Naushena is primarily a poet but she also writes personal essays occasionally. Her work depicts sensitivity and awareness towards her surrounding. She has been published in Five Poetry, Scarlet Leaf Review, Mothers Always Write, Mamalode, Boston Literary Magazine, EXPOUND and is forthcoming in few others. Don’t Abandon Yet Stop! Don’t abandon yet You may be trapped by despair But can you stay and bet? And I dare you to bear. You are surrounded with darkness That, like a wicked witch, Allures you with all her cleverness To fall in the deep ditch Hush these thoughts of death! Life is not so easily spent You’ll soon take a fresh breath Hang on, don’t abandon yet. Sun may not be shining Sky may not be full of stars Flowers may have stopped blooming Time hath given you many scars. Let this cold wind blow Making you weak and pale Carry on, don’t walk at pace slow For it’s not far- the green vale. Soon very soon a day would come Sun will peep through the clouds, Bees will work in their sticky gum Flowers will bloom on the grounds. Morning comes after the night There’s no rainbow without rain This battle you ought to fight Life’s a name of loss and gain. So stand upon your feet and stay Your problems no one will share Endure whatever comes your way Then it’ll be roses, roses everywhere. ***
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Ben Rasnic's poetry collections include "Artifacts and Legends", "Puppet", "The Eleventh Month--A Retrospective" and "Synchronicity". Originally from Jonesville, Va., Ben currently takes place in Bowie, MD. Par Road for Joseph & Vicki Rasnic Adjacent the back nine of Cedar Hills, a split level scrolls five acres of rolling green framed by mosaic mountains to the north and west, draped in charcoal silhouettes & swirling watercolor sunsets. Orchestra of crickets simmers in the whispering wind, choreographs a shimmer of fireflies twinkling in the shadows of damp thickening air, receding into a summer soliloquy of hushed lucidity. Renee Drummond-Brown is an accomplished poetess with experience in creative writing. She is a (Summa Cum Laude) graduate of Geneva College of Western Pennsylvania and The Center for Urban Biblical Ministry (CUBM). Renee’ is still in pursuit of excellence towards her mark for higher education. She is working on her fourth book and has numerous works published globally which can be seen in cubm.org/news, KWEE Magazine (Liberian L. Review), Leaves of Ink Magazine, New Pittsburgh Courier, Raven Cage Poetry and Prose Ezine Magazine, Realistic Poetry International, Scarlet Leaf Publishing House, SickLit Magazine, The Metro Gazette Publishing Company, Inc., Tuck, and Whispers Magazine just to name a few. Civil Rights Activist, Ms. Rutha Mae Harris, Original Freedom Singer of the Civil Rights Movement, was responsible for having Drummond-Brown’s very first poem published in the Metro Gazette Publishing Company, Inc., in Albany, GA. Renee’ also has poetry published in several anthologies and honorable mentions to her credit in various writing outlets. The Multicultural Student Services Office of Geneva College presented her with 2nd prize in the Undergraduate Essay Contest. Renee’ also won and/or placed in several poetry contests globally. She was Poet of the Month Winner in the prestigious Potpourri Poets/Artists Writing Community and in the running for Poet of the Year. She has even graced the cover of KWEE Magazine in the month of May, 2016. Her love for creative writing is undoubtedly displayed through her very unique style and her work 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!” Dreamer’s Dream Dreams I started out a princess, expecting to grow into a Queen, at least, that’s what I was led to believe. Went to school trusting on A King’s dream pushed into a back of a room so my princess dreamt thereof; poetic scenes. Not ‘payin’ attention ‘cause’ those inner words protected me from THAT plight ‘An’ In my mind I could be THAT Queen! Yeah Hail to me! But… in reality, A black princess in the 60’s could never ever be Queen. Absolutely, NO hail, to the queen, Only lost poetic dreams in a systematic scheme of Dick, Jane and Spot playing royal games. While on THAT scene, I dreamt of becoming someday MY VERY OWN POETIC QUEEN Yeah, finally, Hail to me! You Have the Right to Remain Silent She said I do, to you, with his baby on the way. Eve, ain’t got nothing on this type of game She grows quietly in pain, all the while praying the DNA Reveals hubby’s genes but… somehow she knows; she knows, that’s hopelessly insane, cause she’s only been with him give or take Unsure of what to say and do, she walks around dejectedly head hung low, growing in shame. 9 months of ecstasy minus consequences, agonies, insult to injury pleas, labor pains, contractions yeah, even calling her out… by another’s last name! But hubby knows; he knows, and stays for better or for worse, calling his step-son his own. He knows; He knows And never ONCE threw her a stone. Seashell
Maya, You brought me a mighty long way, now I’ll ‘TAKE’ ‘MY’ ‘WRITEFUL’ PLACE with your style BUT, God’s grace. Yeah, I too bared my tide, hitching rides along life’s journey way without a cry in sight, because you said: I ‘wuz’ A black ocean leaping wide So I rose to your occasion justifying being black and proud. I once DARED NOT… say it loud. Yes I had a past rooted in pain Yes I too rose just the same Yes I was young grew old and wise, NOW although tired, I rise, I rise YES, Maya, I STILL RISE! Yes I come from a hut ‘wit’ misery and shame Yes I rose hard played me some awful games, came poetically correct this go ‘round’ protecting my surname from sea to shining sea. BOUND by no mans plea I rise I rise YEAH Maya, I rise within me. NO MORE LONG LONG ‘LOOOONG’ cries NO MORE bowed head and lowered eyes, for the occasion, I’ve finally decided to rise, I rise. YEAH I be free with a protective outer layer created by animals of the sea Maya, ONLY YOUR POETRY KNOWS ME! It knows me well. It protects my inner peace that surpasses their understanding within me YEAH Maya I too rose to your words and stood for none less THAT WOULD BE ME The lone Poetess. From you, and only from you, Maya, I too, ‘learnt’ to enjoy the highs as well as them low low tides. I still rise. My name is Moses Chukwuemeka Daniel, I am from Nigeria, Africa. I'm a teenage poet, I love writing and I sing too. My poems have been published in some online journals and magazines. 'Black birds in white clouds ' Odd colour, Beautifully absurd, Black balls in white eyes, Black tyres rolling white cars. Old stories, Chains and slaves, Kissing black soils, In shoes made of dust. In nakedness was his skin and eyes, In nakedness was his feet and arm, He could have killed with resentment, But his mind was never bare. Patiently he waited, Upon that bright blue sky, Knowledge was his quest, Emancipation was his desire. One day he had a dream, where black was never evil, A dream that would write history, Where black was beautiful. Sailing with excruciating pain, In the faces of strict dismay, Scorn thrown from yards away, Pitiful white faces covered in black veils. How could they have seen? How could they have heard? That there was dream, That fate was reality. Today is yesterday's tomorrow, Even black skies hold beautiful stars, Endowed in black is beyond sorrow, We are the stars that makes the night smile. Black birds in white clouds, Black stories on white papers..... #Daniel_Roars.. 'Inspiration ' A vague airy feeling, Mixed with subtle thinking, That creates crude reasoning, One transforms to a beautiful piece. it hits your heart with joy, When slippery she comes, Annexes your every thought, And waits for you to work. Emotionally you are engrossed, In the closed cages of wisdom, In your hands you harness, Like the intertwined beauty of a bird's nest. It's a hectic journey to express, Especially with one's pen, You write and write with pride, You write with sweat and smiles, Inspiration suffers in your hands, Just to behold her refined looks, She cries sometimes, Wishing she was done into something cool. Inspiration dies, When you do not realize, Dexterity is beauty, Only when you make the world see it. #Daniel_Roars The poet Sourav Sarkar was born on 10th November 1988 in Cooch Behar district, West Bengal, INDIA. He went to Jenkins school. He received graduation in English Literature from University B.T & Evening college and Post graduate from St. Joseph’s college Darjeeling in English Literature. Foremostly he is a poet and he is Writing in vernacular (Bengali language) and specially (English poems).He is also writing critics, short stories and novels. His first collection of poetry in Bengali, is “Duti Sohor o Kichu kobita”and first micronovel in English ,is“The Puri Seller”. His works appeared in national and international magazines. 12th OCTOBER Bye, bye Only thing to be done by only one sought of hand Esha takes back her hand 12th October, the day A pain wondering in her eyes It is visible More often When she departs Nothing was in her hand Face was dull Soon the smoke engine takes its rage Her hairs were fluctuating She went for a distance She often come to her motherland Having the same agony of past The day ,her mother went to heaven She also allotted that day to leave for his new residence Every year she used to come Having same desire that her mother someday Will come and take her away from the world of pain This time also she is doing same She will be doing same Until her mother comes. A PINCH OF BLISS Saturday ‘s morning Had a cup of tea Cookies were charming At launch rice and green pea Newspaper , daily Used to be read People and mockery Happens to be dealt A long day run On busy street Joker’s jugglery And some awesome treat Bliss is foul Rather fouls are bliss A prayer for mercy At ST. Augustine A fine for nothing But alkaline . A poetry dedicated to life Origin is nowhere Its beauty, we sense Fresh water flows in rivers Cold wind shrills in hills Glooms being taken away by clouds Its beauty of life, its beauty of world Moments can not be framed in hours Its endless, its abound of joy and pleasure It’s a kind of pleasure That we inhale without cost Its beauty that soothes our mind Sometime it showers as rain sometimes as frost Live, live, a life of beauty Live a life of innocence Bring up your infancy Bring up the child inside you Lose yourself in a stormy night And find yourself in blue lagoon Search for beauty of life At least one day in the month of five. |
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