Advice to Harvard Applicants If you pour boiling oil
on your baby’s head wait until the oil price has gone down. If you undress in a public toilet you may meet Piers Morgan. or the police may join in. If you steal a computer you’ll have to take it back in the morning for a windows technology update If you decide to block the sidewalk remember hookers, perverts and Jeremy Clarkson have a right to walk on it too. If you are arrested by an FBI agent refuse to tell him where Virginia is. If you climb up Big Ben to check your watch remember it’s being repaired. If you take a vacation in Saudi Arabia don’t forget to take your own chainsaw. If you cross out the Samaritans telephone number in the directory insert your own number instead. If you meet a nudist in the street don’t park your bike between his buttocks. If you give an intellectual an IQ test use a chimp as a control group. If you meet Donald Trump don’t hold up a placard saying serial killers begin here. If you find an open coffin who would you like to see in it? Boris Karloff or Boris Johnson?
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Circe on Wednesday |
M. A. Istvan Jr., despite a down-to-earth deportment that covers well both his advanced education and artistic output, finds it a struggle not to isolate due to how his Asperger’s syndrome manifests itself: stumbling verbosity, extreme attention to detail, and hypersensitivity, mainly. Such symptoms, coupled with his underclass roots (which cannot help but radiate an unwelcome odor in higher society), have understandably led to discrimination (especially in academic settings where, now, the chief duty of a professor is never to make anyone uncomfortable). |
Broken Therapy
The broken have
little choice
and the strong could gain
from the meeting
of insights,
but the fragile
ought to proceed
with caution: therapists,
vain and with axes
to grind,
have priestly authority
to torment
those who resist--
until, broken,
they need therapy.
little choice
and the strong could gain
from the meeting
of insights,
but the fragile
ought to proceed
with caution: therapists,
vain and with axes
to grind,
have priestly authority
to torment
those who resist--
until, broken,
they need therapy.
Unmarked
That philosophic concepts
were created (many
by Aristotle) should
caution us against
rejecting concepts
just for being
new, but still
we should be (as were
Aristotle’s peers)
skeptical
of new concepts--
skeptical
as to whether
they mark out
the not-yet marked.
Monocrop Milieu
That the hypersexual form
of black female musician
monopolizes
over other forms, and that
the problem-solving state
of consciousness
monopolizes
over other states,
is—while as unfortunate
as if Hermes were
the only god—not a call
for extermination.
of black female musician
monopolizes
over other forms, and that
the problem-solving state
of consciousness
monopolizes
over other states,
is—while as unfortunate
as if Hermes were
the only god—not a call
for extermination.
The Best Scream
The dejected man
you eye
as a pleading prayer
to incite him
to scream out against
what has brought him
to this. And yet
for the task he is
too dejected. And yet
his silence,
which you cannot shake
from memory,
was perhaps
the best scream.
you eye
as a pleading prayer
to incite him
to scream out against
what has brought him
to this. And yet
for the task he is
too dejected. And yet
his silence,
which you cannot shake
from memory,
was perhaps
the best scream.
Feigning Density
An effective manipulator
lays out points
in such a way that
the conclusion to be drawn
is obvious and yet
is what he depicts himself
as too dull
to draw himself,
which leaves his audience
to do so with such potency
that they easily assume
it was theirs all along.
lays out points
in such a way that
the conclusion to be drawn
is obvious and yet
is what he depicts himself
as too dull
to draw himself,
which leaves his audience
to do so with such potency
that they easily assume
it was theirs all along.
Diane Webster's goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase and to write. Diane enjoys the challenge of transforming images into words to fit her poems. Her work has appeared in "Home Planet News Online," "North Dakota Quarterly," "Talking River Review" and other literary magazines.
GARDEN TUNES
Among garden blooms
two musicians attempt
to mimic nature tunes
rippling over pond,
wafting through air
in flower perfume,
prolonged note
from violin string.
Music stands play mime
like stick men on paper,
shadows stuck on sidewalk
while praying mantis
practices tai chi
on frond stem.
two musicians attempt
to mimic nature tunes
rippling over pond,
wafting through air
in flower perfume,
prolonged note
from violin string.
Music stands play mime
like stick men on paper,
shadows stuck on sidewalk
while praying mantis
practices tai chi
on frond stem.
BOY IN STOCKING CAP
Even in 100-degree weather
the boy wears black
topped off with his stocking cap
like he enjoys sweat more
than bad-hair-day ridicule
or maybe rehearsing old age
when side hair fringes
the arid baldness on top,
and he remembers skateboarding
boldly down third street hill
instead of returning inside
when ice slickens sidewalks.
Even in 100-degree weather
the boy wears black
topped off with his stocking cap
like he enjoys sweat more
than bad-hair-day ridicule
or maybe rehearsing old age
when side hair fringes
the arid baldness on top,
and he remembers skateboarding
boldly down third street hill
instead of returning inside
when ice slickens sidewalks.
MY FAULT
Hot summer day
I sit in the open doorway
with the cat sprawled
under my legs
until a mourning dove
skids to a stop
on the shaded sidewalk;
cat leaps
into pounce position
and crouch-scurries closer
except the dove ascends
as if the sidewalk sizzled,
and the cat plops down
with a rude look toward me.
I sit in the open doorway
with the cat sprawled
under my legs
until a mourning dove
skids to a stop
on the shaded sidewalk;
cat leaps
into pounce position
and crouch-scurries closer
except the dove ascends
as if the sidewalk sizzled,
and the cat plops down
with a rude look toward me.
WILD WONDER
The cat heard the intruder first
as I opened the door
more confident in morning
that at night when fear
of men lurking in the garage
tickling the door knob
in hopes curiosity opens the door,
but this morning the sound
must be the neighbor’s cat
crouched behind the garage door
readying himself for a pounce
as an incautious bird
settles for dropped seed from the feeder.
But the cat knew
panicked bird wing sounds
and charged outside in
instant hunter mode
leaping on the bench
and scampering from hood
to trunk in wired pounce
a second away any second,
until I open the overhead door,
and the frightened house finch
adrenaline darts away,
and the cat scowls at me
like I might be worth
a second-opportunity kill.
as I opened the door
more confident in morning
that at night when fear
of men lurking in the garage
tickling the door knob
in hopes curiosity opens the door,
but this morning the sound
must be the neighbor’s cat
crouched behind the garage door
readying himself for a pounce
as an incautious bird
settles for dropped seed from the feeder.
But the cat knew
panicked bird wing sounds
and charged outside in
instant hunter mode
leaping on the bench
and scampering from hood
to trunk in wired pounce
a second away any second,
until I open the overhead door,
and the frightened house finch
adrenaline darts away,
and the cat scowls at me
like I might be worth
a second-opportunity kill.
Currently living in Blacksburg, VA. August Reynolds aims to tell and retell stories of people, hardships, society, and our ability and inability to forget. August draws inspiration from the American writing styles of the early-mid 20th century by detailing important, relatable stories and interactions through a more accessible, reserved writing style that teeters on the line of complex and over-simplified.
The Front, The Wild
i find it crazy
all of it
how
a lantern sits
empty in the
yard
a train goes
past
and the snowman’s
base is all that’s
left and even that
is now split, too,
like my want to write
about you but I didn’t
now I see.
i hope you are
well.
or did I just now?
oh, fuck, who knows
but the mountains
are beautiful here
a bird flew by
i'm sure it, too,
is still beautiful.
First published by Poetry Nation (Eber & Wein) in an anthology (2022)
all of it
how
a lantern sits
empty in the
yard
a train goes
past
and the snowman’s
base is all that’s
left and even that
is now split, too,
like my want to write
about you but I didn’t
now I see.
i hope you are
well.
or did I just now?
oh, fuck, who knows
but the mountains
are beautiful here
a bird flew by
i'm sure it, too,
is still beautiful.
First published by Poetry Nation (Eber & Wein) in an anthology (2022)
Shank’s Hall
i only know of
two types of people
in this world:
the ones who turn
a simple issue into
a complex one,
and
the ones who turn
a complex issue into
a simple one.
one type considers themselves
too smart for the world,
the other too
enlightened.
it is a timeless class
of ideologies,
minds made of wicking
with heads pressed trying
to burn the others
down farther.
meanwhile, the grass
browns and we all choke
on our society-approved
actions
and the soldiers
march past under
a half-masted,
broken flag
following the creases
of the path
begging for more
and nothing changes.
it never seems to.
two types of people
in this world:
the ones who turn
a simple issue into
a complex one,
and
the ones who turn
a complex issue into
a simple one.
one type considers themselves
too smart for the world,
the other too
enlightened.
it is a timeless class
of ideologies,
minds made of wicking
with heads pressed trying
to burn the others
down farther.
meanwhile, the grass
browns and we all choke
on our society-approved
actions
and the soldiers
march past under
a half-masted,
broken flag
following the creases
of the path
begging for more
and nothing changes.
it never seems to.
The Great Waste
my writing is
glorified shit
and
the days have
turned sour
days spent in
the system
surrounded by those
who don’t care
and
most of our
stock is placed
in something that
is not here,
not ours,
not understood.
reaching to the
sky in search of
answers that won’t
ever come
pissing away what
we can control,
what we do know
and have,
all we are
for value and reward
in our supposed next life;
using the sky to
justify our hate
and lack of action and
responsibility for all
we've done, and haven’t.
we waste our time
all our time
pissing on the dead
on the unfortunate
so many had theirs
cut short, yet we
continue.
yet we never learn...
we are at one another’s
throats over the smallest
of things; over nothing.
it's not that hard to get,
right?
aren’t we here to live?
aren't we here to live?
glorified shit
and
the days have
turned sour
days spent in
the system
surrounded by those
who don’t care
and
most of our
stock is placed
in something that
is not here,
not ours,
not understood.
reaching to the
sky in search of
answers that won’t
ever come
pissing away what
we can control,
what we do know
and have,
all we are
for value and reward
in our supposed next life;
using the sky to
justify our hate
and lack of action and
responsibility for all
we've done, and haven’t.
we waste our time
all our time
pissing on the dead
on the unfortunate
so many had theirs
cut short, yet we
continue.
yet we never learn...
we are at one another’s
throats over the smallest
of things; over nothing.
it's not that hard to get,
right?
aren’t we here to live?
aren't we here to live?
Cameron Morse is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of eight collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is The Thing Is (Briar Creek Press, 2021). He holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City—Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and (soon, three) children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website. |
Diet
I eat whatever I want
no point in making
him miserable
with the time he has left
*
Ed watching his
weight again
no longer on the “see
food diet” turns
down lunch for a QT salad
PVC elbowing
his jowls his back
arched above
the cabinet’s cutting edge
hair noticeably
whiter by flashlight
*
Never told Lili
about losing
the omelet I muscled down
over two hours
balancing yellow shell
green slime
against the olive oil
flooding the plate
with the slurp of each spoon
in the Price Chopper
bathroom because
of the coconut oil she blended
into my coffee
*
Ed standing
in the driveway
over six years ago
saying he and I
have about the life
expectancy now
no point in making
him miserable
with the time he has left
*
Ed watching his
weight again
no longer on the “see
food diet” turns
down lunch for a QT salad
PVC elbowing
his jowls his back
arched above
the cabinet’s cutting edge
hair noticeably
whiter by flashlight
*
Never told Lili
about losing
the omelet I muscled down
over two hours
balancing yellow shell
green slime
against the olive oil
flooding the plate
with the slurp of each spoon
in the Price Chopper
bathroom because
of the coconut oil she blended
into my coffee
*
Ed standing
in the driveway
over six years ago
saying he and I
have about the life
expectancy now
Handling Pills
Who ever heard of
cancer catching
a secondhand cancer
caught from linens
the toilet seat lid
*
Use a rubber during
“sexy time”
Touch sparingly
the spit up
basin
*
Bathroom mirror
as if choice
steers us
clear
of time and opportunity
I marry myself
each morning by
no choice of
your own
*
Snowplows swoop
down Lynn up
Liberty skipping
our street completely
disconnected as it is
from the main
arteries
high volume traffic
*
Roughening nights
a cascade of wet
beddings
an array of laundry baskets
I curse myself
for checking the diaper
with my finger
checking the furnace
with my finger
Who ever heard of
cancer catching
a secondhand cancer
caught from linens
the toilet seat lid
*
Use a rubber during
“sexy time”
Touch sparingly
the spit up
basin
*
Bathroom mirror
as if choice
steers us
clear
of time and opportunity
I marry myself
each morning by
no choice of
your own
*
Snowplows swoop
down Lynn up
Liberty skipping
our street completely
disconnected as it is
from the main
arteries
high volume traffic
*
Roughening nights
a cascade of wet
beddings
an array of laundry baskets
I curse myself
for checking the diaper
with my finger
checking the furnace
with my finger
Dense Fog
Inflamed brain on screen
a man hole
to the sewer below
steam lifting through snow
my wet iron disc
*
Feeding me Xanax
from your hand bag in the ER
for gridlock, lockjaw
fumbled zipper
I couldn’t find a cup to pee in
*
Streetlights flounder in dense fog
red smear of warehouse
porchlights dimmed
orange the color of aggression
*
Consider me unhealthy
for sensitive
groups
*
Hollow out a hole for me
please I know
my anger’s out of character
Just tell me
what character I should be in
what otherwise than human skin
Inflamed brain on screen
a man hole
to the sewer below
steam lifting through snow
my wet iron disc
*
Feeding me Xanax
from your hand bag in the ER
for gridlock, lockjaw
fumbled zipper
I couldn’t find a cup to pee in
*
Streetlights flounder in dense fog
red smear of warehouse
porchlights dimmed
orange the color of aggression
*
Consider me unhealthy
for sensitive
groups
*
Hollow out a hole for me
please I know
my anger’s out of character
Just tell me
what character I should be in
what otherwise than human skin
Bruce Levine has spent his life as a writer of fiction and poetry and as a music and theatre professional. A 2019 Pushcart Prize Poetry nominee, a 2021 Spillwords Press Awards winner, the Featured Writer in WestWard Quarterly Summer 2021 and his bio is featured in “Who’s Who of Emerging Writers 2020.” Bruce has over three hundred works published on over twenty-five on-line journals including Ariel Chart, Spillwords, The Drabble; in over seventy print books including Poetry Quarterly, Haiku Journal, Tipton Poetry Journal; Halcyon Days and Founder’s Favourites (on-line and print) and his shows have been produced in New York and around the country. His work is dedicated to the loving memory of his late wife, Lydia Franklin. A native Manhattanite, Bruce now lives and writes in Maine. Visit him at www.brucelevine.com |
Another Empty Page
Standing atop a stairway
Five flights up
Figurative images
Revealing nothing
A dearth of language
Parsimoniously sifting
Like flour through a strainer
Paradoxical entries
Oxymorons
Fugitive from reality
Breathing life into cadavers
Frankenstein’s monster
Awakened
Yet not alive
Fledgling ideas
Devoid of an essence
Fighting for something tangible
Shadows of fruition
Fading like mist
Another empty page
Five flights up
Figurative images
Revealing nothing
A dearth of language
Parsimoniously sifting
Like flour through a strainer
Paradoxical entries
Oxymorons
Fugitive from reality
Breathing life into cadavers
Frankenstein’s monster
Awakened
Yet not alive
Fledgling ideas
Devoid of an essence
Fighting for something tangible
Shadows of fruition
Fading like mist
Another empty page
Moving
Moving
Packing
Leaving behind
Adventures ahead
Exploring
New places
New sights
New sounds
Old friends
New friends
Sharing
A new vision
A new life
A new beginning
Strange
Exciting
A new home
A forever home
Moving
Going forward
Moving
Together
Packing
Leaving behind
Adventures ahead
Exploring
New places
New sights
New sounds
Old friends
New friends
Sharing
A new vision
A new life
A new beginning
Strange
Exciting
A new home
A forever home
Moving
Going forward
Moving
Together
Pathways Leading Home
Virgin territory
Soaking up a new environment
A new life in a new land
Free to roam
Free to explore
Free to make a new beginning
Roads not taken left far behind
And wrong turns forgotten
A journey to the future
Held in the palm of your hand
Time in a bottle floating on the tide
Of a never-ending ocean
Snatched up and held to the light
Prisms bending rays
Illuminating
Golden sunsets over forests
Filled with pathways
Leading home
Virgin territory
Soaking up a new environment
A new life in a new land
Free to roam
Free to explore
Free to make a new beginning
Roads not taken left far behind
And wrong turns forgotten
A journey to the future
Held in the palm of your hand
Time in a bottle floating on the tide
Of a never-ending ocean
Snatched up and held to the light
Prisms bending rays
Illuminating
Golden sunsets over forests
Filled with pathways
Leading home
Perfect Synchronicity
Perfect synchronicity
The over-lapping of time
Pursuing reality in a vortex
A microcosm of days reshuffled
In a stream of holidays
Out of sync and unfulfilled
Solely based on retail sales
Christmas before Halloween
Santa Claus before candy corn
Easter eggs before turkey
Thanksgiving Day turned into Black Friday
Rushing refusal on high octane speed
Dedicated to the devotion of greed
No longer the goal post
From New Year to December
Rushing through life
Without stopping to breathe
The over-lapping of time
Pursuing reality in a vortex
A microcosm of days reshuffled
In a stream of holidays
Out of sync and unfulfilled
Solely based on retail sales
Christmas before Halloween
Santa Claus before candy corn
Easter eggs before turkey
Thanksgiving Day turned into Black Friday
Rushing refusal on high octane speed
Dedicated to the devotion of greed
No longer the goal post
From New Year to December
Rushing through life
Without stopping to breathe
Shadows of Mountains
Shadows of mountains
parade over valleys within.
Streams resemble arteries,
sustaining life,
as trout evading anglers
reveal cascading thoughts
of life and death
that society proclaims
meaningless in movies:
Hollywood’s refrain.
Cheaper by the dozen.
A cartoon fantasy
where bodies once dismembered
return in the next scene.
Children believing pictures;
a thousand words forgotten.
Time standing still
in a bas-relief of life
carved in plaster panels,
a faux façade
over doorways;
an entry in a fun house
at an arcade.
Paragons of virtue.
Derision enforced
with narcissistic selfies
taken on the precipice of mountains
at the edge of a cliff
overhanging the valley.
A swan-dive into the unknown.
A bungie-cord off a highway
or the bridge over the River Kwai.
The new reality forsaken
in a technological haze.
Passage through the looking glass;
Mushrooms in a bottle;
revealing the future of society
to those indoctrinated
and inculcated,
yet reduced to texting hyperbole
as syntax disappears
and the lexicon dismembers.
Devout believers in the new world order.
Refrains of disenchantment;
disenfranchising;
by groups of devotes
of the hyper-sensitive
who perceive only their own vision
in a world of their own making.
Questions never-ending.
A virtual canvass of destiny
held in a moment of tranquility,
yet unable to sustain.
parade over valleys within.
Streams resemble arteries,
sustaining life,
as trout evading anglers
reveal cascading thoughts
of life and death
that society proclaims
meaningless in movies:
Hollywood’s refrain.
Cheaper by the dozen.
A cartoon fantasy
where bodies once dismembered
return in the next scene.
Children believing pictures;
a thousand words forgotten.
Time standing still
in a bas-relief of life
carved in plaster panels,
a faux façade
over doorways;
an entry in a fun house
at an arcade.
Paragons of virtue.
Derision enforced
with narcissistic selfies
taken on the precipice of mountains
at the edge of a cliff
overhanging the valley.
A swan-dive into the unknown.
A bungie-cord off a highway
or the bridge over the River Kwai.
The new reality forsaken
in a technological haze.
Passage through the looking glass;
Mushrooms in a bottle;
revealing the future of society
to those indoctrinated
and inculcated,
yet reduced to texting hyperbole
as syntax disappears
and the lexicon dismembers.
Devout believers in the new world order.
Refrains of disenchantment;
disenfranchising;
by groups of devotes
of the hyper-sensitive
who perceive only their own vision
in a world of their own making.
Questions never-ending.
A virtual canvass of destiny
held in a moment of tranquility,
yet unable to sustain.
Yuan Hongri(b. 1962) is a Chinese mystic poet and philosopher. His works have been widely published in journals and magazines internationally in UK, USA, India, Mexico, New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria. He has authored a number long poems including Platinum City, The City of Gold, Golden Paradise and Golden Giant. The theme of his works is the exploration of human prehistoric and future civilization. |
There's a Much Larger World in the Body
There's a much larger world in the body
this is the secret that the ancient sages have told you.
Listening to the light pass through your body and play Guqin in your bones
noticed an old man, who was 30000 years old, sitting in a palace on the mountains top.
There is an island in the depths of the ocean,
the goddess was so brilliant before the world had been born.
Her eyes will make you forget the sadness,
for an instant, take you through those free and unfettered days outside.
this is the secret that the ancient sages have told you.
Listening to the light pass through your body and play Guqin in your bones
noticed an old man, who was 30000 years old, sitting in a palace on the mountains top.
There is an island in the depths of the ocean,
the goddess was so brilliant before the world had been born.
Her eyes will make you forget the sadness,
for an instant, take you through those free and unfettered days outside.
The World is Just a Lie
The world is just a lie,
truth is on the other side of the world.
We can neither see the light of time
nor know that everything is a shadow on the running water.
There is another me on another planet,
you have never been born or died.
When the maze becomes transparent, the door of time-space opens,
you will shake hands and smile with the giant in the heavens.
The words are both music and the epic of the soul,
Telling you that the palaces of outer space are incomparably lofty,
as if they are as endless as the mountains of gold.
truth is on the other side of the world.
We can neither see the light of time
nor know that everything is a shadow on the running water.
There is another me on another planet,
you have never been born or died.
When the maze becomes transparent, the door of time-space opens,
you will shake hands and smile with the giant in the heavens.
The words are both music and the epic of the soul,
Telling you that the palaces of outer space are incomparably lofty,
as if they are as endless as the mountains of gold.
The Hymn of Sweet Soul
Drape the night over my shoulders like a cloak of the world,
call the birds of the stars from outer space and fly near my city garden.
Sing a song of the giants from huge city of platinum,
awoke the drowsy city of the world with a start.
Oh, the lightnings are in full bloom in the vault of heaven-
the hymns of sweet soul.
Your bones became transparent suddenly,
its light was flickering all over the body like the wings,
in a flash, the body became huge, higher than the large building down the street.
call the birds of the stars from outer space and fly near my city garden.
Sing a song of the giants from huge city of platinum,
awoke the drowsy city of the world with a start.
Oh, the lightnings are in full bloom in the vault of heaven-
the hymns of sweet soul.
Your bones became transparent suddenly,
its light was flickering all over the body like the wings,
in a flash, the body became huge, higher than the large building down the street.
Jazzercise the class we are taking
J is for jazzercise the class we are taking
A is for the action, movement, and giraratius
Z is for zealous that’s how you feel in the beginning
Z is for zest which soon begins to thin
E is for energy that is being expended
R is for relaxation you get when class has ended
C is for courage you had to taking the class
I is for the illusion of the time that never pass
S is for the sorrow I feel when sessions is over
E is for the elation I feel when the torture is over
A is for the action, movement, and giraratius
Z is for zealous that’s how you feel in the beginning
Z is for zest which soon begins to thin
E is for energy that is being expended
R is for relaxation you get when class has ended
C is for courage you had to taking the class
I is for the illusion of the time that never pass
S is for the sorrow I feel when sessions is over
E is for the elation I feel when the torture is over
Miami Night
Miami night you shine so bright
The mystery of your life keeps people up at night
Those who pass thru an those who are born
Are drawn to you like a mother is to her first born
Oh Miami the world only think it know you by the short visit an the media reports
But to know you is more than that to sort
Miami night the magic you bring to those who are born here and those who travel from far away
If only we could bottle your experience an pass it around on a tray
So the rest of the world who never travel to Miami would only have to open their bottle to experience a stay
The mystery of your life keeps people up at night
Those who pass thru an those who are born
Are drawn to you like a mother is to her first born
Oh Miami the world only think it know you by the short visit an the media reports
But to know you is more than that to sort
Miami night the magic you bring to those who are born here and those who travel from far away
If only we could bottle your experience an pass it around on a tray
So the rest of the world who never travel to Miami would only have to open their bottle to experience a stay
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ALAN FORD
AMY VAN DUZER
ANOUCHEKA GANGABISSOON
AUGUST REYNOLDS
BOBBY Z
BRUCE LEVINE
CAMERON MORSE
DIANE WEBSTER
D. R. JAMES
EDISON A. FERREIRA
FARUMBO
LOIS GREENE STONE
LORRAINE WADE
M. A. ISTVAN JR.
MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON
MOSES CHUKWUEMEKA CHIMEREMEZE
NDABA SIBANDA
RANDY PLYM
ROY CONBOY
VIBHA VASANTH
YUAN HONGRI