Max Lemuz is a Mexican-American who recently graduated from California State University, San Bernardino with a B.A. in English.  He tutors foster youth full-time and writes poetry in his head all the time.  He spends his weekends with his amazing wife and daughter in San Bernardino.  His work has been published or is forthcoming in the Pacific Review, the Triggerfish Critical Review, and SoFloPoJo.

​Non-slip shoes that can cross bridges
Over interstates that border patrols station.
 
A passport to travel to the place
Where lips meet ashen documents.
 
A Juniper tree and water, don’t
Forget to unpot it when leaves bitter.
 
A pencil sharpener, you’re running
On dull, plaid landscapes creep to gray.
 
Clothespins to hang memories of sugar,
Wring out the blood and start over.
 
A weather report to know that tears
Are natural, curse umbrella nemesis.
 
An apology that tastes of birria,
Let the fat melt away clenched fists.
 
A business to start that has candy,
Roads, paper cuts, concepts, and square
Feet to fit a list of border dreams.
 
 
 

​The concrete rainbow
leaps over streams
of my consciousness,
blocking the copper rays
that the sun cannons
to the yucca plant.
One teeters on the edge
of the fatherly shadow,
getting sucked in
by light’s quicksand
as noon’s eyelid closes. 
I can see each plant waving
their green fingers, their white
eyes motionless as I rev by.
But I can’t see their necks
from here.  How do they
swallow the golden drippings
we curse at and
turn the A/C on for?
 
 

​And here face down beneath the moon
And here upon the cold dim ray
To feel the always coming soon
The always rising of the day
 
To feel rise up the glowing east
The earthy warm of dawn meets grain
Upon the crown of every beast
And ever dropping shadows wane
 
And brilliant Launceston has growth
The golden Wattle feeds to bloom
And to the floating speckled moth
To propagate from sill to tomb
 
And Tokyo its outline bold
The silhouette but aftermath
And concrete wild wakes up to hold
The dreams of complex ages passed
 
And Al-Hasa’s oases shine
As darkness sweeping up the hill
And waking does the cliffside’s eye
With dewy tears the lenses fill
 
And now at Casablanca’s port
The water shimmers on each hull
And life of every kind and sort
Have broken from nights tempting lull
 
And at Quito’s cathedral’s heart
The organs beam to welcome light
And beveled cross’s shadows start
Up champagne steps to the clasped fight

Tamsen Grace is a published poet,  a Ford Model of Courage and a cancer survivor.  She has been published in Poetic Melodies Anthology, Scarlet Leaf Review,  Birdsong Publishing, Leaves of Ink,  Indiana Voice Journal, Puff Puff Prose,  Poetry Community, In Between Hangovers, Peeking Cat Magazine, Madness Muse Magazine, Spirit Fire Review, The Creative Truth, Anti-Heroin Chic,  and the anthology Dandelions in a Vase of Roses. She has her own poetry book "Skeletons in My Closet" published by Creative Talents Unleashed.
Tamsen Grace lives in the Midwest with her children. She enjoys reading, writing, biking and teaching children Martial Arts.

​I woke the sun today
told it I would be its muse,
burning brightly
blinding,
pure in infancy
 
but
 
life can fade
become dirty,
tarnished dreams
delayed,
world drags
on my  horizon,
polluting my atmosphere
 
but
 
I burn it away
push it aside,
to let this light fade...
I refuse,
for I know
who woke the sun...
I am it's muse
 
 

​I sit and stare
no solace for a wounded heart,
Tuesday morning is gone
 
Veined hands caress
the cup,
painted nails tap
in rhythm to her tale,
another time
another land,
a young girl
strolls village paths,
jumps from the train
tumbles carelessly in the air
I traveled with her there
on Tuesday Mornings .
 
An ocean of dreams,
sisters with young certainty,
begin again
a curious land,
she danced into the arms of love,
her story/my story
a family legacy,
where we came from
and who we are meant to be,
I listened and learned on Tuesday Mornings.
 
Painted hands stilled,
her voice faded into memory
Tuesday mornings gone,
stories are all told
but she lives on in me
 

I once thought love meant giving yourself away
so I tore off pieces of myself
then grasping hands ripped off more
only to leave them lying, discarded in the dirt
 
 
until I was left standing cold, translucent and alone
 
I started picking up the pieces,
dusting them off
for the ones I couldn't find I made new ones ,
better , stronger ones
 
once I became visible again
someone saw me and bent down to hand me more of my pieces,
and I saw their pieces lying on the ground,
so I picked them up too
 
now we are picking our pieces up together

​

John (“Jake” ) Cosmos Aller is a novelist, poet, and former Foreign Service officer having served 27 years with the U.S. State Department in ten countries - Antigua, Barbados, Dominica, Grenada,  Korea, India, St Kitts, St Lucia,  St Vincent, Spain and Thailand. and traveled to 45 countries during his career.  Jake has been an aspiring novelist for several years and has completed two novels, (Giant Nazi Spiders, and the Great Divorce) and is pursuing publication.  He has been writing poetry all his life and has published his poetry in electronic poetry forums, including All Poetry, Moon Café and Duane’s Poetree. (under the name Jake Lee).  He is looking forward to transitioning to his third career – full-time novelist and poet after completing his second career as a Foreign Service officer, and his first career as an educator overseas for six years upon completion of his Peace Corps service in South Korea.

​

​In my 61 years around the sun
I encountered God four times
At least I thought it was God
But could never be sure
 
The first time I met God
I had taken magic mushrooms
And had gone to a lake
 
And soon was tripping inside my head
Lost in inner space
 
Zoning out tuning in
Dropping down the proverbial rabbit hole
 
And then in the middle of my madness
I felt oneness with the universe
My body melted away
 
And I joined the universe
All bonderies dropped away
 
And I knew that the universe
Was alive and I was part of the Cosmos
And the Cosmos was part of me
 
And I wondered at that moment
If I was face to face with God
 
I asked God to reveal himself to me
And nothing happened
 
Just laughter as the whole universe
Burst into laughter
 
And the madness began to fade
And I slowly came down from the high
 
And became aware of myself
And I was no longer one
With the universe
 
I felt profoundly moved by the experience
Felt that I had achieved perhaps nirvana
Or felt the presence of God
Meeting God at the Lake p2
 
The feeling faded over time
And I resume my quest to find God
 
But knew that I would never again
Come so close to the divine essence
Of the very Universe

​I next encountered the divine
Many years later in Berkeley, California
I had gone home to be with my Mother
 
While taking leave from my job
in the Foreign Service
 
I had two weeks there by myself
My wife came later
near the end of the trip
 
Every morning I woke up
Had  my coffee, and breakfast
Did yoga while listening to music
And looking out at the garden
 
Then spoke to my mother
Who was sliding into dementia
Day by day losing her reason
 
Then I would go out
And explore the city
Go to a museum
 
Go to one neighborhood
And just be there
Rediscovering the Bay area
After years of being away
 
Having dinner with old friends
Seeing movies etc
 
Every morning a black cat came to visit
The cat was friendly and waited for me
And then would join me in my morning rambles
Following me to the bus stop
 
I stated talking to the black cat
He looked at me with the spark of divinity
 
In his dark eyes
I called him the cosmic cat
He seemed to like that

​He would look at me
And I opened up to me
Told the cat all my dark secrets
 
As I walked the streets
Of the old neighborhood
 
Every morning and every evening the cat
Would be there to greet me
And to carry out our endless conversation
 
Then I had to leave
And in our final conversation
I asked the cosmic cat
 
Say, Cat are you just a cat
Or are you a demonic cat
 
Are you possessed by God
Or by Satan
 
The cat looked at me
And I realized that God
Was indeed residing in the cat
 
But that god was residing everywhere
All I had to do was open my mind
And the rest would follow
 
So I said Good bye to the cosmic cat
And he purred and came up to me
 
And I felt the comforting presence
Of the divine spirit of God
As I said goodbye to the cosmic cat
And said goodbye to my mother
 
As this was the last time
That we would be able to really talk
 
I told my mother about the cosmic cat
She smiled and said that the cat
was there for me and her
to comfort us both in our hour of need
 
and that the cat was indeed
a cosmic cat

​My final time with God
Happened a year latter
I was staying down in Goa
With my wife
 
Enjoying being with her
After our reconciliation
We stayed at the Taj Mahal Goa
Living like Kings and Queen
 
Just for a few days
High up on a hill
Overlooking the beach
 
Every morning I went down to the beach
And did yoga by the water
While contemplating life
 
And every morning
I saw the same dog
 
Not just a dog
But a cosmic dog
Filled with the divine spark of God
 
And the dog recognized me
And spoke to me and I knew
That God was present once more
In the face of the that cosmic dog
 
Kindred spirit
perhaps to the cosmic cat
that had save my soul
in Berkeley so long ago
 
I told the dog everything
And he just looked at me
With those soulful eyes of his
And I knew he knew that I knew
That he was possessed by God
 
God had sent him to me
To make sure that I was on the right path
 
That the reconciliation that God had promoted
Was on track that I was back with my wife
And that everything was the way it should be
 
Again I asked God whether he was Jesus or Allah
Or Brahmin or Ganesh or Buddha
 
God the cosmic dog just stared at me
I finally asked him directly
 
Say if you are God the God of Jesus
Bark once
 
The Dog looked at me and barked
 
I said well if you are Allah bark twice
The dog barked twice
 
Well are you buddha then bark three times if yes
The god dog barked three times
 
Hmm well are you Satan
The dog growled at me
And I knew I had gone too far
 
Finally I was at peace
And for the next three days
 
The God Dog was my constant companion
And I knew God for the final time
In my life

 

​I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
Have to go to the dentist
For my twice yearly torture session
 
In order to save my remaining teeth
I must endure the never ending pain
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
I must have known over 100 dentists
During my 61 years around the sun
 
Some were good, some were great
A few became friends
A few became enemies
 
All became richer
From fixing my crooked no good
very bad misbehaving evil teeth
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
All tortured me
Saying it was for my own good
To save my crooked wicked teeth
 
My teeth are bad
Wicked, misbehaving
Rotten to the core
And always have
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
I tried orthodontic braces
As a child
Gave it up as an adult
 
Did everything except implants
So many crowns
So many root canals
So many pulled teeth
And partial dentures to boot
 
So much dental work
My teeth are gold plated
Monuments to the dental artistry
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
A few dentists were exceptionally good
A few exceptionally bad
A few were crooks by and by
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
My current dentist is good
He keeps the chit chat down
Does not lecture me on his political views
 
Imagine having a dentist praise GW Bush
Or Trump taking your forced silence
As acceptance of his right wing views
 
Imagine a dentist talking endlessly
About her children’s latest escapade
While drilling away
 
Assuming you cared
When all you wanted
Was to end the torture
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
And imagine a sexy dentist
Or hygienist working away
As you think of her in bed
 
And can’t get that thought
Out of you head
As they drill and poke
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 
Yes I have a love hate relationship
With dentists
Can’t stand them
Can’t stand the pain
 
But they save my teeth
And save my smile
And so I forgive them
One and all
 
I have the dentist blues
I have them bad
 

 

​Red radiating,
Crackling and consuming
me. Fiery flames licking
with scourging
heat.
 
Into the refiner's fire and
Out. Ready to be sent in
Again. To be seven times
tried.
 
Moan and cry I did the first time I entered, but
that's no longer the case.               Now, I hold on, resolved, for
He looks over me.
 
Impurities precipitating,
surfacing sludge.
Purer and purer I grow, increasingly
showing His              smooth reflection
upon me.
 
Temporal is this hardship, but
Eternal is this perseverance and
this character and this
Hope.

​Lyrics and tunes from our mouths,
poured out, flowing and filling
gaps among the crowds
 
Songs flooded all empty space,
but the hearts were void,
unlike this body-filled place.
 
Lips mouthed empty words,
devoid meaning, which floated and
soared like flightless birds.
 
An act, a play was witnessed,
It was a tragedy. A tragedy
That brings one sickness.
 
For these pleasant tunes,
These little words, mean nothing
Compared to the sincere mute
 
Who is the salt and light,
A lamp on a hill, shining bright.
 

​Denominations--
Branches of the same tree,
Rooted in the same core,
Illuminated by the same hope.
 
Are we different?
 
We are
Stomach, Gullet, Mouth
Crunching, hydrolysing..
Muscle, Tendon, Bone,
Moving, contracting..
Noses, Bronchi, Lungs,
Breathing, ventilating..
 
We are different.
 
But the
Same blood flows through,
Same liquid love enriches,
Same redeeming blood
Cleanses and reinvigorates.
 
We are 
Parts of the same body,
Members of the same house,
Followers of the same Lord.
 
A house standing against itself, falls.
But a house
Unified, flourishes...

​Raising hands: the worship culture,
Ev'ry week a solemn sermon,
Leads to response to the scripture,
and ends with the benediction...
 
Till the cows come home, we go through
Incessant weekly cycles: the
observance of routine rituals,
Never really knowing why--
 
Some say it's tradition, while others
hope to avert condemnation.
Is this but a religion? No,
peel off your blinds, and you shall see.
 

​I can see his footprints,
but he is worlds away quarreling with himself
even in fresh night air.
 
His eyes fall
under the weight of years of pain. Brave––
Alive.
 
He can’t hear me
in there.
Moon, illuminate the sky
and tug him back home.

​Today, I am useless––I’m calling
for rain. My eyes shun light. Yesterday
was a heart-ful––sunny, fleeting
…over.                I’m left
missing her smile.
 

​Clock-heart ticks louder.
Window-irises open wide to the light.
Wind-voice silently speaks inside my
Cloud-head that tries to keep my
Breeze-feet out of
the sky.
 

​ 
I think I saw you there.
I think I saw you…
You were the one standing at the bar,
and I was the one who didn’t want to see you true.
 
I go out willingly
with a plan to look amazing and talk to no one.
They are all just like him
—never giving fully.
I can’t wait to make him my ex.
 
I think I saw you there.
I think I imagined you.
You were the one with the blanketing warmth,
and I was the one that was shivering.
 
In another rut
a series of men who don’t deserve me
flock my way.
 
I think I saw you there.
I think that was you.
I was the one walking through the clouded city
alone and grey,
and you were the one laughing with friends
in a patch of sun.
 
No matter how I try to arm myself,
I stupidly make my way back
to hope.
 
On the train that day
I think I saw you there.
I think I saw you true.
You were the one with the briefcase
and I was the one who couldn’t look away.
 
­­
[Inspired by Railroad Phoenix, by Alicia Hoffman]
 
 

​writes letters to
my heart. my feet,
at river’s edge, slide into
moving water. my fingers clutch
branches that reach out their arms
to me as I pass.
I can’t hold on.
 
 

Soodabeh lives in Queens, NYC. She writes in English and Farsi. Her English poems have been published in different anthologies and literary magazines including Careless Embrace of the Boneshaker (GWFM) Squawk Back, Indiana Voice Journal, Sick Lit Magazine, Dying Dahlia Review, etc. She has authored and edited both scientific and poetry collections. Her most recent book, Where Are You From, is a bilingual anthology gathered from 61 poets. Her micro-poems are daily updating on her Twitter @SSaeidnia. A number of her poems are routinely posted through her weblog https://soodabehpoems.wordpress.com/ and Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/soodabeh.saeidnia. 

​There hasn't been a day for me without being asked where I am from,
since the day I dragged my broken-wheel luggage in JFK. The Uber driver -
with an Indian accent – had questioned where I am from before I told him my destination.
 
I still don't know how to explain without confusing people.
I'm not white enough to look American, can't speak Spanish to be Latino,
don't wear scarf to be a Middle Eastern, not black, nor Asian.
 
I responded to the custom officer, "You know, for sure, where Iraq
and Afghanistan are located on the map," and while he's nodding
his bald brown head, I whispered, “My motherland is somewhere in between.”
 
When I realized he hadn’t been convinced, I added, "If you watch History channel,
you may know there once was a meeting between Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin
 in 1943." Then, I turned my voice louder, "That conference was in my country Sir."
 
When I saw him to be impressed by my knowledge, I hummed,
“President Jimmy Carter once had a toast with Shah in there.” Then,
I stopped story-telling. His almond-eyes fellow said “Anything to declare
 
with your baggage?” I said no and bitterly smiled knowing that I brought painkillers
to relieve the war backache, band aids to cover my unsecured wounds,
ices to cool the burns of ceasefire, and so many books of banned poetry.
 
I swallowed my fears. “When I was born, my nationality wasn’t
an executive crime Sir, otherwise my parents didn’t decide to bring
a pre-born guilty baby.” This was never came out of my dried mouth.  
 
 

 

I am 
the core,
the heart,
the reason
that people like your lines.


Why? Test it!
Separate me from
your poems,
they'll be hollow,
corpse,
unreasonable.


Who am I?
Ah... forget about it!
I am the core,
the heart,
the reason 
for wars,
conflicts,
death ...

​

Winds come
And the sand castles
Will fall
Asleep
Dreaming to go

With waves


-------------------------
How unfortunate would be
a beautiful little poem,
composed by an old poet
who forgot to save it
on the computer
and his Alzheimeric mind!


---------------------------
The Statue of Liberty
is dwarfed
by the tower of idiocy


----------------------------
We were great sailors
until we counted on winds
and a careless crosswind
swept our dreams

​You arrived
with your broken
umbrella,
 
your new
dress dripping
green.
 
Take a stab
at being strange
again
 
and burn
a random
button off
 
my blouse.
As long as you
can still
 
catch
dragonflies in
your teeth.
 
Each opening
to you
is in season.
 
 
 

Last night I dreamt Sheila
and I
were in a plane going down.
 
Donna was sitting across
the aisle
and as we were about to crash
 
I said, I can’t die. I have children.
Donna
reached across the aisle
 
to touch my arm and said,
It’s okay.
That life was only a dream.
 

​Life is a second hand Cadillac
parked in my father’s garage.
 
I am nine in the backseat of summer,
asleep on the cushioned velour
 
after the long drive home
from Santa Cruz. I want
 
a whole house this luxurious,
a future exactly this brown.
 
You’d think I’d fallen
for wallpaper, so enamored I was
 
to sit so still in this world on wheels.
While dreaming, cats
 
curled onto the warm metal
hood as the car ticked itself cool.
 
On the other side of the garage door,
California loomed over
 
the quiet, carpeted steps
back to my moonlit room.
 
 
 

​Renee B. Drummond is a renown poetria and artist from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is the author of: The Power of the Pen, SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER, Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight-I’ll Write Our Wrongs, and Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight. Her work is viewed on a global scale and solidifies her as a force to be reckoned with in the literary world of poetry. Renee’ is inspired by non-other than Dr. Maya Angelou, because of her, Renee’ posits “Still I write, I write, and I’ll write!”

https://www.dropbox.com/s/b7djwy5mwby1p1e/DRUMMOND%20COMPLETE.mp4?dl=0

​You ‘sang’
“Why do birds suddenly appear?”
Lionel Richie proclaims
“Just to be close to you, 
well just for a moment, 
well just for an hour”
But I say’s
“when and where?”
 
‘Daze’ long to be close to you 
‘dats’ why ‘dem’ birds 
suddenly appeared
and ‘dats’ why your lyrics
follow me around.
Just like me Karen,
‘daze’ long to be 
close to you
 
‘Before’ the ‘rizen’ sun
you flew
‘cause’
The Father
charted a chorus ‘line’ (or two) for you.
I hope your small list of dreams came true,
and
you finally 
got ov’r ‘dat’ rainbow
But… 
For you…
And only for you…
 
Yeah Karen
We're still ‘takin’ ‘da’ madness
‘dat’ this world has to give
But
One ‘thang’ for ‘sho’
and
two for certain 
‘Dis’ poetic write
along ‘wit’ your lyrics
‘foreva’
‘eva’
‘eva’
lives
 
Karen Anne Carpenter
I now know why ‘dem’ birds suddenly appeared
It’s ‘cause’
Your poetic words for ‘Me’ 
were left here.
And just like me,
Karen
your scribe
longs to be
close to you


That’s why
of all people…
‘dem’ birds 
chose you
(to appear)
 
Dedicated to:  The Memory of Karen Anne Carpenter/Carpenter’s
 

Restore
that blind mans’
sight.
Give
that murderer
a second chance
at life.
 
 
Take away
those drugs.
Mature
that hooligan thug.
Feed
that crack baby.
Addiction
to bondage
minus
the subjugation
of
slavery.
 
 
Black lives matter?
Yeah right!
If not
here;
then where?
Definitely,
 in
the hereafter.
 
 
Bang; bang
shoot ‘em’ dead
an’ let
that piece of steel
be still;
and/or
“Go to Hell”
die ‘tryin’
if
you will.
 
Dedicated to: Dead is as dead does (‘piece’ be ‘steel’).
 
A B.A.D. poem
​

We heard ‘da’ noise
‘An’
We knew it ‘wuz’ George Clinton
‘an’ ‘dem’ boyz ‘jus’ getting it
Awww
We jus had to get in ‘da’ band
And y‘OUR’ band played on…
 
You played ‘dat’ funky music
white boyz
It had us ‘turnin’ round
‘SHOUTIN’ ‘an’ ‘sangin’
‘an’ ‘movin’ to your grove
‘Jus’ when it hit us
we ‘layed’ it down ‘an’ boogied
Until ‘dat’ funky music of yours
‘wuz’ no more.
And y‘OUR’ band played on…
 
We had ‘dat’ school girlz crush
Average white band
Met you in ‘da’ playground
WAITED
‘til’ ev’ry body ‘wuz’ long gone
Before long
It ‘WUZ’
A strung out crush
‘Dat’ ‘wuz’ ever so wrong
Momma said
You gotta move on
‘Dat’ what’s up!!!
And y‘OUR’ band played on…
 
 

Dedicated to: Where have ALL the bands gone?

Like
Teena Marie
My prolific pens
5ft. 3
INKS
as she
thINKS
‘Dats’ why
‘dayz’ all
‘wanna’
imitate me
I’m ‘talkin’
sqare biz
teena marie.
 
 
 
 
 
Dedicated to:
I’M LADY ‘B’ (brown, ‘dat’ ‘IZ’) TALKIN SQUARE BIZ; LIKE LADY T.
 
A RocDeeRay Poem
​

Oxygen
cut off
as he
‘swangs’
10 yrs. ol’
but
considered
a man.
Eyes bulging
from his head
sweat pouring
from his
glands.
Breath slipping
fast.
Numbness
in both hands;
Mob ‘yellin’
“Swing low
sweet chariot
no-ones
‘fennin’
to carry you
home”.
 
 
Boy’s
minds’
the last to leave
as he
FORCED
to
swing
and become
a man
from
a
 poplar tree.
 
Dedicated to: Mr.
 
A B.A.D. Poem
​

Someday I will open the door of the labyrinth of stars,
make the smile of the kingdom of heaven stun the garden of the world.
Oh, sad and happy! The obsolete plot have lossed poetry like the duplicate crown.
When the gold is transparent in flames, the solemn flower of the king blooms
you'll hear prehistoric songs that have been forgotten for too long
Oh, that past ever thee, the giant who knows hardly sorrow return riding dragon
from the top of massive tower of gold beyond the sky.

​

Every day is a dreamland , and if you see my golden palace in heaven?
Yes, many interstellar kingdom twinkle within the litttle room of stone.
The music of the giant is the honey of soul, which gives you wings of light,
Yet you are surprised at the time had never passed,
the one who wearing diamond armor yourself out of the world.

​

I miss the prehistoric days, sweetness is in my body,
and heaven and earth is own shadow.
It is not the sun that illuminates all things,
but I have a great many eyes of my souls that make tomorrow as transparent as yesterday
Above the vault of heaven there are also a great many giant cities of joy,
and those giants seems like another one of my own ,
which make me have no idea of loneliness and sadness,
however every death is a sunrise which make the oblivion of night bloom the asagumoes, 
that fragrance face of golden rainbow which make the heavens fully drunk.

​

Ten Thousand years are just a day of your soul
Maybe you are more ancient than the legendary God
And the silver city on the other planets
blooms to you on the blue smiling coast
While you dreamed about the mysterious words
and the songs of the soul from the golden heaven
which let you forget the earthly library
and the past highfalutin classics of the East and the West

​

​Carve a window in the wall of the phantom of the world
Let the rain of fragrance from heaven in to bathe the soul
When you hear the madadayo song of the angels
You will see the golden transparent skin of the earth
Your eyes will twinkle like stars
Yesteryears will disappear like clouds
A golden scepter held in your hand
Will create picturesque mountains and rivers
Transform the heavens into jade
And the sound of the dragons will help you reach nirvana
Like a phoenix spreading its huge wings.
 

​I pulled a sword out of a rose
I repelled the eternal night with a starlight
I made God retire
Return the golden stick in his hands
I carved a spell in the mask of the sky with lightning
Made the stars dance
Made the sea sweet
Made the giants return from the outer space
 

​I woke up in a dream three million years ago
I am a giant living in a prehistoric Palace
The black of today is the white of yesterday and the red of tomorrow
My future is a huge platinum city
 
The heaven of east and west gods
there are my many outer space gardens
The rolls of the gobbledygook is my favourite
is my wine of the soul in the word
 

​The author is a poet and children’s book writer who has published a poetry collection entitled ’Water falling between words’ with Austin Macauley. Her second book to be published by Pegasus will be entitled ‘Feet on unstable waters’.
 
The author is a Canadian citizen currently residing in United Kingdom. She is a graduate of South bank University London with a BA (Hons) Degree in Hotel Management and a Diploma in Public Relations, Marketing and Sales Management from Commercial Careers College.
 
Publishing credits include Pegasus, Carrillion, Onepersonstrash, Magazine, Adelaide Literary,  Aadun Journal, Austin Macauley ,United Press UK ,The Opiate Magazine,Eber and Wein Publishers USA, Forward poetry UK, The Sentinel Journal Magazine and  The Eustere Journal .

​Our spirit resided in Fantasia
Honey sweet love was our pleasure
Music in our beings
Absence from the days
Euphoria, serenity,bliss
Solitude that was our limitations
Liberty from our complexities
Floated above the ground
Adored and cherished
We are metaphysical
A blessing love’s approval
Transformed our disposition
Love is our metaphor
Unusual days, festivities ,comfort of winter
Amnesty from the influence of tomorrow
Our heart in perpetual morning light
 
 

​Loved the idea of  you
Houses in Cape Town, Houses in Tuscany
Devotion I treasure
Cherish I adore
You are love that  is my shelter, my dear
Like a ship at the seashore, my harbour
Its bliss, its you I consider
My asylum, out of me tenderness pours
Nights in Paris
Moments we conquer
Rising fountains of summer
The comforts of our nature
Tete-a-tete, the love we nurture
Laugh under the Northern Lights
Love is earth’s power
Shines ablaze  superfluous rapture
Paradise’s Emperor
Freedom is our master
Listen to the oceans
Loves is secure
I am the sun in your winter
Days pass
My loves residence in chances fire
I am home I surrender
Attached to love like my native land
 

​Moved in with a bass guitar and Burberry bags
Heatwave it was July
Spoke with an accent
She said was from New Orleans
Home of the blues, spiced oxtail and fried ribs
Her voice deep and accentuated
Skin flawless, she was summer
Brown golden highlights
Eyes like baby Barbie
Sang the blues like Aretha Franklin
Voice rippled like waterfalls
Walked silently feet turned like a Ballerina
Eyes the colour of the sea
Makes a mans heart melt
Loved  Lillies of the Fields
Desired to study Sydney Poitier
She was radiating
Tranquil, serene
Deluged by her aura
Immersed in her scent
Absolutely blooming Miss Dior
Absorbed the woman in her
Sat with her legs crossed
Her chin in her hand
She said her name was Saffron.
 

​Mask my desideratum
Submerged in your essence
I hold my breath
Mask my ferveur
Time floated
Sunlight, cumulus clouds
Classical like Mozart
Love was deep
The colour of fire
Still serene like winter at its lowest
Emotional, appealing like waves
Weakness in my essence
Fire in my core
My face to the blue skies
The milky way mirrors my complexion
Resistance failing
My spirit harmonious, nmirrored the stares
 

​Dominated my womanhood
Allowed myself to be possessed
Gave you the right to be, my love
Your scent feel your eloquence
Vital, hold my convictions
Paint a picture of liveliness
Place it as a monument
Possibilities and opportunities
Love became my trooper
In your aura,I surrender
Living amidst  your core
The meaning of my heart
Our love is prevalent
Downpour like rain in the summer
Disseminating love’s power
We are devotion
Sublime my bastion
My euphony
I sing the melody
Spinning on an axis
Full flavoured at a climax
Senses like a plague its reminiscence
Its substance like a river, it flows
Rythmn its timeless
Conquered my walls, my defences
I am vulnerable
Total submission, it’s an immersion
Mysterious we conduct our love affair