin)

               I

She watches me
listens
for signs
the slightest movement
of an eye
the smallest murmuration
of my heart
she waits
counts beats
studies the curve
of my back
the arch of my neck
while I tighten my hold
on straw.


             II

She waits for me
I for her to leave
she waits
with the patience
of a monstrous saint
while I hold fast      
grip burning
sheets of light.


           III

They carriy me
to the pyre
where I can feel
my soul on fire—
even then
she waits.

Insula Dulcamara
(after the painting by Paul Klee)

Framed by time
a nursery rhyme
of dancing lines
the harmony
of children’s play
their nascent thoughts
of candy ghosts
and singing snakes--
such innocence
in dreams.

Biography:  Neil Ellman lives and writes in New Jersey.  Hundreds of his poems appear in print and online journals throughout the world, from Australia to Mauritius to Zimbabwe.  He has also published nine chapbooks, the most recent of which, Double-Takes, is available as a free PDF download from fowlpox.tk.

Samantha Seto - 1 Poem

Witchcraft

Dust crowds the attic,
ancient photographs in paper boxes,
faint reflection in broken glass mirror.

Bury me under your deepest memory.
We engrave black crosses on our foreheads,
smell of blood clothes, sing dark prayer,
wear black nail polish, cover scars.

Walls encode invisible letters and numbers,
I brush my red hair wisps away, smearing ink.
Flame circles the ground, time warps in darkness,
paper released falls like snow around me.

If I go on, unforgivable curses remain on earth.
Hysteria crumbles to the ground, mirror of screams.
Dreams of prophetic times, cured only with supernatural.

BIOGRAPHY: Samantha Seto has been published in various anthologies including Ceremony, Soul Fountain, Carcinogenic Poetry, and Black Magnolias Journal. She is a third prize poetry winner of the Whispering Prairie Press contest.

Lisa Pellegrini - 1 Poem

The Rhythm of a Purr

It flows like unimpeded blood,
chastising us for mocking
life's simplicities,
for disregarding their
magical power and

their power to surprise.
Her song calms our own blood
with its subtle seduction
that refuses to take no
for an answer.

Feel the rumble
of the mini motor that dwells
within the feline form,
an engine in and of itself.
Enjoy the exquisite dance

against
your
fingertips.
Do not pull your
hand away too soon,

lest the beauty of the moment
escapes you.
Let the notes wash over you,
like the immortal jingle of bells
from Christmases past.

BIOGRAPHY: Lisa Pellegrini is a graduate of Beaver College (now Arcadia University) with a Bachelor's degree in English. Her poetry has been published in the anthologies Voices and Whispers, by Iliad Press. In 2005, she wrote and self-published a romantic mystery novel, Kiss the Devil Goodbye, through Borders' Personal Publishing program. She has written and published over 160 short stories and poems on www.storymash.com, a collaborative writers' website.

Amit Parmessur - 1 Poem

O Lord Krishna

O dearest, lotus-eyed deity from Mathura,

tonight, the intense fascination I feel for You

is oozing, serenely, into the icy cold fingers

I am about to use to open a fresh window,

onto the cleansed river of eternal happiness.

The new love I have for You is turning

my dust-ridden soul into fragrant sandalwood.

I feel like a carpenter poised to transform

this cruel world into a baby-swing, adorned

with beautiful pearls, jewels, gems and gold.

Tranquillity waltzing in my heart, You move

my melancholic feet above each obstacle and make

me stop, stare and reason my disjointed shadow

reflected onto the bejewelled pillar of my mind.

I feel now priceless, pristine and One.

O Murlimanohar!

Tonight, the intense fascination I feel for You

is oozing serenely into the mellifluous sounds

working wonders on my heart a thousand times,

with Your flawless flute enthralling each pious ear.

You make me dream of sleeping inside

a hollow Banyan leaf, of shining like a hundred

bright moons, of dancing on serpent Kaliya’s hood,

of drawing and painting ravishing rainbows.

The bitterness of the entire world cannot defeat

the sweetness of Your butter if one believes in You,

O Yashoda’s red-lipped infant from Mathura.

BIOGRAPHY: Born in 1983, Amit Parmessur has been published in over 120 literary magazines, like Ann Arbor Review, Salt, Hobo Camp Review, Misfits' Miscellany, Jellyfish Whispers, Kalkion and Red Fez. His book on blog Lord Shiva and other poems has also been published by The Camel Saloon. He was nominated for the Pushcart Award in 2011 for Chinese Chicada Slough and has been nominated for He Thinks He's American for the 2012 Best of the Web Anthology. He lives in Quatre-Bornes, in Mark Twain's paradise island Mauritius, with his black cat and three cute dogs.

Emma Ambos - 1 poem

Pigeon-gods

Fat pigeons coo
            (tenant doves of
French fries)

Kings and lords
of the
                        banana peels
Cold                        coffee grounds
            Hist!
                Listen!

Bard, they’ll tell you
                           your own story

Ketchup-washed
musty-fusty
in             melon
peel thrones

they air-dry
w
   i
     n
       g
         s
ofpastpoetspaper

            they’ll tell you
your fate

Trash-boy

BIOGRAPHY: A poet of cold winter mornings, sunlight of all types and heartbeats that stutter. A lover of sounds and breathing. The dancer alone in the park. When you see her, call her name, call her Emma and she will ask you to dance with her.

Ross Leese - 2 poems

a watched pot

I found
you

in a wishing
well--

the only 
wish

of
mine

that worked
out

well.

the thing with love

is the tireless way
it refuses to leave you alone.

love is a dog that never bores
of chasing a stick

the daughters that rely on you
for everything you have--

the melody that won't stop
swimming around your head

long after you've finished
singing.

BIOGRAPHY: Ross Leese is a 32 year old father of 2 girls and feels blessed to have them in his life. Not as blessed as they are to have him, mind.

A.J. Huffman - 1 poem

An Eclectic Torch

My mind is a dump.
Filled
will scraps of consciousness
and thoughts
partially discarded as tripe.
Feel their edges.
Fighting
to fit together.
They are desperate
to build
an image
your eyes can believe in.
But the wind pushing them
is too mild.
They rise and fall.
Dallying.
Just short of complete.
I cannot breathe their belief.
That shade of relief
is too shallow.
So, damaged,
we both roll on.
Blindly bouncing
into and over
every mirror --
broken or otherwise --
waiting
to show us the way.

BIOGRAPHY: A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published six collections of poetry all available on Amazon.com.  She has also published her work in numerous national and international literary journals.  Most recently, she has accepted the position as editor for four online poetry journals for Kind of a Hurricane Press ( www.kindofahurricanepress.com ).  Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000191382454 and https://twitter.com/#!/poetess222.

Donal Mahoney - 1 Poem

Hospice

Listen, Dad,
Mom's dead, but
you can dance
with her again.

She's waiting 
in the sky, behind
a star, humming
to the music.

You and Mom
can waltz around 
the moon forever.
She may even sing

that song you like.
I'll comb your hair,
shine your shoes
and press your old tuxedo.

There's no rush.
You know Mom.
She'd never dance
with anyone but you.

Biography: Donal Mahoney has had work published in The Rainbow Rose and various print and electronic publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. 

Alan Britt - 1 Poem

DEAF WIND

Den of inequity rocking waves
of absolute resolution.

A ceramic gull cries,
dirty as a handkerchief
stuffed in the breast pocket
of the deaf wind.

Cries laundered in a gyroscope
of filthy socks and hospital gowns.

Gull, perhaps, or filthy tomcat
scaling the palace walls
via Elizabeth’s placenta-stained nightgown.

Out, out, damned angel of retribution!

The only salvation is the salvation
of nightmares!

Care for a gentle sip?

BIOGRAPHY: Alan Britt read poems at the World Trade Center/Tribute WTC Visitor Center in Manhattan/NYC, April 2012, at the We Are You Project (WeAreYouProject.Org) Wilmer Jennings Gallery, East Village/NYC, April 2012, and at New Jersey City University's Ten Year 9/11 Commemoration in Jersey City, NJ, September 2011. His poem, "September 11, 2001," appeared in International Gallerie: Poetry in Art/Art in Poetry Issue, v13 No.2 (India): 2011. His recent book is Alone with the Terrible Universe (CypressBooks 2011).

 

John Swain - 1 Poem

Red Calligraphy

The door to the sea

opens under the moon

like the ghost of words

I wrote to reveal

your understanding

of death’s impasse.

There is a distance

of ships like widows

veiled and unveiled

in the process

of a summer woman.

Between our hands

twists a red calligraphy

of apple branches

for each year

we served eternal

to love the way

we were made to rise

from wheat and fire.

I will always live

in your life

looking through

this arterial night.

BIOGRAPHY: John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Crisis Chronicles Press published his most recent chapbook, White Vases.

Diane Webster - 1 Poem

AROUND THE CORNER

Some mankind built this wall

stone upon stone higher

and farther around the corner

now draped in vines

seeking root between cracks

widening by winter freeze

spring thaw every-expanding

sycamore roots pushing

this wall into forest assimilation

forgotten by some mankind

around the corner gone.

BIOGRAPHY: Diane Webster's challenge as a poet is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday opportunities as well as those moments of epiphany. Then to allow her imagination to evolve that idea into a poem. Diane's work has appeared in “Philadelphia Poets,” “The Hurricane Review,” “Illya's Honey” and other literary magazines.

Stephen Jarrell Williams - 1 Poem

Soon

Soon
to come,
a beginning new,
this world
gone
with its endless
pain and tears.

Forgiveness singing
in the wind,
a breath of everyone
together
under stars and sun.

A dream
that has always been,
soon
to come.

BIOGRAPHY: Stephen Jarrell Williams loves to stay up all night and write with lightning bolts until they fizzle down behind the dark horizon.  He is the editor of Dead Snakes at http://deadsnakes.blogspot.com/ 

Emily Ramser - 1 Poem

Newborn Canary

sunshine sprinkled on feathers

mother said; "you're my sun

light my life. Fly high,

give birth to a

new world."

Biography: Emily Ramser is a high school author liv­ing part-time between North Carolina and California. She writes not to gain fame nor fortune, but rather to tell stories and have her voice, as well as all those around her, heard. She has been published in a few online journals such as BoySlut, The Crocodile Journal and Vox Poetica. She works with Impact magazine as well as her own school's newspaper.

Dane Karnick - 1 Poem

Audible

When your lips
perforate
these lines
a piece of you
plummets in
my pocket
enough for me
to look down
at something
squirming
in my shirt
like a web
I feel you
trembling
on words spun
between us
prompting me
to listen for
muttering
in the air
touch the realm
of earshot
which eludes
my fingers
when I try
to deflect
the whisper
cresting
your teeth.

BIOGRAPHY: Dane Karnick grew up by the Colorado “Rockies” and lives in Seattle.  His poetry has recently appeared in Subliminal Interiors, Carcinogenic Poetry, Orion headless and Curbside Quotidian.  Visit him at www.danekarnick.com.

Christopher Fried - 1 Poem

Under the Watchful Eye

A firefly burns below the stars.
Its wings embrace the glossy sky
And slice the air it leads. The small
Light formed in nature is released
And amplifies the sky’s moonshine.
On this star-sprinkled night, this fly
That mocks the moon in its own way
And rivals the distant burning sun,
Stalks the calm, ensconcing air,
To make its passage through muted sounds.

BIOGRAPHY: Christopher Fried is a graduate of the College of William and Mary.  He currently resides in Williamsburg, VA.  His poetry has been published in journals such as The Chaffin Journal, The Eclectic Muse, and Blue Unicorn.  He writes primarily formalist, but is interested in all poetic forms.  Besides reading in nearly all genres of books, he enjoys listening to music and watching movies.  He is currently working on a novel.

Anu Fulena - 1 Poem

Greedy Horizon

You who always deceive dreamy eyes
Blurring edges
Smoothing rough planes
Convincing one that the lines are smudged
Today I saw you engulfing an inflamed fiery red ball
And I was wondering what taste it would have
In no time you sucked in the light
You voracious line
You who made men believe that the earth was flat
You who give hope to optimists that there’s always a place to go
You who make pessimists pine for the unreachable
I have witnessed your gluttony
And will not succumb to your seduction
That if I stretch out my arm
My fingers will reach the place
That place where I’ll be happy
That place where I’ll never be
Or be, but temporarily
Your avarice matches my insatiability
I live in the hope to eat a setting sun too
Just like you
And pray to labour
To give birth to a bright new sun
Meanwhile I’m keeping my eyes on you.

BIOGRAPHY: Anu Fulena is from Curepipe and is 23 years old, studying BA English at the University of Mauritius. She likes to walk, and it is usually then that she writes.

Douglas Polk - 1 Post

Small Town Summer Afternoon

The sun froze in the sky,
the day eternal,
with no end in sight,
the swimming hole north of town,
filled with young bodies,
boys bare-chested in jeans,
marking territory,
while girls attired to highlight nature’s curves,
sunbath on the hood of the cars,
a car radio blasting one summer anthem after another,
as Fall plans are discussed and some times dreaded,
both sexes mapping strategies,
anxiously awaiting the far away night.

Biography: Douglas Polk is a poet living in the wilds of central Nebraska with his wife and two boys. He has had numerous poems, three poetry books, and two children's books published. Poetry books are: In My Defense, The Defense Rests and On Appeal. The children's books are: The Legend of Garle Pond and Marie's Home. 

Amit Parmessur - 1 Poem

Unique Umbrella

Listen to me.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

You are the pronouns, prepositions and

verbs that govern the sentence of someone’s life.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

Your exotic beauty, brimming with

religious bells is the only

labyrinth any mad poet would venture into.

Your anger is the only adorable thorn

he would like to be stabbed with.

Listen to me!

Please hide from the rainbow.

Let that smile of yours bloom and

let the world relish its simplicity, its bliss.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

The sight of you holding

that giant mushroom is an antidote

to the fears raining like bent coins

upon the land of someone’s heart.

Please, hide from the rainbow.

She’ll be jealous.

Please, don’t venture into flowers.

They’ll hate themselves.

Yea, please, don’t sing with the pink doves.

I wish your umbrella would grow unique,

magical Wings and carry you where

the winds of Sorrow don’t breathe.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

Someone will write your Hebrew name all

over his clock, to make your beauty his the

whole day, till his last, slow, incomplete gasp.

BIOGRAPHY: Born in 1983, Amit Parmessur lives with his black cat nowadays. Since 2010, his poems have appeared in more than 100 literary magazines. His book on blog Lord Shiva and other poems has also been published by The Camel Saloon. He is nominated for the Pushcart Award and lives in Quatre-Bornes, Mauritius. As long as he gets published, he knows he is on the right track.

Ali Znaidi - 3 Poems

The Pen Becomes a Ladder

My fingers, red from taking the pen for hours

turn black against the piles of white papers.

Heavy with nonsense,

the way a camel bears a burden on its hump.

This is not the Truth,

but a version of it falling into

the tips of your fingers

kneeling to the papers and liberating the mind.

As paper comes and paper goes,

my mind learns how to climb the walls of the Truth,

despite chasms and forgetfulness.

And the pen becomes a ladder

for my mind to climb the stairs of the paper—

I mean versions of the Truth.

 

Poetry/Sin

Poetry is that original sin.

In the beginning was the fig leaf.

The snake’s tongue was the pen.

Ink was tamed

to write the first sin.

What is a poem,

but a sweet sin

written on the fig leaf

that covers the private parts

of everything?

Collage

I brought scissors, so sharp.

I cut images from papers.

I cut especially catchy headlines.

I also brought

a bottle of glue, so sticky.

I brought black ink,

various water colours,

and some virgin white papers.

I wanted to make the nicest collage poem ever.

When I started conquering

the seductive white papers,

I spilled the ink and water colours

over them

because I was so eager and impatient to finish

the conquest.

I just remained agape,

looking jubilantly at the mess I had done,

like a little child

who had just torn that doll.

Biography: Ali Znaidi lives in Redeyef, Tunisia. He graduated with a BA in Anglo-American Studies in 2002.  He teaches English at Tunisian public secondary schools. He writes poetry and has an interest in literature, languages, and literary translation. Some of his poems appeared in The Bamboo Forest.

Lakesha Wickner - 1 Poem

Here We Meet

I put your picture

Up on my wall

To remind me

That it's not so bad.

Close your eyes

And feel my lips.

Because when it's night

Here we meet.

The tricky thing

Is just yesterday

We were children.

Brushing your hair

Out of your eyes

Reminding you

To keep your eyes

Wide open.

People waiting around

To see you break down.

Don't worry about

The world hoping

To see you fail.

Because I'm right 

Here beside you.

Stars shining upon

Our faces,

Upon our world.

You're the one for me

Let me hold you tight 

As I kiss your gentle lips.

Let me say I love you

Before you say goodbye.

Give me a chance

Before you change your mind.

Because when it's night

Here we meet.

Here is where I take

My one last chance

And kiss you goodnight.

BIOGRAPHY: Lakesha Wickner currently resides in the USA. Besides writing poetry, she also draws and sometimes models. She has been writing poetry since being 12 years old. She is currently working on a novel.

Kathie Turner - 1 Poem

Saturday Night Bingo


It’s Saturday Night Bingo
Mama’s going psycho
Gotta go, gotta run
Goin’a see some action

I wanna go solo
Mama says, “Oh-no”
“Go ahead, get my purse”
Else I’m gonna start to curse

We’re ride’in in our Pinto
Going through Monroe
Hit the brakes, push ‘em tight
We’re gonna have a good night

The hall-way’s narrow
The caller shouts, “Hello,
Grab some cards, sit right down
You’re gonna get a brakedown”

Here’s the games’ logo
There’s the numbers ya follow
Grab the blotter, make a dot
Put it in the right spot

Go for the gusto
Get’in five in a row
Then ya shout, shout out loud
“I’ve gotta BINGO.”


Biography: Kathie Turner is a part-time student at Rowan-Cabarrus Community College in Concord, North Carolina.  Her major is nursing, although she has found a love for poetry and fiction. 

April Salzano - 1 Poem

Where We Dream Our Dead Alive
 
We have slid into bed again, too tired for sex,
talked out. We collapse from the million mundane activities
that make up a day. It is in dreams we unearth our respective dead,
carry them up and back
to life: your one-legged father, and mine,
yellow and shriveled, sometimes swollen and dialyzed.
We ask rhetorical questions among the wreckage.
We say, You shouldn’t be here. They buried you,
to which they raise an eyebrow or admit to fault they never would
have in life. There is so much more to say, but we are too tired.
We suspend them here for seconds that will follow us
into the bright eye of morning.

BIOGRAPHY - April Salzano earned her Masters Degree from University of London and teaches Writing at Westminster College in Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in several print and online journals and she is currently working on her first collection of poetry and an autobiographical novel examining the moments of pain and beauty involved in raising a son with Autism.

Sanju Unjore - 1 Poem

Stealing a flower

Amidst the rising agitation
And lengthening edginess
Brew a magical cure
To ease the thickening air
Offer her a special flower
With petals delicately shaped
In perfectly symmetrical curves
Brightly coloured
To lighten the darkening mood
A wishful thinking of the heart
That strained the brain to unimaginable lengths
Where to find a flower
In the middle of the drying concrete desert
With no flower merchants around
Let's steal a flower from a yard
Eyes seeking for the precious
Myriad of boring and common flowers
Yet there was no spark
That could seduce my heart
Then my heart stood still at the sight
Of a bush of wild white roses
On the sly
In all the secrecy
Of the act
Nearing the bush
Under the showering rain
And in the veiling mist
I chose the most
Visually appealing white rose
That I delicately stole for her.....

BIOGRAPHY: Sanju Unjore, from Mauritius is a researcher and English language teacher. He writes occasionally depending on his mood, inspired and influenced by his entourage and his teasing Muse.

Vernicia Rogers - 1 Poem

Distant Love

Have you ever loved someone
Hoping one day they’ll love you back?
Craving the mere essence of their touch
Knowing you’ll never be more than just friends.

Maybe you shared a moment with them…
A kiss or something more.
Yet all that was—a moment’s magic,
Never meant to grow.

Have you ever loved someone
Praying one day they’ll love you back?
Needing the very soul of their breath
Upon your very lips!

Maybe they once thought they loved you
Then moved on to someone else
And now you stand by restless on the sidelines
As you watch them share their love with someone else.

And you wonder... Why… no How?
How could something so real,
So magical, so intimate be so close yet so very distant?
How could a true journey become a dream… a fantasy?

How could they hang you out to dry in the cold as it rains
By sharing your desired love with someone else.
How dare they not feel the same for you…
How dare they flaunt their joy and put you through pain

How dare they force you to experience such a distant love?

BIOGRAPHY: Vernicia Rogers is an English Creative Writing Major at Seton Hill University. She is originally from the Virgin Islands and has published a poetry chapbook titled Poetically Musical. She also was part of a student publication of the Creative Non-Fiction course novel titled Revelations in Progress.