Wasteful gainWeary Of tomorrow Ignoring Your faults You Hide your pains Pretending And digressing when confronted The Basic rules of life you do not know You Think they do not apply to you Flowers Burn on top of trees Yet You still ignore A Forward movement is halted You Refuse to groom Instead You allow to wither virtues that favors you Ignorance Holds your pace Wasted And full of blurred visions You Disagree on a sure wheel Thinking Everyone plays a villain Because You are told the truth But Listen! Time is short You Might not get another chance to make amends So Forget your pride and go on a fruitful journey. Wasted! Anointed bodyguardAnointed to succeed. Success comes by trying to succeed Never cross your arms and legs Expecting it to come knocking The bed is your best friend and so poverty your bodyguard Lasting and begging as you walk around town searching for an early riser Who will give you bread and not expect butter from you Fellow that ignores the cry of the cock Yet hungry for a wine and some meats Here comes your bodyguard that looks out for you He shoots birds that perch on your nest You hired him to Now his job he does perfectly and loyally He stays around like he owns you The green card you gave to him And so expect to be guarded like no other Thou lazy fellow! A battle for the-WPS OfficeA battle ground.
Her scream was loud Pain so great she yearned for a relief But all to no avail It was a battle meant strictly for the strong But she'd managed to fight Gasping as she threw back blows With battle ground unfair Her smaller figure unearthed She raised her shield and arrow They were all she had Now skin pulling as the giant begged Her strength unusual. She was amazed All to glory her will so strong Fight intense, she had to win Because freedom she sought The ghost that played a giant had started to surrender Elated! She was She had to be the last one standing Even though she could barely stand Giving up was not an option Her will grew stronger even as the pain increased It was too late to accept a defeat; it wasn't the plan She remembered her words, her promises They resounded as she fought on Finally the bell was heard She had kept those words, those promises A victory was won and a well done it was She had defeated her giant The same that hunted and taunted her She was free at last and her right to live was regained.
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THE BELLS FOREVER SHALL TOLL The bells are again tolling,for long lost relationships, like a lost ship in the nite, forever hidden in time. The effort to rebuild them,have been plagued by resent, lost forever, never again to be had. Similar to the great classics, some remain forever, then there are those, that just disappear without a trace. Relationships so special, many locked away forever, once the spell is broken, one never remains the same. Thru-out the ages, they rise and fall many remain, others await the call. Many tortured forever, never to regain what once was little time to reap the harvest, no time to recapture the loss. Once there was joy, and moments of eternal love No One Wants To ?????No one wants to die, but everyone wants to go to heaven. No one wants to question why, but everyone wants an answer, No one wants to accept the blame, but everyone wants to be forgiven. No one wants to stop the wars, but everyone wants peace. No one wants to plant the seeds, but everyone wants to reap the harvest. No one wants to chop the wood, but everyone wants to be warm. No one wants to drive, but everyone wants to ride. No one wants to do the time, but everyone wants to do the crime. No one wants to try, but everyone wants to succeed. No one wants to die, but everyone wants to go to heaven. Searching Searching for an identity, that vanished without a trace. Looking in a mirror, seeing no face. Trying to uncover, what once may have been. No one to talk to, patience wearing thin. Searching thru ashes, crying out loud. Looking at pictures, you're not even a face in a crowd. Memories stolen, ripped from your grasp. you try to rebuild them, they never last. Too late to remember, too soon to forget. Never remembering anyone, you ever have met. BLUE COLLARI'm just a Blue Collar, just a humble working man, with hands and arms of steel, just like many others, who worked thru out this land. Had to quit school at a early age, to begin working with the tools, brown bagging it every day, bringing home the bacon, instead of going to school. Dirty hands, and steel tip shoes, may be soon to turn a new page, walked to work, or took the bus, a hero of the Industrial Age. Blue collar work, slowly being replaced, big tech and computers,by everyone working at home, machinery and factories, slowly disappearing, no more phone booths,being replaced by cell phones. Blue collars, soon to be replaced by the momma lukes, many who still live with their momma's at home, never knowing about a hard days work, only interested in watching video's, on their fancy cell phones. Blue Collar's, Blue Collar's, never afraid to express how they feel, went off to serve, and always salutes the flag, but he never ever, never kneels. Blue Collars, Blue Collars, hero's of the past, may they never go away, may they forever last. The 50's re-duximes on the street, we shall all recall, the 50's were special, harmonizing in the hall. Walking to school, uphill both ways, pegged pants and box car shoes, those were the days. Put a nickel in the jukebox, what do you hear, earth angel & in the still of the nite, still brings a tear. Stick ball in the streets, pitching pennies and nickels against a wall, cold water flats, with toilets in the hall. Riding our bikes, most of the day, skinny dipping in the Hudson River, and the Hudson Bay. The gin mills were always busy, on a Friday nite. leather jackets with collars up, always ready for a fight. Falling in love, at the Friday nite dances, going to the drive-in, for a little romancing. Containers of beer, and thunder-bird wine, the only source of false courage, we had at the time. Taking the tubes to the city, catching a movie at the square, sneaking into #6 school for a mid nite swim, always ready to comb our hair. The news was a nickel, everyone had a paper route, burgers at the White Mann, Doo Wop music & Alan Freed at the Paramount. Brass knuckles & switch blade knifes, & the all time favorite baseball bat, always ready for a rumble, at the drop of a hat. Chopped down Merc's & bad ass Fords, we all had a duck's ass in our hair, we were all JD's, but we didn't care. Those were the days, and may be lost forever, the above is just a brief reminder, the Fifties(50's) were special, & may we always remember. A NickelI just found a shiny nickel, alone on a curb, did someone somehow lose it, or was it casually tossed away. You may be just a nickel, yet how often were you used, silver once considered valuable, now neglected and abused. There once was a time, when you were of a great value, now you just sit hidden away, deep inside someone's pocket. How many miles have you traveled, ignored out of sight, passed around from one to the next, you no longer bring delight. Once you bought a newspaper, or a visit to the candy store, but that was oh so long ago, at a very different time. A nickel many years ago, could get you on a bus, that nickel had many other uses, put in a church basket, declaring in God we trust. There was a saying long ago, if you're called a nickel and dimer, success and fame and fortune, just wan't yours, you were always considered to be a small timer. A nickel is a nickel, and two of them equals a dime, i just found you on the curb, lost by someone, now you'll forever be mine. 911 WHY DID THEY DO IT The Sun is now crying,covered with dust
Why did they do it, why did they do it. The sky is contaminated with all the debris. Why did they do it, why did they do it. The floors are falling, no where to run. Why did they do it, why did they do it. The ground is burning, Oh Please God, let it be done. Why did they do it, why did they do it. Splintered pieces of steel, like giant javelins in the sand. Why did they do it, why did they do it. Two burning buildings, forever etched in our minds. Why did they do it, why did they do it. The world has gone crazy, hatred prevails. Why did they do it, why did they do it. May they all rest in peace, and forever be remembered. Why did they do it, why did they do it. Why did they do it, too late to question why. THE SUN IS NOW CRYING--AND EVERY NIGHT BEFORE IT SETS. SHALL SHINE A LITTLE BRIGHTER ON THE VICTIMS. AND MAY THEY ALL REST IN PEACE. AND MAY WE NEVER FORGET 911
Poem 1When they made you, They did it so gently So very carefully and delicately Like they didn't make you They carved you out of water. And...and they used flowers instead of chisels so that you could be perfect de toute beauté. You could've been a God A real God With birds and flowers and light around you Las la belleza. You could've been a greek sculpture With oceans in place of those eyes Oh those eyes They made them so blue Decoris. They carved you so beautifully That if you weren't a human being You would've been the sky Poem 2I killed a song in my throat And lost the corpse somewhere among the words i could've spoken but couldn't My tongue tastes bitter because of the dead song I am a quarter human and three quarters void It seems like the song would never be found It seems like the guilt would never leave m Poem 3Loneliness
I verbalize Lone-li-ness Over and over again Until I don't feel my bones breaking with the harsh sound of the word Loneliness I say To no one Until it echoes in my head Loneliness I say And I vaporize with the air. Aaqib Khatibi is a freelance writer based in India. His work has been part of different literary magazines and journals across the globe. Apart from creative writing his opinion essays, journals are also published widely in different levels internationally. Somewhere alone in deep or highAre you fainting perplexed in the scorching heat by the boiling water of your pond? I know it is grueling to walk miles upon deserted land, barefooted to find shattered harmonies You cannot just no more lurk in shadows of withering trees they are too weak to give a shade And, there are still a thousand miles to chase before the twilight at the feet of distant mountains There you stop for a while in suspiration and stare somewhere deep in the clouds above, gliding feathers of the birds across through the sky of tranquility And then your blues slowly fade like dark evanescent memories collected from the steps you trod. Look around and find seclusion, diving in the depth of absolute solitude, liberated in the atmosphere to take a leap scaling the skies. Even for just a moment if a dark history strikes your head, it turns that peace into a stifling dead silence covered in a worn-out cloak of atrocities. The second you remember them all, the paradise bleeds out of the blue, appalling shades prevail dark behind alluring mountains at the dawn. Crawling on the back the fear knocks on the door, shattering piece by piece by the swift winds which once conveys some moments of ecstasy There you go discontent for your life long desires, keep all the concealed until faded by the tears If you find the distortion of your own thoughts when silence draws from crooked smiles, turn around in queer whispers and there you find. Among the queer whispers, placate showers blossom flowers; there is a deep place of serenity in some deep down seamless ocean. Dive in some depth below, feel the breeze that passes amidst the mountains that hold the light of dawn And as you splash the water, the ripples drift all your miseries away; by the shore, under the waters, you will never live a solitary life. Blue washes the blue away, the place indeed capacious but no room for tears, chase the perpetual distances once again when there are no borders to segregate, no borders to discriminate. Do you remember the rain?Murky skies pouring down on wet feet, covered baby in cloak by the street, do you remember that rain where I cried the first? Whole new fantasies, cherished laughter, and cries, where we chased the paper boats down those pavements, do you remember the rain where we slipped in joy? The boat chased perpetual distances and so we, evanescent memories of petrichor in the lawn after the rain, do you remember beaming dewdrops in our garden that noon? Things never last long and I do witness, the deep sea of tranquility turned into atrocities, do you remember the thunderstorm where we left the home? We slipped again but may not in joy, bursting not in laughter, clouds obscure sunlight in our lawn, I thank the pours to hid our tears? Withering plants groaning for peaceful showers, brewing storms left no life behind, the twilight brings no joy anymore, do you remember the showers for which we prayed? Spring knocks the door, we stumble and search reasons of rejoicing, we are bent not broken and the buds Are yet blossom, do you remember the rain where we searched moments of ecstasy? New reasons to withstand, a new asylum from broken pillars, fireflies reluctantly seek some space and the environment appease itself, remember those showers revived our verdure. There is an edge after the cliff which ends in a void of deep emptiness, when the leaves wither and bury as autumn outreach the feet, beg to remember the rain where we end up serene in heavens above. With four shoulders that never wept, we traveled miles to seek a new asylum, some grieved but never returned, do you feel the rain when it cried upon our funeral? Bring the bittersweet memories to our grave, smile, and cry when you stumble upon each of them, all the warm memories will keep us lighten and broil remember the rain which irrigates these flowers grown upon our soil. My city on flamesThis uncanny gets me baffled every time when in despair I look out the window When I perceive burning flames over shelters and breathes choked by burning ashes Parching winds carry groaning cries from miles to my room amongst glaring sparks And look here I am somewhere in grieved silence and dark. High skyscrapers engulf in large flames, the city gleams again in the dark Can find a little life amongst all these who are probing a foreign land The shore of my countryside which once forgotten is thronging again in a tussle I will be awakened in the next dawn with absolute solitude in isolation. I see them drifting along with the smoke by the ocean to lavish lands which is mine no more Burning shelters, stifling smoke, no creatures but me Carbon sky over my head, venom in the holy rivers, the stranded city looks dreadful There is a glimmering flash outside in my city, which drifts them away from my coast. May it take a bit more time, compassion to raise these buildings again Some colors may prevail again in the gloomy sky by the dawn of next morning Hope wind will bring some cherishing laughter again when it knocks on my window gate The city flourishes to glisten again not the flames but its glorious state. In a new state of beautyShe can hear the words of despair, the standard of beauty and allure She held her head high, but stumbled to reach the tempting stars Sins she never knows, cries the night before the mirrors But what can she do at the end for the love she never gets. Wish for the mesmerizing beauty which no one actually knows For her, it starts from the edges of the body and ends with the complexion A little fairer mask can get her face sculpted Even if it hurts it can hold the tears back. Get some satisfaction with a distorted reflection on her mirror The face which is carved thousand times to make it fairer More than a sculpture rather than being a human Lucent faces covered with fake perceptions of allure But she does not know, where she turns around there are a thousand sculptures like her Drifting away from reality to a different delusion But somehow she will walk aways, from the realm with a fair sky, over the storm clouds, and fake smiles over bleeding tears. I will leave a smile for you When I will get depressed by those rush of the winds in my verandah on empty gloomy nights, When I will be thrown out of doors by breaking hope from my mysterious past, I will muster up my last courage, to appease, and will smile in the despair for you.
May I will never find the reason for those burning piles and flames in my room. Yes, they burn but that’s not new. I will get thicker skin may be in disguise, but I will never lose those bruises. I am not alone, I am trapped among those astonishing charm of lights of this big city of allure but in my tunnel, I am still chasing the light. These charms are so dark in here, in thorny roads, but hey! Don’t you worry I will still crisp a smile? I know my atrocities, Yes, I am bleeding but do you know I am leaving you soon? So, let me hold your hands till my last breath and let you take you away from this chase. You will be in the world with thousands of reasons to survive, with thousands of reasons to dwell, with thousands of reasons to breathe but without me. I am a withered man, withering, shredding piece by piece by the rush of the winds, in your evergreen life. My body begins to end; they will hang me on the hands of the clock of the bad times but I still have you for all my merrily smiles. You were right I learned so much from this drama, to hide the groaning emotions, to keep my tears back, but it will be over soon along with me. I still got enough blood to bleed and tears in my body to cry. Be happy, I am self-sufficient to cast a smile. I can imagine those green days when I was on the shore far from all the whirlpools. When I, I was a novice on making disguised smiles. But autumn had to come on all our greens, so let the greenery shreds peacefully. I don’t make a noise when I leave, so let me smile till I last breath. I’m lost in my world with all those dark fantasies; you will be surprised I am the only character in this drama. Or, they left early. I don’t want you to be a part of this; don’t want to steal any more innocent smiles. So I leave a letter for you, I may not be there for your extra shoulder. So, if tomorrow starts without me, never dare to cry. I will take all my hardships with my soul in the pool of god. I will demand a reason for us. But let me stay in your shadow today, under those green trees from our past. We already have traveled so far and the seasons have changed for us. I will never be strong again for your shining armor but you will never wipe tears alone; I will leave a smile for you. Keith Burkholder has been published in Creative Juices, Sol Magazine, Trellis Magazine, Foliate Oak Literary Journal, New Delta Review, Poetry Quarterly, Scarlet Leaf Review, and Birmingham Arts Journal. He has a bachelor's degree in statistics with a minor in mathematics from SUNY at Buffalo (UB). Leave the gays alone, more women for meIt has been a while since I have dated, Yet, more women for me, Gay men are the way they are through evolution, They are attracted to the same gender, Imagine if everyone was straight, Dating would be impossible for many, It would be constant competition in this world, Gay people allow dating to be easier for straights, I have never been straight bashed, I would never gay bash a person, They are human, Just like the rest of us, People need to take it easy, And develop an open mind, This will take time, Most straight people don't like change, Being good is what counts, Take care for now, Be good and try to be better, Human kindness is rare nowadays, May tomorrow be better, And may this world overcome COVID-19 as time carries forward. Again, the human race makes life for others horrible |
David McLintock lives in Liverpool. He likes making words do things they weren't invented for. He has been writing poetry for some time. He types them up to keep his home tidy. He lives with a ukulele, 4 guitars, and a shruti box. And a lot of books. All his cupboards are empty, all his worktops are full, it's how he keeps up with what he's getting up to. |
Attitudes
I am at the other end of a TV reality show
watching morally, while flicking the index
of a book about a War, selecting a stance.
Now I stare out the patio windows
at the neighbour’s garden, shake my head
at the state of his hibiscus.
Earlier I heard a phone-in on the radio,
‘Who’d phone in to this rubbish?’
I heard myself shouting to my wife.
The cupboards in my kitchen are ordered,
with nothing in not to my taste.
My walls are papered and painted in colours
I chose, and to my standards.
Why do other people not understand
what is so easy to understand?
I live my life with very folded arms.
I do not like it
when my wife tries to touch me.
You cannot be young all your life,
I keep reminding her.
watching morally, while flicking the index
of a book about a War, selecting a stance.
Now I stare out the patio windows
at the neighbour’s garden, shake my head
at the state of his hibiscus.
Earlier I heard a phone-in on the radio,
‘Who’d phone in to this rubbish?’
I heard myself shouting to my wife.
The cupboards in my kitchen are ordered,
with nothing in not to my taste.
My walls are papered and painted in colours
I chose, and to my standards.
Why do other people not understand
what is so easy to understand?
I live my life with very folded arms.
I do not like it
when my wife tries to touch me.
You cannot be young all your life,
I keep reminding her.
Speech
Firstly, the idea
Vaguely instigates
An almost unnoticed
Notion that pricks
One’s desire to speak.
Then, quickly, the terms
Of the thought are made
Concrete, and the correct
Order for their procession
Solicited. Finally,
The articulation
Of the words or phrase
Are delved from memory,
The lips and tongue
Move, air is forced
Appropriately through
Throat and, before
We know it, the words
Are out. If we are
Fortunate, we find –
After we’ve spoken –
That we have not made
Ourselves a fool again.
This last is, of course,
Habitually the weakest
Part of the process.
We see crowd us
The shocked glares
Of friends we are fast
Losing, and wonder
How our thought,
Amazing of itself –
Can constantly
So ill-attune
To present circumstance.
I often spend my nights
Nowadays alone,
And speak what I wish,
But only to myself
For I find no other audience.
Vaguely instigates
An almost unnoticed
Notion that pricks
One’s desire to speak.
Then, quickly, the terms
Of the thought are made
Concrete, and the correct
Order for their procession
Solicited. Finally,
The articulation
Of the words or phrase
Are delved from memory,
The lips and tongue
Move, air is forced
Appropriately through
Throat and, before
We know it, the words
Are out. If we are
Fortunate, we find –
After we’ve spoken –
That we have not made
Ourselves a fool again.
This last is, of course,
Habitually the weakest
Part of the process.
We see crowd us
The shocked glares
Of friends we are fast
Losing, and wonder
How our thought,
Amazing of itself –
Can constantly
So ill-attune
To present circumstance.
I often spend my nights
Nowadays alone,
And speak what I wish,
But only to myself
For I find no other audience.
The Widdly-Diddlies
We scoff at the widdly-diddlies,
Carefully unpacking their accordions,
Balancing guitars on their knees
Yet plugging them into nothing;
With their little trim upturned-
Wigwam beards, their frothy,
Farm-smelling, light-red bitters
That leave interlocking rings
All across the rocky table. But
They scamper through each reel
Nimbly, as watchable as squirrels,
So even as we laugh at them
Our knees are bouncing.
String-plucks, quick key-stabs
Grip, clench, release each other,
And through the to and fro of
Glanced sound rhythm coheres
And plunders the bar’s acoustics,
Roils in the smoke-dark corners,
Melds with the long black beams,
Teaches pulse to each rippling body –
Hesitant at first we soon succumb -
As the entirety of here unites
And thrums with the reverberation.
These are old guys and girls,
No dreams of boasting headlines
Or mikes angled for them on
A V side-stage. They’ve kids
Doing volunteer work, Central
America, and a leak in the roof that
Needs clambering to tomorrow,
If the weather’s stable. They’re
Landscape gardeners, ex-
Servicemen, retired teachers.
One’s a magistrate. They’re
The widdly-diddlies. They make
A song without an effect in sight,
They make a tune blowing
Across an empty bottle.
They are the widdly-diddlies.
They are musicians.
They are not heroes.
They are musicians.
They are not philosophers.
They are the widdly-diddlies.
One’s a magistrate.
One plays the spoons on his chin.
One stops strumming to drink.
One smokes a pipe,
Smiles through a thick beard.
They are the widdly-diddlies,
They are not heroes.
They are musicians.
Even as we laugh at them,
Our knees are bouncing.
Carefully unpacking their accordions,
Balancing guitars on their knees
Yet plugging them into nothing;
With their little trim upturned-
Wigwam beards, their frothy,
Farm-smelling, light-red bitters
That leave interlocking rings
All across the rocky table. But
They scamper through each reel
Nimbly, as watchable as squirrels,
So even as we laugh at them
Our knees are bouncing.
String-plucks, quick key-stabs
Grip, clench, release each other,
And through the to and fro of
Glanced sound rhythm coheres
And plunders the bar’s acoustics,
Roils in the smoke-dark corners,
Melds with the long black beams,
Teaches pulse to each rippling body –
Hesitant at first we soon succumb -
As the entirety of here unites
And thrums with the reverberation.
These are old guys and girls,
No dreams of boasting headlines
Or mikes angled for them on
A V side-stage. They’ve kids
Doing volunteer work, Central
America, and a leak in the roof that
Needs clambering to tomorrow,
If the weather’s stable. They’re
Landscape gardeners, ex-
Servicemen, retired teachers.
One’s a magistrate. They’re
The widdly-diddlies. They make
A song without an effect in sight,
They make a tune blowing
Across an empty bottle.
They are the widdly-diddlies.
They are musicians.
They are not heroes.
They are musicians.
They are not philosophers.
They are the widdly-diddlies.
One’s a magistrate.
One plays the spoons on his chin.
One stops strumming to drink.
One smokes a pipe,
Smiles through a thick beard.
They are the widdly-diddlies,
They are not heroes.
They are musicians.
Even as we laugh at them,
Our knees are bouncing.
Rothko Lovers
Under the sheets, in the dark,
fumbling with one another,
2 streaks in a Rothko repro,
dulled, smaller than life-size,
framed inexpertly –
not everyone would see
what’s good about it -
but we do - 2 pointless streaks
getting grubby with each other,
languishing in oils not ours.
Just stare at us - it’s only
a habitat we have different.
Other than that our distinctions
smear, smudge, and we likely
smell of the same brush.
It Goes Without Saying
The way we’ve been playing
There’s no point delaying
It’s no use me staying
It goes without saying
Continual swaying
To caustic affraying
I think you’re betraying
It’s no use me staying
It goes without saying
No purpose in praying
Nor weeping nor braying
The life we were laying
Is done, dead, decaying
So no use me staying
It goes without saying
It’s time to be paying
The dues due to slaying
A love that seemed weighing
In balance, conveying
A deep inner raying
Of light that’s now greying
There’s no use me staying
It goes without saying
There’s no point delaying
It’s no use me staying
It goes without saying
Continual swaying
To caustic affraying
I think you’re betraying
It’s no use me staying
It goes without saying
No purpose in praying
Nor weeping nor braying
The life we were laying
Is done, dead, decaying
So no use me staying
It goes without saying
It’s time to be paying
The dues due to slaying
A love that seemed weighing
In balance, conveying
A deep inner raying
Of light that’s now greying
There’s no use me staying
It goes without saying
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AAQIB KHATIBI
ALAN BERGER
ALEX ANDY PHUONG
AVE JEANNE VENTRESCA
BOBBY Z
BRENDAN FAITHFULL
CHRIS DURAND
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CRAIG DOBSON
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DAVID MCLINTOCK
FRANCIS FERNANDES
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JILLIAN SMITH
KEITH BURKHOLDER
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PAWEL MARKIEWICZ
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