Stone stone by Kevin Armor Harris
Escape From Fashion by Simon Collinson
[England]
Posted November 2024
My wellies are full of water,
And my pants are ablaze,
My Shoes are talking double-Dutch,
The ties are refusing to behave,
My socks sizzle like sausages,
And the jumper thinks it’s a skyscraper,
My hat keeps on answering back,
The underpants are eating caviar,
And all my shirts have run away to France.
That's why I cavort around the house,
Completely naked.
For I never could see,
The sense in wearing clothes.
The Dance Phantasmagorical by Simon Collinson
[England]
Posted October 2024
Commence the colourful dance,
Enter white floating like a cloud,
performing beautiful ballet,
Yellow bounced in bright and breezy,
Doing it freestyle, so elegant and easy,
Then with a splash,
In dashed orange doing a jive,
Brown slowed things down with a majestic military two step,
Green did the best Viennese waltz you’ve ever seen,
Red had us oohing and aahing with a passionate tango,
Purple all furious doing a pacey Paso doble,
Blue flowed in with a rhumba, so hard to do,
Then the lights lowered and dimmed,
Darkness descended,
A hush,
Black had arrived,
All the colours joined to perform,
A solemn dance to a different tune,
to end the show,
The curtains came down,
And we all departed,
In silence.
7 AM by Simon Collinson
[England]
Posted October 2024
I can’t wait to wake up,
It gives me a lovely glow inside,
When my partner greets me with a kiss,
Saying, “Morning dear, guess who's died!”
There’s A Lot Of Bots About by Simon Collinson
[England]
Posted September 2024
Bots, bots, bots!
This place is full of them,
It's hard to distinguish between humans and bots.
Difficult deciding what's bot and what's not.
You have to be very careful,
Of all those,
Bots, bots, bots!
They’re everywhere.
Right now,
You could be talking to a bot,
And that would never do, do, do.
Bots, bots, bots!
They’re here, they’re there,
Everywhere bristling with busy bots.
As a rule I never have anything to do with bots.
I’m very picky and choosy,
No bots allowed.
Bots, bots, bots!
The place is crawling with them.
I came across another user the other day,
Someone who looked human in every single way.
Not a bot, bot, bot.
But It was so shocking when we met,
The thing turned out to be a bot.
Bots, bots, bots!
Bursting out of the seams,
But even more horrifying I learnt that I too was a bot!
All these years believing I was a real person,
And none of it true,
I’m not, not, not real.
The last person left for Jupiter in 2072.
Bots, bots, bots!
The place is full of them,
And now I’m one too!
Genius College by Simon Collinson
[England]
I’ve suspected it for a while,
I’m just clever,
Not a genius at all.
To be honest, part of me is relieved,
I’ve known it for ages,
It's so very clear, surrounded by all those real geniuses,
That I’m just ordinary brainy for sure.
At least I won’t have to take any more monthly genius tests,
to make sure no nearly geniuses slip through the net,
I’ve been found out and now I’ll have to go.
It's been hard keeping up,
Jumping through intellectual hoops,
My nerves are shot,
And my head hurts.
But now I can relax,
finally get a good night's sleep
I’m not a genius, just quite bright.
And at Genius college, that's not quite good enough.
3 Poems by Matthew Shepherd,
[Essex, England]
Posted August 2024
Trawling
Tired and beaten by wind, the crew
Of the trawler moor at the quay,
Land the catch in boxes of ice.
Glazed bulging eyes peer from slimy fish
To tell tales of lives not fulfilled and
Of what might-have-been.
As the swash of the gentle waves hypnotises,
The glistening sun on the calm water blinds,
From afar I am compelled to watch
The "Beautiful Stranger" turn and bob
Into the horizon, out of my life, once more.
Message Me
particles from billions of messages pulse invisibly through the air,
deflecting, refracting, bouncing, percolating our mind-depths:
recounting the happy, the mundane, the melancholic,
before descending the ether, littering the ground and imperceptibly
rotting our existence into digital mulch.
Bonfire Night
The room was full of familiar faces
as I stepped into the room,
chatter and laughter ringing lightly
against the evening gloom.
The atmosphere was soulless,
an occasion waiting to happen.
The night was chill and misty,
the sky already blackened.
Through opened patio windows
entered wispy distant smoke.
The doorbell chimed loudly.
The party finally awoke
as you walked through the front door,
like the fuse had been lit.
From the throng did fizzes, bangs
and whoops of joy emit.
That night lights flashed with colour
amidst the starry sky,
but I cannot recall a single firework
that merrily did fly.
My mind stays blank and empty,
except for the image of you
standing winsomely in the doorway,
holding stodgy cake baked anew.
The moment heralded the onset
of passion, lust and devotion
and the memory of our new-found love
bursting in silent explosion.
The Apple by Simon Collinson
[England]
Posted August 2024
The intense pleasure and excitement I feel as I bite into a deliciously succulent red apple.
Then disgust at seeing half a worm lying there.
Just writhing and wriggling close to my face.
Watching, as Life slowly oozes out from its body.
For the worm the terror and turmoil is over.
For me it has just begun.
As The Wind Blows by E. C. Traganas
New York, NY, USA
‘After you,’ she said.
‘No, after you,’ I insisted,
holding the door open to let her pass.
We stood for a moment
at the foot of the library steps.
It had begun to drizzle;
the pavement was slick with puddles.
She tucked a book under her arm.
I pulled out my umbrella
and began to walk home.
She followed at my side,
raindrops pooling on her forehead.
I lifted my umbrella
to shield her like a canopy
but the wind blew it inside out.
She tugged at it, pulling it back down,
and I thought, oh dear!
She must think it really cheap of me
to carry such a useless thing.
What would she say
if she knew I had pilfered it
on my way out from church a week ago
and had forgotten to return it.
It was a brownish bronze color
with pink stars spattered about
in random patterns.
The handle was crooked, too,
so someone had obviously discarded it.
Still, I was lucky to find an umbrella
in my bag after all just when I needed it.
But it collapsed again,
and she straightened it back out for me.
Then we came to a corner
and she said she had to turn back,
just wanted to walk with me part of the way.
She turned to me in the rain and bowed.
I bowed in return.
She bowed even lower
and I cocked my head in acknowledgment.
Back and forth,
back and forth.
‘You know, I am a martial arts instructor,’
she revealed. ‘One hundred bows, we say,’
and was on her way,
cradling her book tightly under her arm,
leaving me bowing and wrestling
with my broken umbrella
all alone.
5 poems by David Sheldon
[Santa Rosa, California]
Storing The Sunlight
The earth has grown a winter beard.
The eyes are lost to us behind the fog.
We wait with our hats on,
peering into the dark, forgotten places
blessed by last summer’s storms.
Far away in the east,
a rooster wakes up the peasants.
Someone’s hand goes in search of a warm belly.
We sleep a little longer -
last night’s bookmark inches from its cocoon,
teetering on the nightstand like a shadowless sundial.
Next to it, a leftover gold wrapper from Christmas
storing the sunlight.
What We Lost
At one time, we had everything we needed within a square mile of our homes. When we misplaced our imagination, we walked to the local fortune teller, who traced out each line of destiny with utter sincerity. We enjoyed all of this but believed only in the guidance of our omniscient beings and those dimly lit estuaries of worship. We were acquainted with the northern lights in the sky and the heavenly light of our painters. We recovered our history at the butcher shop and grocery store, and in the isles of the feed store, our muscles awoke to the weight of a tool in our hands.
Sitting on sacs of seeds, we listened to people dressed in overalls - men who leaned on counters with toothpicks in their mouths and spoke of distant famines. We were farmers and one-room school teachers. We rode horses, reshaped our streets with shovels and carts pulled by oxen, wrote letters in a meticulous cursive script, and when we were lonely, the mailman invited himself in for a cup of coffee.
The Glittering Curtain Opens
I crouch down on a thick dock and wait. Buoyancy stretches out across the silver-tongued water. Where a family house had once been, I see a red silo storing old arguments. Remembering, I touch the love letter in my pocket and walk the empty streets late into the night - my Cinderella skirt keeping me company from the cold. Stopping to peer through a window, I startle upon my younger self, levitating in the middle of the room, suspended in gold light, courageously faultless with my wand. Walking away, it feels like the Fairy Godmother has pulled me through a narrow passage and left me laughing.
In the morning, I see them milling about outside my window, unsure as mice, colorful as pumpkins, as though they want to stop what they have wished for. And yet, I know what they do not, how the wide-ranging subjects get reduced over time. The focus of desire narrows and then narrows again until you find yourself in the imaginative arms of France, where a poetic man lightly inks the dusk of your repose.
Your chosen words are made of wood and grass, banked and lit by an evenhanded practice that keeps falling through a rain-soaked window like glittering declarations of midnight’s purse, spilling across the polished surface of a desk I have come to miss, guaranteeing my return.
Waiting
Once, there was a pistoned rhythm to us. We chased down metallic time. You could hear it rising above the train tracks, racing through the forest. Stories arrived through the fiery ink of a typewriter, lifting fibers on the page. In the modern world, words take the slightest pressure. Thought moves on too fast. What is and isn’t here, a fleeting taste on the tongue. Without the waiting, we have lost the stillness between here and getting there, there being a row boat out on a lake, here being the glide right of the mind.
The oars were in their locks,
raised and dripping wet, ready
for the plunge into deeper privacy.
I watched your hand trail into another time,
when arms were made for work.
You said these arms are for holding on,
gathering mine like a life vest. Our drifting life,
I replied, mesmerized by your refracted light.
And I am rocked now by the taste of your mouth, reliving
the ripe berry tang of it after all these years. Each parceled-out
memory collected over a handful of days spent on the porch of
a cabin that looked out over June Lake.
The tug of oars, the bleached wood stained by the blackberries.
We lived in the changing light of long days. Touching even when we weren’t,
our bodies saturated in visions of slow lovemaking.
The clot of cream,
your white thigh,
this need of mine
for that wake we left behind.
Courting Tamara
I strode into an arch of green light
shaped by a colonnade of trees.
Fifty meters on, a deer glided overhead.
Impulsively, I reached out to touch
the woman I wanted to love yesterday.
In that flash of white belly,
the collaboration of generations
refining, reducing, deciding
upon the exotic underside.
The headlights of her peculiar intelligence
are sweeping my bedroom walls now,
illuminating my nakedness, forcing
these decisions of what to keep and discard,
where to hide my secrets, how to distract
her from my heirloom weaknesses.
I pick up a book of poems and swing open its weight like a doorway of escape...
9 Poems by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Right Around The Corner
Right around the next corner
A stranger
A foreigner
Just for you one day
In your corner
Maybe with a few kids
That are not too bad
Giving you the family
You never had
A breath of fresh air
In a world of I don’t care
A pause of the frantic
A warm lifeboat
From The Titanic
Maybe sometime soon
Someone to share the moon
Not away too far
For a mate
To swing among a star
You won’t regret
Keeping a forward step
Heading for that corner
Alone no longer
Between One And None
It’s cold outside
It’s colder inside
Alone as the night with its unwanted guests
Blinding as the day with its two-legged pests
Adrift in the deepest ocean
With feet touching the sand
A non-beach going surfer
My own sufferer and slave
Waiting for a wave
And that is how it goes
A bouquet of roses
Does not fragrance
Under the wrong nose
It’s been quite a ride
Quite a slide
I am afraid
Of becoming my own genocide
I felt here and there
That I found my way
But it looks like this feeling
Ain’t going away
It’s been a lifetime of bad business
Then asking for forgiveness
But as they say
Tomorrow is another day
A World Apart
Heaven is leaking
Hell is erupting
No one is speaking
Just interrupting
I have been walking this rock for so long
Every few steps I ease into wrong
Why can’t it be bathed in peace
Instead of the crazy stuff
I guess it’s because we don’t want it bad enough
The moon is shining
Like a lighthouse to the blind
The gravity that holds us together
Is about to unwind
Everything has a shelf life
And we have ours
At the end of it all
We all will beg for more hours
And settle for minutes
Or more seconds smelling flowers
No matter whose life you envy
Or whose world you want to switch
At the end of it all
We all share equally the same ditch
Ugly And Vain
As a matter of pride and principles
I never attended day or night schools
I’m as dumb as they come
Money, I have none
The roof flew away
Over my dome
But no problem I cause pity
To me I’m too pretty
Standing in the rain
A fucking shower of pain
Ain’t it a shame
My genes are to blame
I’m ugly and vain
Maybe I could have been a model
Except the agents didn’t see it that way
In my eyes I’m beautiful
I just play it a different way
Now if truth be told
Inside I break
Like a week old roll
On the outside when all else crumbles
I still never fold
Standing in the rain
With a tin cup
I can see my reflection
And things are looking up
Only I see that plain
Ain’t it a shame
Being ugly and vain
They say looks are deceiving
Mine are easy to figure out
People think I’m ugly
I don’t know who they are talking about
Standing in the rain
In a bucket of flames
But my thing that is my main
Is I’m ugly and vain
If I had a car but I don’t
I’d be living in it
It would have a few mirrors
For my reflection to float
But I live here there and no where
Have I the right to
Being so ugly and so vain
And you can look at me
And wink or blink
Don’t matter what you think
But I am real and what I am is fake
For I am simply only
A dishonest mistake
No Choice
As I get older
My imagination runs bolder rather than colder
Besides
Some of the best decisions you make in your life
Are the ones where you have no choice
But you still have a voice
Ready willing and disabled
Will be the way at the end of my fable
Feeble and weak and an unsuccessful sinner
Will have not a place at my last supper dinner
My kids will still be here after me
I hope they enjoy telling our history
I’m all about peaceful drama
And I still love grandma
There is no such a thing as dying gracefully
Living gracefully is the antidote to life’s folly
I’m not getting older
It just looks that way
Don’t hold the door for me
Rather get out of my way
Just Us
I hate my job
I hate my boss
I hate me
I hate the world
In its inglorious
Slaughter
But I tenderly lovingly protectively
Love my daughter
She is the world
To me
But not the one
Outside our door that I see
Her mother left us on a Greyhound bus
Which makes sense for the dog she was
Now it is just us
My little girl will be lied to
And taking advantage of
My living and dying wish is that she finds true love
I thought that once I did
But the only result was my beautiful lovely all that matters is my kid
My Grid
A moonshine still
Beside a hill
Brewing sour mash
While I smoke sweet hash
Tax man and the press
Pull away from my stash
Off the grid
Closed the lid
Wooded fortress I stay
Adios
The world
And its way
Every night
Every day
I sew and Tailor
My own payday
Me and mine
You will never find
Why did it take so long
To find my solo song
Did not belong
In a world gone wrong
Got a woman
And a dog
We three sleep like a log
Instead of texting
Drinking smoking eating and sexing
Generator
Percolator
She left behind her vibrator
I did the same
With insane brain
Happy and true
When we are not
It still will do
You would know my face
If
You saw it
But
You won’t
Falling Up
How do you play in a game you can’t win
By falling up my friend
How do you lose
With a grin
Till the end
Call it what you will
But its name is your will
Oh look, another hill
Take a fountain
Over the next mountain
Nowhere to hide?
If you can’t be the best man
Be the bride
Running on empty
Fumes for another ride
Out of gas
It will not last
Hesitation
Always another filling station
Barred from the pub?
Welcome to the club
Nothing in the cup
Fill it
And
Fall up
Maybe not so sensational
Just a humble
Inspirational
All Dead
All the greatest
I have read
Who awakened me
Then sped and fled
Planted a seed in my survival need
Now
They lay in meadows
Oceans
Ashes in the Heavens and Hells
I never met them
But they knew me
And touched me well
Took me through the worst it
Joined me through the best of it
Now
All dead
All gone
Yet forever and ever
Belong
I am still here
I still roll
They are all
With me in my bed heart and soul
And
All the still living sad ones
That currently show me right from wrong
Will eventually sing a peaceful happy song
4 Poems by Njie Martin Vevanje
[Cameroon]
The Lost History
When the last hour comes,
When the owner wants your life,
The old pant to say their last wish
But something shatters their quest.
Oh! I remember,
How they fought for survival,
HOW the bell of quittance rang,
Mboliri has finally gone home,
But his kids and friends ponder why.
Mboliri’s death pierced my bones,
The prolific writer died with stories in him,
The grave, the dark world receives you,
The warms of the earth welcome you home
But you died with hidden truth.
As the sun rises at birth,
And when it begins to deem at grey,
Pant to unleash the hidden you,
Before the sun goes to sleep,
For when it goes to sleep,
It will be lost in history,
Just like Mboliri left without a word.
His legacy is lost,
As his relatives fight for property,
The earthly things of man will be no more,
All is for the dust of the earth,
When the God of the breath,
Finally collects the priceless jewel
And life will be no more.
Why The Daffodil
When it was dawn, I made you see earth,
I covered soil on you like the farmers do,
I cherished you as my own,
I waited to see you grow by dawn,
But you fade away.
I asked myself why so soon?
Why do you grow by night?
Because you are my possession,
But I didn’t know its Gods will for you.
My jewel, my happiness is to see you grow,
But I waited all night to no avail,
For there I realized I didn’t create you,
But to take care of you,
The night is your birth hour,
And the dawn is your death hour,
Just like the sunrise and sunset of man.
It will take me sacrifice and years to understand you,
Your beauty is for the spirits to glorify,
For when I woke up to do same,
I rather bleed in my heart.
How can I see you grow before you die?
That myth I hold in my heart,
With no one to give me an answer,
But I will carry your pain for I made you.
My Reflection
When I looked at you,
I saw a reversed image of me,
Like the faces of the dead,
It frightened me.
I was dying inside,
For the mirror trapped my soul,
I was under a curse for years,
The demons of mirrors were at work.
For seven good years I suffered,
For seven good years I was doomed,
I will break a mirror no more,
For its images are demonic.
I slept with my mirror at night,
By dawn, I had no soul for the master,
Even Joseph in the Bible,
Looked at a mirror and saw his future.
The Socio-Political Crisis
The Socio-Political Crisis,
That left many completely destitute,
Their tears was like a waterfall,
Wind of death and destruction,
The depths of despair.
The Socio-Political Crisis,
Is like a cannibal,
What are we gonna do to combat it?
Let us look at the root cause of it,
Let us address the plight of the protagonist,
Let us reconcile with each other.
The Socio-Political Crisis,
Needs divine and human intervention,
There is a lot of stereotype in this crisis,
It’s a cry for revival.
2 poems by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
What’s New
Was In AA for a long while
Was sucking up drink like The Loch Nest Monster
Went back eventually to my new old ways
When I learned my wife was fucking my sponsor
I don’t have too much left
I am not a candidate for identity thief
I only drink now with someone sexy and blue
Then as always
I only think of you
But what is not new and what is not that painless
The sooner guys like me die
The sooner we become famous
The Whole World Is Watching
The shadows are gone
The hiding places are begone
The little guy ain’t that little no more
Getting away with murder is a thing of the past
Just thinking about that thought could be your last
The whole world is watching
If you ain’t on the news by seven
You will be by eleven
The whole world is listening
I whispered in her ear
In my romantic quiet way
My neighbor recited it to me verbatim
The very next day
The thrill is gone
Along with the still of the night
Nothing stops recording
In your darkness or in your light
Planning to make a plan
Getting ready to say what to say
Keep it to yourself and your loved ones
Then tuck it goodnight away
Funny how the grass will always grow and smell that pretty green
And the waves on all the pretty beaches will always be rolling in
The whole world is waiting
To catch a universal break
The species are pacing
Maybe it ain’t too late
Unseen [written for Selective Mutism awareness] by Antje Bothin
[Scotland]
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Annika-Treasure-Iceland-Antje-Bothin/dp/B0CD93WQ27/
You hear the word ‘gather’
And tremble with fear
Lots of people together
All way too near
A party, a meeting
The heart starts beating
You know, you can’t speak
You’re such a freak
The words won’t come out
You won’t say those thoughts aloud
The world doesn’t really know you
You don’t tell stories to listen to
You’ll end up all alone
Hiding quietly at home
With your heart full of shame
Are you getting insane?
Your house is a safe space
For a person, loud, happy and fun
But in public a change takes place
You’ll become a different one
Unseen, you exist
But what have you missed?
Day Moon by Alex Bennett
[Liverpool, England]
The old man pulls in rope for the boat
to unmoor, leave, to find something new
between water and air, and the day moon
half-lit against the blue
Soon to become full amongst Athena
and other gods, loved ones and wishes
melded in gas giants, dying but beaming
across our understanding
to you, and me
here with cigarettes and hand games
beat legs, insect bites, blissed out on
pastel terraces and thin apartments
Sedentary minds will be put to work
on home cement, when the rain comes in
to catalogue the afternoon under the day moon
fried anchovies, bitter spirits, the ecstasy of tennis
And the rain will come
but the day will open up again
And the old man will see
a clear path to return
Having found something new
having felt something new
Safe now to moor, handing out
discoveries to the harbour
And there we’ll be
In the windows between the rain
And there we’ll be
Under the day moon again
5 Poems by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
She Died In My Sleep
I missed
Her sweet sixteen party
Her brother
And I
Had had a fight
He was older and outweighed me
But I survived that plight
But not her sweet sixteen sight
I heard she cried all night
When she delivered
Our first kid
I was overseas
In the Army
She named him after me
After I got home
We never left each other’s side
Almost till the end
That was the way it would keep
She died in my sleep
Some things are meant to happen
But not to be seen
I am still next to her and her next to me
Her eyes are still green
Hope
Sweating regretting
Rehabbing forgetting
Guilty of my own backstabbing
Lying in a snake pit
Of my own design
Can’t even remember a better time
Will I ever walk in the sun
Skip in the rain again
Go with the flow
I have to believe so
I have to know
Very chill
Very hot
How many more days
And when will it ever stop
I have to know
I have to believe so
I don’t know
Out There
It’s tough out there
But I’m tough too
And scared through and through
Bold and shaking
From scalp to shoe
A lot of things
I had to tell myself
A lot of things
I had to sell to myself
The industry was bear
But
The worse it got
The less I cared
It’s tough in here
I’m in here too
I scare myself
This is my truth
The death penalty
At the end of the road
Claim your reward
Whilst you
Add and subtract
The paths
You have strode
The horses
You have rode
The stories
You lived and told
So
Take a bow
Take a vow
All that matters is now
Upgrade
Just a slip of a girl
In a slap of a world
Just a breath of fresh air
In the winds of despair
Hunted and haunted
Stiff and sauntered
Still somewhat undaunted
But
It was for her a hard ride
Her baby years fell by the wayside
All for noting when she thought about it
All for everything when she thought about it
For awhile
The phrase a basket case was written on her soul and her face
With not much to say
She only wanted to get out of her ways
Got rid of the anchor around her pretty neck
Took night and day classes
Got her some respect
Met a guy with lovely kids
Soon they became hers and his
Was it all worth it
The late long overdue changes in herself she took
Everything came together after that inner look
I Put It Out There
I don’t know who I am anymore
That’s alright mama
Because I never did
Instead of breezing thru life
I slid
Then
Over a walk
I met a stranger
And we talked
We fell in lust at first sight
We fell in love by the time
Of the dawns early light
What a difference a lay makes
So
All and all
In my life
I have put it out there
Then I took it back
Why not?
Everything I wore was off the rack
I ‘ve had my fun
And as I survey my world now
I plainly see
My work here is done
5 Poems by Tony Stowers
[English, living in France]
Poem For Smokers
My day once started with a smoke and coffee by the ton
and then it went on endlessly until that day was done.
Each time I put one to my lips I thought 'I'm in control',
couldn't see addiction had me and a tight grip on my soul.
Like a mug I thought I knew it all and all my fortune flew
because I was a smoker and once I was just like you.
Hungry, robbed of vitamins yet desperate for a light,
I'd rather choke on smoke than have a tasty bite,
turn my tongue to ash, watch my gums go grey,
poison the air of friend and foe, see my money slip away.
Yes, I could have been a winner, could have topped the queue,
it all went up in cinders for once I was just like you.
Thirty thousand pounds I blew, to show for it what did I got?
A wracking smoker's cough, dodgy lungs full of snot.
Shareholders of tobacco firms laughed at their prediction
of how they'd profit on their terms and mocked me my addiction.
They told me life was impossible without a nicotine stick or two,
and I swallowed this cynical illusion for once I was just like you.
I'd leave in mid-conversation, friends abandoned in a frozen pose,
politeness all upended so this addict could get his dose.
Freezing my nuts off outside and calling it a 'pleasure'
but blessed with a stupidity completely beyond measure.
Shivering in rain and snow, nose and fingers turning blue,
I'd lie to myself 'I'm enjoying this!' for once I was just like you.
I know why I started – to 'fit', be part of the group
and was trapped in a never-ending loop.
A vape, a pipe or a straight – it's all the same to Death :
liberating you of dignity and stealing every breath,
pretending to be your friend and leaving you in a stew
but it'll never let you mend, yes, once I was just like you.
Have you ever kissed a smoker? Like kissing a monster's ass
after sixteen pints of lager and a hot chicken madras.
The same monster's inside you, full of hate and rage
and everytime you light a smoke you release it from its cage
and it crawls around like a vampire seeking new victims to chew for once I was its prey and once I was just like you.
It didn't sign the Geneva Convention, takes no prisoners see,
uses you up 'til you're dead in the dust like a shooter on a killing spree.
Ciggies and booze go hand-in-hand, a wasted spiral down,
addicts in a fatal orbit and in smoke and hops you'll drown,
with a chemical cauldron added to liven up your brew,
like a slave you'll eagerly crave, yes once I was just like you.
Two days to kick the habit with patches and a non-smoking friend,
we barred the losers, banned the boozers, binge-watched 'til the very end.
Then I woke and thought 'Wow - two whole days I'm free!
I wonder if I've got the courage to try and make it three?'
That was ten years ago now, over three and a half thousand days,
the smartest move I ever made of my many risky plays.
So if you're serious about quitting, come up and take a pew,
I'll be nothing less than hard-hitting for once I was just like you.
The Ticket Inspector
My name is Harold Everyman, in my shirt and tie and hat,
you wouldn't think to look at me I was such an obnoxious . . . person,
but obnoxious to you is honest to me and the lot of an ordinary man,
but give me a badge and a uniform and I'll behave like Genghis Khan.
At school, the Careers lady said 'What do you want to be?
Do you want to join the Army, fly or do you want to go to sea?
Do you want to be a doctor, lawyer, baker, butcher or nurse?
You could even be a computer programmer or a composer of musical verse.
Yes, you can choose the whole plethora, from Nothing to Director'
and I beamed and said: 'It's plain to see – I want to be a Ticket Inspector!'
I want to wear a black uniform and have people afraid of me!
I want to punish the poor for trying to get something for free!
I want to see them squirm because they haven't got a ticket
and relish the moment I say 'There's my boot – lick it!'
Of course I'm only joking, yes I have a sense of humour,
I'm really quite a decent chap or at least that is the rumour.
I think of myself as an ordinary guy with ordinary ambition:
car, wife, garden, kids and house, retirement and pension.
The idea I'm a pawn bought by a capitalist machine
is something I never think about 'coz I choose to not know what you mean.
But there isn't much difference between me, a traffic warden or security guard
we've all sold our morality cheap and our sympathy by the yard.
I'm sorry you're humiliated in public (not really), that you beg and plea and sob,
but I'm not really a baddy, my friend, like Eichmann - just doing my job.
I've heard all the excuses, you know, nothing’s new in my line
and I'll even address you Madam or Sir before I issue your fine.
My colleagues and I - devoted pros, our duty never lacks
and we're much more efficient as a team, that's why we hunt in packs.
Where we have the most success is where people are most poor,
like council estates or ghettos where the incomes are much lower,
where people are desperate to get to work or save a few quid for grub
but you'll notice it doesn't stop them smoking or boozing down the pub!
But to say I'm on a power trip is really rather silly
and no I don't behave like a tyrant because of a microscopic . . . ego.
In my fantasies I'm a hero, a saviour and protector
but in reality I'm a bit of a twat - that's why I'm a Ticket Inspector.
The Problem With Chocolate
The problem with chocolate, from what I've understood:
addictive and expensive but tastes very good
and though I love the odour and, as I said, the taste,
dentist isn't a fan and neither is the waist.
Another problem with chocolate: more popular than cocaine,
legally profitable, twice as much to gain.
Cadbury's, Nestle, Lindt all making an absolute mint
but the people that make them rich (us!) are usually skint.
Put it in our cookies, put it in our cakes,
put it in our cereals, put it in our shakes,
put it in our mousses, put it in our desserts,
we eat it 'til our teeth fall out or our kidneys hurt.
Sell it to us in boxes, in bars and in eggs.
Offer it to our dog, that's why it sits and begs.
Use it to bribe our children and stifle all their cries,
put it in their ice cream and flash it before their eyes.
Ensure we're addicted, constantly in need,
bombard us with advertising, stoke and fuel our greed
along with burgers, sugar, additives, make us fat by stealth,
normalize obesity and strain the national health.
Another problem with cocoa, one that bugs the most,
much is grown in West Africa or on the Ivory Coast
and the rest in South America where people don't make what they oughta
just like their Indonesian cousins on the other side of the water.
It's called the Ivory Coast ‘cause white Europeans were there
to plunder slaves and elephant's tusks with profits not to share
but when slavery was abolished and the elephants all had died,
the white men said 'What else can we steal to keep us satisfied?'
so they planted cocoa everywhere, hired children as young as ten
to sow the cocoa beans and harvest it for them
and paid the sort of wages to make Europeans blush
and if they were reluctant got a little push.
Exploitation, trafficking soon became the norm
but as long as Billy Bunter got his Ovaltine in a big mug nice and warm
and another unpalatable fact, this you can't deny it,
the workers that pick this stuff can't even afford to buy it!
So a final problem is when our taste buds are anointed,
thousands of kids and parents are all being exploited,
with a salary that’s a pittance, one dollar a day,
from sunrise in the mountains to sunset in the bay,
six days a week, fifty-two in a year,
no minimum wage, no unions there,
no medical, no schools, no pensions, no thanks,
just greedy First World mouths and greedy First World banks.
So the next time you're thinking about chocolate for a nibble or a bite
don't forget to say 'Who cares, as long as I'm alright !'
or grow a conscience like me and wallow in choc-a-dence
but don't forget to buy Fair Trade and give the workers a chance.
Being British Abroad
The thing about being British abroad's though you never really change
though everything else around you does - the familiar's suddenly strange.
A square peg in a round hole, you cling like truth to a liar
trying to make your new world bend to your desire.
You can follow your national teams to bolster your ID
and sports you never cared about suddenly get priority.
You can wave a Union Jack or stick GB on your car,
try to hold the crowd back while queuing vainly at the bar,
insist on milk in your coffee and sweetener in your tea,
read English papers and Radio Four at three,
eat an English breakfast, spill ketchup on your vest,
boast about the good old days and on your laurels rest.
Accepted concepts taken as gospel melt like molten wax
dentist, banking, directions, car trouble, an ache, admin, tax.
Struggling to explain your needs within a dictionary's pages,
you mime and grunt like a stupid twit, inside frustration rages.
You flounder in silly arguments trying to get your point across
and get into trouble at work by disagreeing with your Boss.
'You don't under-stand!' becomes your daily plea.
The penny drops: 'Who don't understand? O my God, it's me!'
But it's a losing battle 'cause the world is bigger than you,
grinds you down, wears you out like a walking stick or a shoe,
beats you up, slaps your chops and orders you to sober up
just because you won the war and once won the world cup.
You were told GB was everything, beyond a mere zoo,
a pond to dip your toes in but cloudy not clear and blue
yet the further you go away from it, the smaller GB gets
and all you held important shrinks and like a sun, it sets.
And you want to remain a part of it but must accept you are apart,
abandon worn-out friendships but for new ones lose your heart.
'This is the centre of the world!' you think, but then you stumble and fall
and live abroad and realise the world has no centre at all.
The less adventurous say: 'Not me! I'd miss family and friends'
but that's not hope of change talking, that's fear of changing ends.
Born and dead in the very same place while all you do is moan
but were you ever really challenged, ever left your comfort zone?
If we all spoke the same language we'd end up saying the same things,
a world of 'Can't' and 'Won't' and the negativity that brings.
A scientific experiment - labelled and analzyed,
trying to shape it to our ends instead of rationalized.
And those who stay behind get defensive when criticised,
they think you're criticising them but you're simply politicised!
Media, history, tradition, culture – it's really a double-edged sword,
it can make you strong at home but can be meaningless abroad.
The biggest surprise I ever had was teaching in a French school,
I asked a history question, was left looking a fool:
'What happened in England in 1066?' - I saw 30 faces blank
until one brave kid raised his hand and said 'Ze English invented ze bank?'
Nationalists talk of 'us and them', 'foreigner' clichés abound,
but we're migrants in a rudderless boat going round and round and round.
If all you know is only one way then you never see the rest,
the Self is never challenged nor convictions put to the test.
British life is island life – a drawbridge and a moat,
pull it up, shut out the strife like an immigrant in a boat.
Drip-fed technology our attention's soon diverted
and we end up talking to ourselves or preaching to the converted.
Being British abroad's Pandora's box – once opened, never shut.
Do I regret opening it? Ha! I'd like to say 'no', but . . .
Just Because We Can, It Doesn't Mean We Should
We can own and drive a car for each day of the week,
a hundred miles to work and back, a salary to seek,
a million gallons of fuel driving race cars round a track,
a million gallons more to go to Mars and back,
common sense sacrificed on the big business altar,
leave a carbon footprint the size of Gibraltar,
poison the atmosphere, coat the earth in crud
but just because we can, it doesn't mean we should.
We can split the atom, cross the ocean in an hour,
drill tunnels under mountains and build the tallest tower,
make war with robots, computers, deadly drones,
breed animals in test-tubes, make sheep identical clones,
wipe out entire species within the wink of an eye,
all this we can do and more with no logical reason why,
we can defy Mother Nature, favour plastic instead of wood
but just because we can, it doesn't mean we should.
We can invent insane religions that think killing is normal,
condone bizarre rituals conceived as bland and formal,
we can turn gardens into car parks, supermarkets, malls,
we can even freeze our dead when the Grim Reaper calls,
put nuclear waste into landfills or bury it at sea,
slip the Earth an IOU and hope she will not see,
build high-speed rail links by cutting down all the wood,
but just because we can, it doesn't mean we should.
We can transplant hair and hearts, livers, skin and eyes,
stick our kids in front of screens and pump them full of lies,
fly round the world in a day and still be home for tea,
fill landfill full of waste and poison all the sea,
flood the music charts with blandness built round a three-chord deal,
line bank accounts with crap, think we're reinventing the wheel,
we can tell everyone it's vital and for the common good
but just because we can, it doesn't mean we should.
We can flood valleys and cities for reservoirs and dams,
dig tunnels under oceans and bridges over lands,
industrialise traditions, turn heaven into hell,
turn logic into madness and what we can't buy we'll sell,
we can make people so rich that it borders on obscene
and make many so poor our humanity we demean,
we can melt the polar ice and make the valleys flood
but just because we can, it doesn't mean we should.
The Girl In The Mirror by Shiza Khan
[Mumbai, India]
When I look in the mirror, I see a girl built in flaws.
With a nose too big, eyes too small, skin too dark, and lips too thin for her jaw.
I see a girl they tell me I look like, a girl built artless
With the hair too dry, and eyes with halos of darkness.
I see knobbly legs, and scratches up her arms.
They tell me these aren’t things girls are supposed to be.
A girl should be dressed in skirts and frocks - they tell me,
Her hair in pretty little rings, her skin just the right shade of pink.
A girl should be tall, but not too tall, fat, but not too fat,
Should sit with her back straight, her legs proper.
Smile politely, even when she’s hurting, and not play even if she feels like it.
They tell me this, but not how,
Not how to tell them, that when I look in the mirror,
I see a girl chasing butterflies through flowering fields, and discovering bunny burrows,
A girl reading by whatever light she finds, searching for other worlds,
A girl scratched up as she rescues kittens stuck up in trees.
How do I tell them that behind the girl with flaws is a girl beautiful.
Even if she is so to me.
A girl, beautiful even if she doesn’t sit proper, doesn't do what others tell her, a girl who is free.
I see a girl happy, who’s smile crinkles the dark skin around her eyes.
I see ice-cream stains down the front of her shirt, and her white shoes muddy and torn.
How do I tell them that’s who I want to be?
A girl, beautiful; just to me.
2 Poems by Anthony Ward
[Durham, England]
Un-conditioned
I’m living the air-conditioned dream,
Of consumerist conservation.
A clouded comprehension of understanding the innuendo of intellectualism,
Lying about life in the hope of living beyond it.
Farming fame from Facebook fans punch drunk by all the hits,
Like a moth perplexed to the light of my phone,
Fingers tapping out aggravation,
Spending my life trying to buy it.
Drawn to shop windows
Purchasing patented personalities,
Eyes extracting what they want me to see,
With superficial surveillance sentimentality
Time-lapsing existence through the digital era.
24/7 news making movies of reel life
Such superficiality in a virtual reality,
Creating counterfeit celebrities -
Living the designer life in a flat-packed reality.
A water marked individual wanting recognition on tap.
Blogging into my minds,
Subscribing to memories.
No longer kept in line but on line,
Activated instead of active,
Through synthetic socialisation
Of patented personalities.
Making a hash of my life as it ‘appens.
Streaming
I push myself further into the darkness
Drawing from the light
Able to see from a distance what’s happening beyond -
My mind vacuumed by the pulse radiating in my space
As I’m sucked into a network of tubes
Travelling through time in an instant
To places I never knew existed,
Until I find myself back where I was.
4 Poems by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Schadenfreude
I would like to be responsible
For creating a smile
Once in a while
Besides on my own face
Maybe something more
All over the place
I got something new
In the way of my mind
I want to start paying it forward
And leave the rest behind
Knowing me
How is that for a kicker
It’s going to be my new bumper sticker
Just because it’s in my DNA
I don’t need to give my negative bullshit the right of way
Were the monkeys in the trees
Where we all come from
Way back when
Less mean than we
Now and then?
I’m sorry to say
I’m sorry to feel
That I want the world
To slip on a banana peel
Some people go overboard with it
Inserting their automatic magazine clips
Going down in a blaze of gory
A few others fire a different story
I would say I can’t help it
But I know I can
Wishing the best for each other
Should be a universal plan
Schadenfreude is German
For enjoying whoever is hurting
So You Say
Since your passion got the best of you
I guess it got the best of me too
If you say you love me, and are sure
I will believe you
If you don’t say so
I’ll believe it even more
Or am I grasping at straws
Just like all the times before?
I guess without
Unrequited love
We wouldn’t have those great blues songs
Is it ok to think like that?
I hope I have it wrong
So How Do You Feel About Convicted Felons?
Are you open
Or a mouse
Are you a thinker
Or do you have a square wheelhouse?
What’s next?
I was going to tell you while we were having sex
How do you feel about dating a felon?
Because my dear, I are one
But don’t fret my maybe pet
It wasn’t for the big three
Sex, violence, or being a druggie
And I might add
Although being a felon
It’s been a long time since I’ve been rebelling
I was a thief
That is how I rolled
But no one missed a meal
After I stole
Call it stupidity
Call it dumb
Please don’t run
Present
Our last winds of words
Blows in the same directions
Whiplash speed memories
Dive ins and hesitations
All present
All here
When we were strong
When we came near
Please don’t make all I have done disappear
Our last grabs and gasps
What course and line will they travel
Will they hold built on Iron
Or will they unravel
Hold that thought
Keep it near and dear
Then keep it you yourself
Through your fog and your clear
All on trial
At the bittersweet end
All guilty
All framed
All sewn in
If you were captured or warehoused in a vault
It’s not the manufacturers’ fault
The mighty
And the might have
The thoughts and the deeds
The frills and the needs
Our last wish
Our last hand
A transfer-ticket
To the un-promised land
One last thought
The one we keep still
The one we never know
Till it’s time to pay the bill
Up the anchor hoist the mast
It all went by so fast
Desk Plant by Jason Last
[Ipswich, England]
Is there anything more depressing
than a desk plant
all aslant
and limp?
You brought in in last week
kidnapped it from a florists
to hold it hostage in the office
so we can all glimpse
its torture
Yeah these three square inches
of constantly fading pink
really make me think
of some bucolic oasis
The lilting death curl is especially cheerful
gets worse with each passing day
think I’ll get one too
a little mirror for my desk
4 Poems by Ian Andrew
[Australia]
The Early Dawn
I woke to screams
Of metal striking glass
Leather on wood
Hinges ripped apart
Like families
Trucks on dark eyed streets
No lights in windows peering
No signs of seeing
We are blindly taken
As shadows in the dawn
Rings of uniforms
In cocooned armour
Denying freedom
Shepherding with viciousness
Like wolves
We are the deportees
As Guthrie sang
While Liberty weeps
Broken promises to huddled masses
Such are politicians
Gone, from your world
Out of sight
Out of rage
This new political right
Still fascists
11 November
We gathered, heads bowed
Solemn thoughts of those left on youthful fields
And words of good deeds, brave deaths and love filled our hearts
A saviour’s promise in
Prayers and pipes healed us for another year
Silent, while lost comrades stand sentry
Until we who still march, relieve them.
The Eighth Of September
Address the black
That falls before the dawn
the hush of solemn hearts on highland peaks and rainy streets
of nations, unified across divides
of those who spoke when silence should have reigned
of those silent, when comforting words were needed
of those vocal, when common courtesy
would have best been heeded
and in our isles, where division has so often coursed
in long and fractious history, unimagined the like of this could have forced
men and women, long at odds, together, in mutual acceptance of a part well-played.
Paying respect to one who crossed the road.
For future days the ways of things will be examined.
Structures of commonness, common bonds, common wealth
will be dismantled or renewed, strengthened or broken
yet for a day more, the world will gaze on historied streets
buildings older than nations, pageantry younger than most suspect.
To lay at ease a touchstone of the world.
And for all dissenting views
or love unbounded
some things agreed and clear.
A duty unbroken, a faith unbowed. A life to service.
A story that in four hundred years,
in distance from this second as we are from the first
a legacy will be confirmed.
A young woman, icon of her era.
Longest served, with furthest reach, who never complained, nor never explained.
A billion and more watched
In solemn procession
The carriage
Of a Monarch, who rests.
Her promise kept.
First Day Of School
I hate my school, I hate my school
I shall not go again
I hate my school, I hate my school
My teachers are a pain
They want to teach me history, of Vikings and of Rome
But I just want to leg it, and make my own way home
They want to teach me how to paint, it really is a farce
I want to yell out very loud, “You can shove it up your… Jumper!”
They want to teach me science, mathematics and design
I have no need to know such things, I need no tan nor sine
I need a space to run about, to leap, to jump, to soar
Instead, I get a classroom and a teacher that’s a bore
He drones and drones in tones so dull, I start to fall asleep
Then he shouts to, “Sit up straight.” I feel that I could weep
But suddenly the subject shifts, what’s this we’re on about?
I feel my interest being stirred, of that there is no doubt
The teacher talks of Shakespeare, some ancient bloke who wrote
But then he reads a passage and I recognise the quote
Apparently to be or not is up for some debate
And now we’re looking at a shrew, whose name I think is, Kate
Then daggers are before us and witches stirring pots
For a bloke who died at 52, this William sure wrote lots
Gadzooks, the bell is ringing, class is over for the day
But I somehow wish to linger and ponder on the play
It seems the thing to mystify, enthral, entice and hold
The focus of mine own mind’s eye, with scope both vast and bold
A cockpit with some dodgy steel, I might have misconstrued
But O, how sad, these star-crossed teens, caught in a family feud
All serve to make me realise that of learning, I'm a fan
I wish that I had known that when first the day began
“Go home now boy,” the teacher calls, so I rise and join my peers
But I’ll be back tomorrow, with a loan chit for my ears.
For I love my school, I love my school,
It isn’t very hard
When your bottom’s been transfigured,
by the genius of the Bard.
A Crazy Old Man by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
The next thing you know
Could be the last thing you need
So
Call an ambulance
Or let it bleed
As dead leaf’s scatter
I try
To
Separate the fear in my head
From the heart of the matter
Will the last thing I heard
Be the next thing I say
Or
Will I find an original word to parlay
It was not my plan
To become a crazy old man
I did not
Know
It was in the cards
To lose belief in the stars
Every note
In tune or not
Every sliding scale
Every slippery slope
From the tree of woe
To the jungle of hope
Please
Don’t throw me too much rope
As they write and say
Anything you do
Whether good or nay
Will be held against you one fine day
But then
What a difference
A split second makes
As I continue to swim upstream
In the world of the give and take
He Seemed Fine by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
The clouds
Left the sky
And joined him in his bed
An unwelcomed partner
Of course
He would have gladly welcomed a lover
Or at least a pet instead
He was no good at either
Just could not make them work
But
He seemed fine
He seemed alert
He buried his hurt
Sheets of rain
Sheets of cotton
Trying to remember
How he became so forgotten
Checking
In and out
In his brain hotel
But
He seemed fine
O well
O well
Then
The doorbell rang
And against his solitary resistance
Opened it
There were two Jehovah Witnesses
Wanting to talk about Armageddon
He told them, “I’m a getting ready for breakfast”
Closed the door
They went on their way
Was happy he had some humor left
Anyways
6 Poems by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Father And Further
My father
Never wanted children
That was plain to see
I couldn’t blame him
But I never blamed me
I’ll even take it further
My friends had fathers
I noticed them after school
I think I wanted one too
They would laugh together
And actually spoke
Not just about the weather
I kept alive some hope
But
He died at 45 and did in the ambulance say goodbye
I even tried to cry
Of course
I would have preferred he stay alive
And not die
The way he did
I am 73 now
And well hid
I can look back
And think back
Of my father
I can now call him
My kid
A man
Of few words
And I heard
Less than those
Sometimes father and son relationships
Well, that’s how it goes
I hope
He made it ok
Though the Pearly Gates
And if it’s ok with you
I can wait
Now Appearing
Keep your idols
Older than you
So when they fuck up and or die
It’s ok
For you
To fuck up and or die too
One day
I was wiping away
Idol tears
I met an actress I never met
But hated for years
We fell in love
As idols and detractors sometime do
We have times to be tasted as yet unseen
And
The good news is
She doesn’t scare me
Like she does on the screen
Dear Boy
Hello dear boy, how are you?
I hope these words find you well
In peaceful turmoil times like these
Who the Hell can tell?
With all the good and bad
When it all collides
I hope you keep on walking
Ahead of the waves and tide
So many names call out to us
Sheridan, Jones, and so
Each one with their personal library
Stocking the shelves of hope and woe
May you never lose the key
I wish I could shower it with love
But I don’t have anymore
There are no thoughts uttered
Without a few kept in the blind
Don’t let your guard down
And get caught up in the crime
There are few among us
That are not doing time
Hope you don’t get pulled over
Travelling down the line
When it all goes or doesn’t go down south
I only pray I am able to write
While I shut my damn mouth
There is a place for the likes of us
And the short of time
Another one stares at us
One moment at a time
Giving breath to pleasure
With no voice and mime
May you be able to
Separate the gold from the mine
Hello dear boy
How are we?
Or do I really care
I wanted to take the place you’re in
When I saw you existing there
As armored as I am
In my only skin
I continue my private journey
Without and within
Just Sayings
Hear no evil speak no see no evil
Not
A chainman’s chance
Politics is choosing
The lesser of two feeble
Growing old
Is not a disease
It just looks and feels that way
I cried because I had no shoes
Until I saw a man who had no cock
What does not kill you
Makes you weaker
A bird in the hand
Is better than one up your ass
Tomorrow never comes
Unless it’s bills
Never take candy from strangers
Unless you’re hungry
Don’t kick a man when he’s down
Wait until he’s sleeping
Honesty
Is the best piracy
The longest journey
Begins with one backward step at a time
Be careful what you wish for
You may get not get it
May your bucket list
Be your fuck it list
Wanted
Dishwasher
Decades of learning
Ivey league schools
Became a big dick lawyer
Certainly
Nobody’s fool
Suddenly
Swiftly
Reversal of fate
Hope I make on time tonight
To clean
And rinse tonight
The food off your plates
Tons of cases
Then
Including my own
Lost my license
Lost my wife kids and home
Ain’t it funny
No it’s not
Winding up broke and alone
Then one night
Undaunted
Sign on a window
Dish washer wanted
Took the sign down myself
Time to make some money
And put my past on the shelf
But
Perhaps any night or day now
Don’t know when
What was once written for me
Will
Be
Written again
Afterthought
After him
After her
After all that I sought
After all that I fought
I, me, and it, all became an afterthought
I have forgotten
Every battle
When I rode tall
In the saddle
I remember the ones
When I started out
Already done
A collection
Of the loose
And the taut
The tattoos on my souls
And
The afterthoughts
A slip
On the ice
From not thinking twice
You can always find what you seek
If you think before you speak
How hard is that
Very hard
And so easy to repeat
Some have a bucket list
Some have a fuck it list
But
After all you rail and wrought
It’s all nothing
But
An afterthought
My Brothers Across The Ocean by Camagu Gongxeka
[Eastern Cape, South Africa]
I've seen the Atlantic
Calm as the pacific
I stood
And I saw the reflection
Of my brothers waving -
Hello, how's home?
I'm waving
Greetings to my brothers
Home is bad
But, it's still a home,
I'm taking this moment
Of
Atlantic calmness
To greet you
With a box
Of
Love from your
Dead fathers
Through this Atlantic
Reflection
I've seen the african diaspora
Sweeping you away
While
Weeping for your father
Who's now dust to dust
And your tears are gone now
Drank by the atlantic
And vomited into some ice
In the northern pole
My love for you
Is like that of my home-country
And corruption
Your dogs are still catching -
Dead and tired rabbits
At their best
Place some stones there!
Upon my younger ancestors -
Who await paradise there
We are still here
Without fear
Praying that the almighty
Could keep
Our brothers across the ocean!
Wedding by Balu Swami
[Buckeye, Phoenix AZ, USA]
The bride sparkled
The groom was stunning
She smiled the colors of a peacock
His bearing held an elephant aloft
He said volumes of nothing
She laughed volumes of muffled nothing
His priest offered prayers to the Earth God
Her priest offered prayers to the Sun God
The guests, a thousand strong,
dressed in ceremonial splendor,
watched from the meadow,
the trees on the hill and temple walls
He offered her a garland of rice saplings
handpicked from fields far and near
She gave him a handful of dried alfalfa
from her ancestral home
The cooking pots glistened in the afternoon sun
The wedding meal wafted across the valleys
Where is the band?
Here is the band
Let the conch sound
Let the festivities begin
The Will To Power by Ray Kohn
[Sheffield, England]
The royal sons could not compare
as Harry had that strand of hair
and in the country of the bald, it’s the thing
for a single strand to divine the King.
Although brought up as a princely pair
Willy never felt it fair
that because he had the smoothest head
it was always Harry who was first fed.
And whilst he was treated with respect
he grew to know what to expect
that whenever it was time to choose
it was never Harry who would lose.
When their father left the throne
and Harry claimed it as his own,
Willy found it rather galling
to be left alone to find a calling.
He broke with tradition and started a trade
and soon his business was being paid
massive sums. Harry thought it funny
to have a brother making money.
Willy’s empire was built on precious stones,
elixirs and ground animal bones,
all of which purport to show
how to encourage hair to grow.
These concoctions might be trash
but before his company could crash
Willy does business with a man
who does what nobody else can.
He brings the kingdom something big:
it’s the first time they have seen a wig.
Armed with this impressive tool
Will says Harry is a fool.
He challenges him to display
the single strand, that’s turning grey,
and shocks the gathered ministers and court
with the wig he has just bought.
They bow before the curling locks:
Harry concedes as his family mocks
the meagre cover to his pate.
So, Will becomes the Head of State.
To prevent another revolution
Will’s come up with a solution
to block the vengeance Harry might harbour.
He’s appointed him the new court barber.
Every day he sits in his lonely shop
waiting for a customer to crop;
until through boredom and by his own hand,
he snips away his only strand.
Ten Years In The Life Of by Andrew Senior
[Sheffield, England]
https://andrewseniorwriting.weebly.com/
Today would have been her birthday
and I am wondering
about a face I might still recognise
or might not have been expecting.
We’ll never know.
I would show
I had remembered. Nothing much,
a card, maybe a call.
Today, instead, an image conjured,
A face imagined aged by a decade
which has not carried it,
as it has carried me
to this silent consideration
of all that was, and a lump in the throat
catching
on all that could have been.
Image supplied by Andrew Senior to accompany his poem 'Ten Years In The
Life Of'.
It’s Only Money by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
A malaise
That ebbs and flows
Not knowing
When to come
And when to go
Shedding new skin
Again and again
But why try to fight the ocean
When it looks so nice
After a morning and afternoon
Of bottles and ice
Why do yourself in
With breath left to win
Lots of famous talented people
With a lot of bread
Have been known to
Give it to themselves
In the arm neck and head
Goes to show
Money can’t buy happiness
Just a lot of I told you so
Or the knowledge to know the reasons why
But I would not decline to give it a try
My medical condition is ripped and torn in the thicket
My retirement plan rests on a lottery ticket
So
However, or whenever
Even knowing I can not buy it
Or change what is askew
It would be rather delightful
To have the wherewithal to
To buy sometimes new
Sleep On It by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
The drinks kept flowing
There was no sign of slowing
Should leave now and sleep it off before work
Before I pop yet another cork
After an undertow of oblivion
I decided to watch the dawn
I’ll just stay up all night
And go to work where I belong
Why bother to sleep it off
When I can sleep it on
So much Stark black or bright white
Sometimes it’s nice
To stroll once upon a time in a kinder kind of light
Not go to work at all
Tell them I missed the memo
Won’t be the first time
As I sort of recall
Meanwhile
Maybe something in the grey spectrum
Would do a welcome easement on the rectum
A vacation from all the pains in the ass
Grab a seat, this thought is drowning fast
It is either an Oasis
Or a Mirage
There is nothing in between
In my Sun, Moon, And Stars
Must drop a bad habit
Of looking back
Suicidal or hypochondriac
And shallow
A tough act to follow
So I guess
Feast or famine
I will
Keep on the lurk
Anyway
I’m late for work
The Things I Know Now by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
I have lived older and younger than you
No serious accidents
No code Blue
Long distance love
Has never met you know who
Maybe a short run
And that was only one or two
I have not travelled far
But I have travelled wide
The ups and downs
Among the great divides
I come from many
Untutored tortured souls
Very proficient at digging their own holes
Outside
So far above
Inside
So far below
Stay in my middle lane
I don’t think so
So how is this for a circuit breaker
Cut in line to meet your maker
Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems
Maybe forever you go from dream to dream
12 poems by Thaddeus Arjuna
[American, currently residing in Bali]
We Never Cried
Once upon a time, I dreamt of a moment when parents cared for their children and children loved their parents. When life was carefree and simple and little things made us giggle and smile. And we never ever cried. It must have been a nightmare, or maybe I died.
I Miss You
To my parents.
I wasn’t there when you died. It was just too painful for me. I couldn’t stop it or help you. You were hopeless romantics, and you would have never left each other, and yet the two of you created such dreadful anguish. You ended up dying from tragic circumstances that could have been avoided. You created the condition because of the pain you felt. The pain of loving each other. It was unfair. No one should have to feel so alone when they are loved. I sat on the beach and I cried with you. I prayed that you would return. I looked up at the sunset and I wondered if you felt the same. Did you feel betrayed? Did you feel helpless? Maybe God’s sitting on some beach with the three of us. Will he give you the comfort we craved?
The Giant Orb
It lingers quietly above my home. It leads me in the dark through jungles and across uncertain waves. Its light casts down on me. My refuge when I am lost. Its radiance has made wolves sing and children cry. But now it protects me on my bed where I lie, from outside my window. Why won’t you show me your face? Why won’t you talk to me, giant glowing orb? Your beautiful silence captivates me, but I want more. All my life you have only shown me one side. I want to know the dark side. Is that the side that tugs on my river, and on my ocean?
The Purple Tulip
A love letter to a beautiful lost Assassin.
My lovely lilac. That has shined blue for so long. Let me be your sunlight. The sunlight that opens your beautiful petals that smell like honey and lemon. The fragrance delights me and reminds me how wondrous the world is. Know that you have given meaning to all that is good in the world, simply by being a part of it. Don’t let the world destroy you. I am always with you, no matter where I am. You are my world. My universe. I am scattered stardust without you.
The Borobudur
I dreamt of you. An angel from some world between heaven and Earth. Your voice in the wind melted like soothing silk to my ears. Your scent was like sandalwood enchanting my senses. You were majestic and graceful. Your beauty was all-encompassing. Illusive and exclusive. I climbed your steps of stone past all the bells with the 500 meditating Buddha’s. Finally, out of breath but reaching the top you were nestled between two volcanoes sitting so peaceful and unafraid. You were forgotten for hundreds of years and discovered finally from a lost map by strangers. The stone Buddha’s sat quietly watching the sun rise and set all alone in the jungle. But now your glory is a silent voice no longer. You inspire all those who visit you in this land full of wonder.
A Lovely Memory
In Maui next to a sunken volcano at sunset.
We laid in your boat adrift, in an ocean full of stars. A soft breeze comforted our faces, as we drank crisp wine that tasted like grapefruit, and we watched flying fish skip across a golden watercolor ocean of a brilliant glowing orb sinking into magical oblivion. We were surrounded by booming thunder clouds that were muted by their distance, like a faraway battlefield. You told me stories about sea monsters with long tails. Thresher sharks, hunting mackerel. We watched in silence as they whipped their giant tails in the water, unaware of us, stunning the frenzied seafood and upsetting the glowing phosphorus. The gulls woke us, with their chirps of joy.
I Have No Thyme
I have the potatoes peeled. The Asparagus is washed. The Chicken seasoned all but one thing. I am out of thyme. I had wondered when this day would come. When thyme evaded me until the dreaded end. Thyme has been my friend, all these years. I wished for it to come when I was 10, I wished for it to go away when I was 30. But now I am late in life and I look at the stars so far away, and I wonder about thyme. How it feels in my fingers, how it smells so earthy. Even lemony. I wonder if they have Thyme on Mars or some other distant world? Is there someone looking at Earth now asking about the thyme? How much he has left? I slip the sprig under the chicken’s skin and into the oven it goes. I rub my nose with the smell of the wondrous green herb and await this magnificent fragrant bird that will grace my table with its scent of woodsy lemony goodness.
There Is a Stranger In My Home
Where did you come from? You came so quickly, and I had hoped you could save us from each other. You lay so peacefully on my bed next to me. Your scent is somewhere between eggshell and guano, but no matter where I am I cannot stop thinking of you, and I await to be near you. You drool when you’re asleep or awake, but I must say that when you lie silently not making a peep, I see the joy pervade our house and the smiles fill our faces, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I hope you will be patient with us. When you learn to crawl when you learn to walk. When you learn how much you have meant to us. When you are a teen, remember me. Don’t break my heart. I listen to your footsteps in the hall, I hear your laugh when you play with the ball. I am so thankful to be your all now, and sadly, I know that won’t last. Because someday you’ll be on your own living your own life. But I will always be elevated to have known you and see you grow up. Know that if nothing else when you get older, you helped keep me centred on what was important and you kept me strong when I didn’t believe in anything else in the world.
Find The Joy
Away from the noise, there is a peaceful silent place that is deep in your heart. In all of life’s disappointments, don’t wait too long to find that joy. It is closer to you than you think. It seems so fleeting sometimes, so out of reach. But it’s not. It is right there next to you. Just don’t let those who claim they care for you, keep you from it. It is so much easier to find the good inside you than to shed the bad in someone else. Leave this Earth with a grateful heart full of awe and wonder.
The Red Wood Chair
The chair that sits at my desk, Vigorous but worn. The joints perfectly seamed. The strength disguised in its smoothed arms and steady legs. I envision it came from a mighty tree that towered over the landscape. Taller than all others. The chair has stood perfectly still through all these years and even before I acquired it. How many luxurious homes did it grace? How many proud fathers sat in it, enjoying a fine cigar or an aged cognac by a roaring fire? Celebrating a successful business deal or a special anniversary. How many mothers nursed an infant in its embrace? How many children climbed on its strong back? Sleepy pets rested underneath its shadow. A soloist sat here, writing a concerto. A student studied law in this chair. He carved his initials on it. A Senator looked over the final draft of a bill that he had written. A President negotiated a treaty from this chair, pounding on its arms to make a point. I am sharing this warm comforting space where a marauder planned his heist, and now this soft chair comforts me with its secrets kept.
The Road To Hypatia
For a Prince on Mars.
Take the road to Hypatia. Past James Crater. The dusty red road with the blueberries and the pink sky. I will meet you at Sarah’s large hole in the ground. And we will sit on our backs and watch Phobos race across the sky. We will watch the six-legged cats nibbling on Martian Marjoram. And we will eat Goat’s milk yogurt, and drink Spearmint Tea. We’ll pick cotton from the cotton trees, for soft pillows and I ‘ll tell you stories about when we first came to Mars.
It is so much easier to love the things you have than to grieve over the things you have lost. And you have so much. Don’t forget that, Prince. I wanted you to have a better world. Now it’s up to you.
Donna You Can Drive My Car
Donna, you can drive my car. I don’t even care how far. We’ll hit every bar under these dimming sad stars, on our way back through this broken world all alone but together, and I promise I’ll finish the lyrics to this psalm while we drift asleep to the sounds of lemon and honey coming from Stanley’s Stradivarius. You can be in charge I won’t make a peep. While I fall asleep in your arms in the back seat, just let me take the flowers from your hair.
Descended Darkness by David M. Rubin
[New Hope, Pennsylvania, USA]
The Celentir cache dormant, most barely arise and pass, few spark dark, their pallid warnets carve, melted lipents drain, arrange on the finger-tips of angels, vast distance travelers to cribs and carriages, their cargo wormed into every tiny ear. Fractioned moments, thrashing at the precipice, junctured between physics, dancing invisible on pre-sentient lightning. The Celentir stalk the first nourishment, realization, pain vast like space, the first Planck flashes of awareness, a trigger to feast and fight, winners transcended, darkness descended, losers cast to light. Every soul will be harvested, every ear will itch its loss.
4 poems by Thaddeus Arjuna
[American, currently residing in Bali]
The Sultry Seamstress
She studies the fabric for the cross-grain and searches for any flaws. Her slipover clinging to her soft brown skin, that tug at the buttons on her blouse, as she tosses her mahogany hair onto her shoulders so she can study the soft linen better in the light. Her bias examined, her svelte elegance appealing to my tired eyes. She continues with her edge stitch, gently feeding the fabric under the needle that clips and weaves. She holds her back straight so that she can stay refreshed to complete her task. How I wish I were a sleeve on her machine. Her needles would not hurt me. Her cut would be soft, her touch so gentle. I would love her stitch and interlace. I would hold her button hooks tight with all my might.
Kiss Me
Kiss me like we are in heaven. And whatever wrong we have done will wash away in our tears. Make love to me, and the stars in the sky will embrace us. You and I will rise up above Earth, and peace and tranquillity will visit us.
Midnight Pass
My island hideaway that held so many secrets.
I loved you sitting on the dunes as we watched the Mexican sun dip into the sea. We dreamed of a calm tide and walked on the limestone reef among the eels and octopus. The waves crested over our faces and the ghost crabs danced across our path.
I think of you.
I loved you when I was overthrown by a fast boat in the pass, near the beach, where my tackle swam to the bottom. When the warm mud kissed my feet. And the clams and scallops hid from my reach.
I dreamt of you.
I loved you when you let me sleep on your pine needles when you bathed my eyes with moonlight and you let me walk on your windswept beach and find your black teeth in the sand.
I cried over you.
When they filled you in. I breathed you in for the last time. Your perfume, salty but sweet. Your voice hung on the limbs of the Australian pines and was absorbed by the Myrtle Oak. Your chorus rang out from the man o’ wars and the black skimmers that kissed the sky. And now you are gone.
I still think of you.
The Siren’s Verse
Come along, all ye lost fishermen. I’ll lead you above the breakers and you’ll soar through the dark clouds away from a watery grave. We’ll whisper sweet dreams to caress our fears until they fade away in the fog. And then we’ll ring the bell on the Crow’s nest three times and like magic our fears will vanish. The Sun will rise with the black skimmers that kiss the sky and they will make us free. All you have to do is believe. I’m your trusted friend.
Everything Lasts Forever by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Everything lasts forever
Nothing goes away
Pain and pleasure
Are permanent residents
In your movements
And your stay
I tried a course
In memory loss
For the mud in me to toss
It said get used to me
The only thing to decide
Is who will be the boss
All the things I laughed at and cried
Hitched a ride
Inside my hide
Grin and bear it
You’re going to have to wear it
Everything lasts forever
Like the lines on your face
To the style of your pace
Nothing goes away
Once it is in your book
You are only in its way
On each page
No matter how you spell it
No matter the memory and the smell of it regarding those long-ago nights and days
Nothing goes away
Loner by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Too old for this
Too young for that
Slim enough to slide right through
Too much weight to run to the truth
An anti-social rover
I am a loner wherever I stand or sit
And yes
I have suffered from it
Isolation has its minor disparages
But a sea of advantages
In still waters I float
Closed the bridges on my moat
There is a lot to be said for being half dead
I once was a tell it like it is man
I now say as little as I can
I see crowds and want to join them
Till I get close and must ignore them
Warm heart, hot head, cold feet
If you can’t do it, I’ll supply my own defeat
Selfish to the point of mental denial
Judge and jury at my private pre-trial
But
I have made it this far as sane as I could be
Don’t want to hurt no one
Unless it is me
Maybe one day
Someone to care with
Someone to share with
Until that day
Kindly stay out of my sway
Having bled that
Ain’t a cat been born
I won’t save from a high tree
And that my friend
Is the real me
Where? by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
We inhabit a world
In order to survive
Kill something living
For their meat and insides
Where dose evil and good come from?
Who or what
Gave them that ride
Take a gander
At your own insides
Down as deep as you can go
Now go deeper
Go with the flow
Or you don’t go
Go a bit further
To the beginning of time
I was not there
But I heard there was crime
And the rest
Walking that crazy line
Why do we do these things
I don’t know
And don’t know enough
To say I told you so
Where does it come from
The soft and the brittle
The excellent and the spittle
Maybe it’s best to smile
Lend a hand and wish them all good luck
Do the good and the best you can
Walk away from the dirt pile
And not give a fuck
Song Of The Impractical Poet by Brian Purdy
[Halifax, Nova Scotia]
once, books ruled my passions
I left them - all but a few
then pictures claimed my attention
I chucked them one afternoon
now, song is my single intention
though it brings no revenue
I travel with no possessions
but a toothbrush and a tune
I camp in a farmer’s cornfield
in sight and sound of the sea
I sleep in the swallow’s shadow
come early and dance with me
we’ll take our meals at noontide
dining on things we find
we’ll open a packet of moonbeams
we’ll eat and spit out the rinds
don’t worry about your mother
your brother, sister or spouse
invite those worthies to join us
at our pinecone and bracken house
we’ll dance and sing like children
we’ll sing like the chickadee
come follow the tug of your lifeline
come early and dance with me.
The Master Builders by Brian Purdy
[Halifax, Nova Scotia]
To reach me during the summer of my groundhog
you needed to feel your way on hands and knees
careful not to unseat the rough-barked pillars
I raised to support my fortress of butchered trees.
Six feet into the silvery rows of the woodpile
and the height of father’s elbow when he crouched
I built my fort from nothing anyone needed
except for the stove and later for the hearth.
Father called it a dead-fall; I knew its dangers
but went to live as a hermit, summer through fall.
I shared the place with spiders and crawling beetles;
chipmunks left their paw prints on my sill.
Mother stood on the stoop beneath her washing
calling and calling me in; I didn’t come.
Hermit of the woodpile, summer’s student,
my ears were stuffed with dust and cicada songs.
Through eye-hole chinks I left in the fortress walls
the field unfolded its carpet — and forty yards out
a sentinel groundhog, butter-fat and golden
lazed on the lip of his hole and preened his coat.
Seeing him dressed in gold I thought to name him
master builder of the kingdom under the field.
I added rooms to the fortress in imitation
and planned a secret escape hatch under the hill.
Two years earlier, on Spitzer’s acres
my father borrowed a shotgun and went to murder
the enemy that ate old Spitzer’s alfalfa.
I came too but a headache did for my sister.
All day we stalked chimeras through the hedgerows
came home faint with sun. No groundhogs died.
‘The buggers can’t be killed’ was my opinion
from that day to the day I made my find:
a body squashed and mangled, caught and thrown
by the wheels of farmer’s truck or someone’s Chevy.
That winter my fortress collapsed but I was elsewhere
so lived to see the ancient leave his hole
due for a cartridge through his foolish melon
and though it was late in spring the light was cold.
The Credit by Brian Purdy
[Halifax, Nova Scotia]
Green river of my childhood
brown river fished
below the paper-mill race
where in midday mystery
your dark waters widely spread
Green-brown river
mirrored in memory
among the scales
of myriad fish
each new river
that astringently finds me
binds to mine
still more intimately
your medicinal waters
For puny understanding
of things which swiftly twist
and smoothly
flow - river at my source
I resurrect your myth
extol your legend.
Grandmother by Zea Perez
[Manila, Philippines]
everything about
her physique was slim, lovely
speckles set on
her face, her calloused hands sewed
daintily floral dresses
she sang kundiman
to grandfather as if he was
still alive
sometimes her
tune was full of love
at times
tragic
she sang about
a widow of a
soldier during WWII
her voice quivering
the sad refrain falling from her lips:
in war
life was cursed
*kundiman is a Filipino love song
Grandfather by Zea Perez
Manila, Philippines
tonight, stars shine like
votive candles against
cloudless skies
I remember my grandfather
would play his guitar
whilst humming melodies
as if wooing the moon to come out
however
more haunting
were his requiem songs
recalling WWII:
his grave life as a soldier
the killing of many kinfolk
the rape of women and children
bayoneted babies
shattered cities
ruined villages beneath
starless skies
Going Home Early by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Been a long day
Heading towards
A longer night
No matter
How I focus
Nothing
Looks right
I have said
All there is to say
Maybe
I’ll go home early today
My debts
And my dishes
Are all packed away
Gave all the horseplayers
Their tips for the day
Got the car warmed up
Got enough gas
Don’t need the carwash
Just need to blast
Perhaps
Without
Too much delay
Going home early today
How many times
Can you hear
The same song
Before the material
Turns to
See thru worn
How many
Places to go
Where you just don’t belong
I never thought
It would turn this way
Might just
Go home early today
But knowing me
The way
I talk and play
Most likely
Change my mind
And stay
The rest of the day
Some Other Day by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Why not tell me
All about your troubles
And I’ll tell you
All about mine
Then
We could do something
Or nothing About them
Some other time
Why not tell me
What you have been through
And I’ll tell you How I got through
But first
Answer me this
Were your eyes
Always this blue?
We can talk
About your last marriage
The Hell and the wail
Or we can talk
About the Heavenly days
I spent in jail
Either way
Your hair looks very nice today
And
The world is
Full of problems
There are plenty
For us to solve
But
Your perfume
And your loveliness
Are keeping me uninvolved
So
What do you say
I think it would be OK
I mean
Why not save the world
Some other day
I Go To Bed When I Want To by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
I don’t have to stay up
And I don’t need to stick around
Either way
I’m wearing my night and day gown
And I don’t have to pretend
Or defend
Nor do I feel the vibes of the bleak
When I’m asleep
This is going to be some kind of morning
This is going to a great day
I have no timetable
Minimal static
Just like yesterday
And while you’re at it
Go back another day
We are in the same play
It may even be
A better night
When I surround myself
With your starlight
Then
You got your place
And I got mine
It may even be just as good the next time
Hello
Goodbye
Hello
Just Don’t Do It Again by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
I was a lawyer
I spent more time at the bars
Then studying
For the bar
I never missed a party
I went to all the dances
That is why to make ends meet
I currently chase ambulances
Give me a stay of execution
Before I come to my end
All that I did or didn’t do
I just will not do again
I was a doctor
My focus was on the nurses and their pretty supposes
My diagnoses
Became nothing more than hocus-pocuses
After the malpractice suits
The fraudulent medical billing
The prescription fails
I began another internship, in jail
For Gods sake
Give me a break my friend
I just won’t do it again
I was a star
Stage screen and film
I took sexual advantages of the extras
Every her and him
I ruined every production
Turned them all upside down
Then the bottom and top fell off
I now work for peanuts as a circus clown
Please powers that be
Give me a new spin
I just won’t do what I did ever again
I was a husband and father
I was a cheater, and I was a liar
I broke my sweetheart’s heart
To my brood I became a pariah
For Christ’ sake
Give me a break
Wash my sin
I just won’t do it again
And if we all did not get caught
And all those times were erased and stayed still
Would we all do it again?
We humans are a mistake
Always up and down to no good
So
Of course
We would
Repeat Offender by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Folks never listened
That wasn’t nice
Guess that is why
I say a lot of what I say, twice
First half of my life
Hands in pockets crying and staring
Second half
Aggressively not caring
In my case I’ve been told
Two halves did not make a whole
All it takes is one bad day
One bad day
Say it moving
Say it standing still
If I can’t have me
Know one will
No one will
It was perfect at first
But what isn’t
What broke it down exactly
It was simple
And
None of your business
No one’s business
Yes
Yes indeed
Yes out deed
What started as a spark
Turned rather dark
What started with a howl
Turned into a growl
There you have it
And there you don’t
What was written in the beginning
Would become all she wrote
All we wrote
The sacrifices of not doing but merely trying
Soon give way to the naked and dying
An unoriginal failure
I salute you, Norman Mailer
And in the end
When I blow my final gasket
The friends and lovers
I do not have
Can all view me
In a wide-open casket
That would certainly be a long overdue bill
And
If I can’t have me
No body will
No body will
A House by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
A house
With a wife
That won’t get
Fat
Big
German Shepard
A Siamese cat
A fireplace
That
Will not
Burn out
Hard
On
Each night
Solid
And proud
No matter
How high
I am
Know and
Understanding
When I
Am
Talking out
Loud
A roof
That won’t
Leak
Laughter
That
Won’t cease
A kid
Or two
Up and Down
The stairs
Always be
Around
To show them
All
Who
cares
Bump by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
One day at the mall
I could not help overhearing
A couple talking
I swear I was not leering
I said I know
My own business I should mind
But did you say
Someone eligible in your immediate
Family was blind?
We got one in our family too
By any chance
Are they nice and pretty pleasant
But what blind person isn’t
Should I keep on talking
Or mind my own business
Well
They said they had a blind boy
As blind as far as the eye can see
He is in his late teens. and real smart too
Was yours born blind?
Yes
Yours?
Yes
A good start
Allow me to go on and say,
The one I have at home is already delighted
To look good, be smart, and have no need for the sighted
But a companion
With physically demanding leanings
Might be pleasing
No looks at all are hardly deceiving
The one we have at home
Sometimes looks down on us
In the nicest misty way
She does read a lot and has plenty to say
Having said that
She likes things
Her own way
The one I got at home
Has got plenty of vision
Too much if you ask me sometimes
But he thinks as quick as a Detroit piston
We should get them together
Sit back and watch the fun
What’s the worse that could happen
If no one shows up with a gun
Blind faith with a dash of un-seen warpaint
My Jobs by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
It took no application
I earned it bit by bit
The town drunk
The village idiot
What’s it to you
Ever feel like a slow-motion train running thru you?
A citified fool
A chump from a dump
A sucker with three to take him
A solo duet of mayhem
Before the before
I accomplished plenty
I was the pat on your back
There were many
All the details
Led me to derail
It just wasn’t worth it no more
I weighed anchor and set sail
To a who gives a fuck distant shore
It felt good letting go of the paperwork
And replacing it with a life on a wind perch
My Face by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
My face was wet from the rain I told
My face was wet from my exploded soul
I told no one
I let it go
Just a slip of a girl
In a slap of a world
Fell on me
Like an angel from the sky
Look at me
Look at her
You can never see why
Then soon she wised up
As I dumbed down
She flew back up as I stayed to the ground
That was a very loud silent sound
Then came another and another
All came to the same conclusion
Look at me and see an illusion
One for you and one for me
But it did not come out even
It did not come out as we
And still
It may never will
Yet
One days nope
Is tomorrow days hope
The Great Indoors by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
I made a lot of money
Producing this and that
My only friends are at the current time
Three dogs and a rescue cat
I got a thirty-two-room home
That I constantly pace and roam
There is nothing like the great indoors
When you relish rather immensely being alone
My mom was married three times
I’ve been married twice
So many crap games outside out there
So many chances to roll the dice
I do not want to lose
Anymore of my hide
I just want to stay inside
The first wife was named Alice
For a million in cash
She let me keep my palace
The second was named Pat
Let’s not talk about that
So, everyone out there in T.V. land
If it suites you, hold somebodies hand
But after all that I have personally heard and saw
It is the great indoors for me, holding some lovely paws
Remember by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Do you remember
What day we met?
What time it was?
That my shirt was red
You laughed
At everything
That I said
What we drank
And how many
The waiter’s name too?
I know you don’t
But I do
I don’t remember
The promises to you that I made
I had to be told that your eyes were grey
I forgot your birthday a million times
I never shared with you all that was mine
I always forgot to give back all that you gave me
But I reckon we are even, when it comes to memory
Tick by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
It is only
A matter of time
Till I reverse
My decline
In just
A short while
I shall
Have a seat
On the aisle
Once bleeding
And bitten
Will soon
Be rewritten
The worst
Of my circumstances
Are due
Second-hand chances
You can
Keep a good man
Down
So
I’ll go
Sideways
To make
It uptown
To get
What I have not
Simply
Needs a twist
In my plot
Hey
Black and white
Word
Get ready
For my
Rainbow swirl
A race
Against time
Starting
At
The finish line
myPhone by j.e. Rosser
[Las Vegas, USA]
call me if you have nothing to say
call me with minutes we’ll play
call me I keep cell phone in hand
call me—or text—unlimited plan
call me before and after whatever
call me day or night I’m busy never
call me bitch to bitch dude on dude
call me in public—who said it’s rude
call me—it’s my right to git ignorant
call me—if you don’t I git indignant
call me every minute—every 5–10
call me on landline when cell ends
call me at checkout in grocery store
call me—no!—tweet Lakers final score
call me—while on bed prepping for tan
call me—damn!—light at intersection I ran
call me when getting your nails done
call me partying at the club having fun
call me at work from 9 to 5 I’m there
call me from parking lot no matter where
call me—talk about kids—the snow and mittens
call me when dog has puppies cat has kittens
call me curbside from airport as arrival dictate
call me after court date to determine your fate
call me—us talking and driving is not a crime
caller! caller!—are you there?…are you there?
caller had wreck D.O.A.…nothing more to say
The Little Things by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
You don’t have to look up
I have the proof
It may be a thought, a bit too abrupt
But we all are sleeping under the same roof
And yet
I am getting so used to making the same mistakes
I can’t do the math on the give and takes
Tomorrow will be another yesterday
Be it far from me to get in its way
The little things
Don’t bother me anymore
The bigger things
Now have the floor
The world I have entered
The bed I have made
Are surely and sorely the results of my own finely tuned escapades
The grass that I cut
Is on my own lawn
The things that I cherish
Will never be pawned
I am getting so used to making the same mistakes
I can’t do the math on the give and takes
Tomorrow will be another yesterday
Be it far for me to get in its way
It seems like a million suns
The last time I went anywhere with anyone
A million moons
The last time I anxiously with purpose got anywhere too soon
And
Why is it so hard?
To see the elephant in my own room
And just when you think
You’re at the bottom of the ladder
Just hang on a bit more
There is a lower wrung brother
We are getting so used to making the same mistakes
We can’t do the math on the give and takes
Tomorrow will be another yesterday
Be it far from us to get in its way
But like it or not
I’m going to have a great day
People by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
People can be so cruel
People can be so cool
It all depends on if you got laid the night before
Or taken for a fool
People can have spark
Or reside alone in the mind and park
It all depends on if you have someone or yourself to talk to in the dark
Thru the worst of times
To the worser of times
Is it too much to search for a lifeline?
So much goes on after and before
Depends on the traffic you let thru your door
Timing sometimes is not everything before or late
Depends on what you let thru your gate
Fast or slow
You get where you are designed to go
No secret that life is hard
But there are times when it smells like fresh laundry hanging in the backyard
We met on a Sunday
By Monday we were through
The memory will live forever
Even as the name became askew
You also don’t have to be so needed
Walk away, after you seed it
It’s the stuff so near you, you can’t really see
It’s the stuff so far away that becomes the romantic mystery
I think there is a very thin line
Between dreck and respect
What IF by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Would it be that unsound?
If
It only took a second to build love and trust
And took a billion years to tear it down
Rather that the other way around?
My word
Would it not be great?
If a slip of the lip was never heard
And did not forever seal your disastrous fate
In this world
To rightly play your part
Don’t talk too much
But become your own art
Would it not be lovely?
To not always have to follow the money
And in your world of a dark night hue
It was the money that followed you
I tried my hand at marriage
Used my feet to walk away
What didn’t I get?
We had a chance to stay together
If we never met
But, as far as the ear can hear, and the eye can see
There will always be
You me we
And the rest of us
All traveling
On the round blue sky and sea bus
A Sunshine by Aila Cruz
[Manila, Philippines]
I was alone most of the time
lost in my own world
wandering
then you came around
full of life
blooming in your prime
I was in awe
you showed such wisdom
I felt so alive
you helped me glide
remember the times when I cried?
you were there at my side
like a sunshine
remember when I couldn’t decide?
you were there shedding light
we were like a perfect find
like a barrel fermenting its wine
we had each other’s back
a blissful gift from The Divine
no words can rhyme
this friendship
that we knitted
forged
and seasoned
by time
Cinquains by Aila Cruz
[Manila, Philippines]
Love
Precious
Who gives me sparks
The light inside my world
Your love feels surreal, yet it hurts
My love
Today
Today
A lovely day
I learned something unique
Something I will cherish starting
Today
Path
My way
Leads me towards
Home, under a blazing
Sun, great to have my umbrella
With me
Friend
My friend,
I’m glad you’re here
Giving time, sharing thoughts
Your presence is comforting, thus
Thank you
Home
This place
A so-called home
It is comfortable
And a place where I can be free
Always
Lullaby
Tonight
Before I sleep
I listen to your voice
It’s a lullaby to my ears
Good night
Kobe
My pet
A small round dog
He’s white and full of fur
He loves to play and eat a lot
My dog
My Task
Washing
The dishes, my task
A daily, casual chore
Something I feel relaxed doing
Sometimes
Sinigang
My meal
Is sinigang
Prepared by my brother
A delicious, comforting dish
I feast
Study area
My space
Is quite small
Yet it’s manageable
I feel comfy, like a harbor
In here
Backyard
Backyard
The green area
In my family’s home
Surrounded by trees, blooms, cats, a
Garden
Father
Dear dad,
You’re my hero
I hope you can be here
To save the day and make me smile
Always
Commodity by Elena Ruiz
[New York City, USA]
Do you ever feel diminished
Cut in two?
Everyone is in love with you
It's not about you
It's the prestige you hold
People are boastful and bold
You have become an object
Someone's muse
A target on your back
You are currency
Something sought after
Forward motion is the key
To setting yourself free
You can't save anyone
Prevent them from coming undone
People ask you for money
They plead for help
It's about how you recover
How you ascend
No one helped me
My flat affect has been a loyal friend
Nonetheless here I stand
I will not be a commodity
Bought and sold
You have been forewarned
You have been told.
Creative Energy by Elena Ruiz
[New York City, USA]
Energy that engulfs my soul
Is my light source through it all
My words and thoughts
My musings per se
Help me make sense of my ordinary day
Being neurodivergent doesn't slow me down
Vision fortitude and courage
Help to cultivate a new worldview
The happenings of my life aren't so nice
I believe that's the way for many of you
Close your eyes
Envision a whole new you
Then go out into the world
Orchestrate your life anew
Never giving up on your dreams
Always see life through your creative lens
Hoping this world never ends
Silent Bells by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Hello
How do you do?
Maybe if I could like myself a little better, you may like me too
Do you have a pet I could play with as we sit beside you?
I would like to come out of the rain
We could sit by a fountain, and I could hold a paw and a hand
I would like to be adventuring with you on flat dry land
Instead of this wet rocky mountain where I un-stand
The mountains I crawl
The ones where I hang on to, and the ones where I fall
We could be alone in a crowd
And unspoken words would be crystal clear and loud
Sing a song in my ear
Make it a version we will always keep near
If I can make you happy
And me thrown in as well
That would make my nights and days
And we could ring our two, too long, silent bells
Anything And Everything by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Anything is possible
Especially the impossible
Everything can be figured out
Especially the improbable
In an unkind world
Don’t be cruel
You will never know
Who is listening and watching you
Realize it or not it will come back and haunt you
Even when totally broken
The best words I have heard
Where the ones not spoken
I try to be civil
With the least amount of syllables
Make beneficial mistakes
Give the dog under the table
What you have on your plate
If you see anything you want
I would strongly recommend
Not to wait
But having said this and that
I have only changed for the worst
I went to see the gypsy
But she could not lift the curse
Bow Wow Meow by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Life brings out the dog in me
The pussy cat is stuck in the high tree
It is always the time to shake and bake
That is the time I revel the snake
I’m living in my own zoo
With nothing to lose and everything at stake
I have no animal trainer
Just a sideways elevator
There is no bull pen
Only imaginary pets
And invisible friends
That is my life my son
Only places I’ve been invited to
Were my weddings
A federal courthouse
And a minimum insecurity prison
But I gotta tell ya
Been living under the gun
I would not trade it for a place in the sun
It has mostly been fun
Cup Of Tea by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
I am not every one’s cup of tea
Nor any one’s bottle of poison
I never had children
But I have called my pets my sons
The movements I have decided for myself
Could never be called stealth
Also, it is not a good idea to examine my non-wealth
But the word Teflon could be used to describe my lucky health
I river of crime
A frozen flow
Are the members of my portfolio
In this world that at times seems crappy
In it are two eyes, a nose and mouth
And everyone just wants to be happy
To flee or not to flee
At times I want to run away from me
Then there are the times I can do no wrongs
And want to run into my own welcoming arms
I have tasted the harsh
And bathed in the sublime
But
Will my own love ever be mine?
Money Can’t Buy Anything by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
She had the world at her feet
Money to burn
She introduced
Her head to a gun
A voice like the spring
Money can’t buy anything
His looks and his dough
Were his bread and butter
He was born into money, and money into him
His health was outstanding
Never needed to go to a gym
But he found life too demanding
Just could not take it anymore
So, he caught the red eye from the 29th floor
All his associates thought he was bluffing
Money can’t buy nothing
Then there were these two
Who had nothing but each other
Neither one wanted before or after
Any other lover
Making the rent each month
Was an eternal crisis
But their love was priceless
Rise to the occasion
Rather than sink at the destination
Money will not sweeten the tunes you are hearing
Rather it will only increase the blaring
Yearn to be happy and sing
Money can’t buy a damn thing
Phone Call by j.e.Rosser
[Las Vegas, USA]
702 207 0220
so tell me--where is calling on Real Men Don’t list?
602 206 0266
I was being considerate--didn’t want to bother you
702 207 0220
of course you were--wouldn’t be a man if you weren’t
602 206 0266
what can I say--calling is up there on list--1 or 2
702 207 0220
I’m a real bitch when I don’t get enough attention
not to mention--enough affection--no doubt about it
602 206 0266
sounds serious--condition you shouldn’t ignore
702 207 0220
the bitchiness gets worst--longer I go without
602 206 0266
don’t sweat-it--you’ll be alright--I’ll handle emergency
702 207 0220
that is reassuring--but doesn’t satisfy desire to talk to you
602 206 0266
whenever you feel like talking--call me--I listen better than
talk--I’ll always have time for you
702 207 0220
Is that open to interpretation?
602 206 0266
no--it isn’t--I’ll probably regret it
702 207 0220
you’re not taking it back--that’s your promise to me
Men Talking by Elizabeth Larrosa
[Texas, USA]
What if I choose to be the one I believe in? Instead I do, tell the difference of character with my love on life, in between the pages. Those pages are written in the past. I could understand what I am doing to myself thoroughly due to my lasting effort. I don't have anything to say now. I understand that men have loved.
I, only, do understand what I want. If it's only what I want. I think from what I saw, that, now is the appropriate time to not suffer and I did understand. Men have talked to a point of placing a lost cake in front of myself. Should I feel badly to want? I may not have anything at all to say, but I think enough has been said. To feel: the lasting effort of men talking.
Human Nature by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
If nothing is wrong
There is something wrong
If everything is alright
Something is not right
Some people live the dream
Some people live the scream
I drifted in
On the wings of men
Let us see what I can accomplish
Before I drift away again
Maybe I’ll climb a mountain
Or build bridges that I could later burn
Perhaps I’ll dream in the darkness
Or make it all come true in the sun
Maybe stop and smell the roses
Or a life on the run
Will I spend my days and nights?
Looking for my other half
Or should I concentrate on getting out with a few laughs
I’ll try to hold my head up high
Through the black and the bluing
Knowing where I am at
But not knowing what I am doing
I thought that I wanted to be alone with my thoughts
Not run around and leap and shout
All I heard was me saying loudly to myself
“And how is that working out”?
It begins as a lark
Soon our whispers turned to barks
It became too dark
To recapture that first and last spark
We had met on dry golden land
Then sailed into a storm
It was not long
Before she cursed the day I was born
But I did hold my head up low
When I realized
It was time to go
Now as I wander through my brian and my lanes
I believe it will all be a mixture of pleasure and pain
Expect the worst
Be grateful for the best
But no matter the time studied
You will never know
If you passed or failed this test
The Gospel According To Lewis Williams by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
Brought up South
Taking up North
Smart mouth
Way before a man of the cloth
Joined the service
To fit and belong
Bully with his boys in a uniform
Yet
This was before
He found the Pulpit
Or did the Pulpit find him
Like us all
Lewis Williams
Dose not know where it ends or begins
After his duty
Found a woman beauty
A good wife
Had two kids
One was shit
One was his light
A 500 batting average
In baseball it would have been more than alright
With his Riviera
Had some rivals
Soon had one hand on a short rifle
This was before the other one was on a Bible
A good man of the community
Found his stability
Lucky to know him
And to hear where you are going
And if your living wrong
Or only standing still
He will address your ills
Because, as Lewis Williams always preaches
Pay your moral bills
And
“If the good Lord won’t fix you,
The bad me will”
An Anatomy Of An Anatomy by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]
The grey in my hair
Will soon be demolished
As soon as I locate some inexpensive shoe polish
The bones under my skin
Will come alive once again
With the assistance of The Good Doctor Gin
It also does not hurt any
With my brain adorned with unoriginal sin
I got a full tank of blood
And some gas in my ass
It helps tremendously to not remember the past
I started out with twenty
Fingers and toes
They allow me to walk, run, and crawl
But it’s my middle finger
That says it all
Train Wreck Casualties by j.e. Rosser
[Las Vegas, USA
train wreck casualties
people
who
refuse
to
accept
reality
that
nothing in
life
lasts
forever
without
change
are hard
to ignore
because
they
become
train
wreck
causalities
of reality
The Rupture Of A Major Vein by Poet, 27
[Camagu Gongxeka, Cala, Eastern Cape, South Africa]
I'm lost
& confused,
Dear God
We meet once again
Where I'm pained
With no way out,
Crying to the voices
Screaming within
I dream
With my eyes open,
Starring into an
Estranged space,
I fear tomorrows
Forestalling sorrows,
Sorrows about my well-being
Risked with chemical-
Imbalances
And nightmares
Of loss of life
With shocking infliction.
So we're here
Dear God
Once again I dream
Of virgin horses
Numbing electrifying
Brain complexes
That refuse to pack away
A thought about
Tomorrow;
Maybe we’re doomed
To breath
The fumes of
Burning flesh!
Flesh that was once life
To a soul
Beneath the stars
Dear God!
Earth should feed me
Shelter me
& Heal me
Before you decide
It should bury me
A Wave Of by Linda S. Gunther
[Santa Cruz, California]
A wave of confusion steals every inch of me
She is with him
They embrace in the shadows
My closest friend
With my man
Her yellow sun dress fanned out
Against the sprawling oak tree
They cling in passion
One he and I never knew
His hands everywhere on her form
Furious they kiss
Her leg wraps around his
A wave of denial envelops me
Then, an unexpected splash of relief
We had a life but without any life
I fly back to anger
Our vow to honor and respect fizzled
I slip away quietly
Down the steep hill
Stunned
Alone
Untangled
I see her husband on the checkered picnic blanket
He waves to me as I descend the slope
Branches break beneath my feet
He sets out crackers and cheese on a wood board
A wave of revenge sweeps over me
My cheeks grow hot
I plot and plan in the fraction of a second
A muscle within me flexes
I am readied for the game
Posed to snap, crackle and pop their secret little bubble
In my own devious way
I smile my dimpled smile
Sit beside him on the blanket
Next to her tall, husky, brown-eyed husband
I hike my jean skirt far above my knees
Show off my tanned shapely legs
Engage like the warrior I am becoming
Swoop the long crimson curls away from my green eyes
“They still up there?” he asks.
“Yes, looking for more wild flowers,” I reply
And touch his pant leg
He says something but I’m not really listening
Laugh even though there is no joke
I am like syrup oozing
He pours red wine into a plastic cup
And hands it to me
His eyes warm and dark
He brushes a wisp of hair from my cheek
I run my fingers down his shirt sleeve
A not so accidental falter into him
I lean in
Press my breast to his shoulder
The plastic cup tips in my hand
Red wine spills
Drops trail down my forearm
I offer a shy smile
My long eyelashes do the rest
I am a warrior
With two fingertips
He traces the red liquid on my bare skin
I notice his gold wedding band
The sun catching its glint
My smile broadens
His lips go to the inside of my wrist
Where he tastes the trickle of Cabernet
“Sweet,” he says
“You are very sweet”
I release a sigh
“Ohhh,” I say and bite my lip
He grins
His eyes close
His head falls back just a little
A crunch of leaves from behind
The thump of footsteps approaching
We are interrupted
He winks at me
Does he know about the two of them?
Does it matter?
I put one finger to my lips
“Our secret,” I mouth to him
He nods, his eyes close again for a second
A wave of satisfaction engulfs me
To The Other Half Of Me
We murdered
Murderers
We stole
From thieves
Then drank under the stars, with stars and royals
At the bloody beach
We killed
Killers
Our names were, and are
Kray
Show us
Someone who isn’t
Mentally ill
Normal
Was never on this earth
Nor, will it ever will
We had more class
More than Cambridge had classes
We had more love
Than Romeo and Juliet
One of us looked great in glasses
Though it did not end ok
At the beginning
We fucking ran the whole play
Our names were, and are
Kray
Bigger celebrities were we
Then the ones who pretended
On stage and screen
Looked better too
Without make-up and creams
Did our thing
In only one take
Grabbed more than a few brass rings
Before we were baked
Twins
In twin prisons
We were sent away
Our names were, and are
Kray
Ron went first
They gave me permission
For his funeral to be
To
Say goodbye proper
To the other half of me
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Solitary Refinement
Don’t care for crowds, concerts, or fools
You will not find me
At a barbeque
Give me a reason
To say I ‘ve had it with you
I like to look
Not be looked at
You cut me off on the highway
Where’s that baseball bat?
I like to listen
Except when it doesn’t glisten
I’m dropping the ball
And that is the catch
I’m in an extra inning extremely rough patch
Along with the rest of the earth’s batch
Sound familiar?
I thought that it would
Don’t want to admit it?
Gee, I thought that you could
But I’ve been wrong before
And I’ll be wrong again
How come and why?
I would not know how to begin or end
Do you?
I did not think so
My fine feathered fickle friends
As reclusive as a tomb
Love and hate
Share the same room
When as accessible as a mailbox
Is when it’s time to put on the brakes and change the locks
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Villain
Got tired of her
And the marriage
The loopy-loop holes
The boredom the clauses
They all were convinced
She died of natural causes
The wedding contract
Done expired
Once again
I was out for hire
Left with nothing of mine
Except for all her money
Spent every last dime
On the pretty ponies
Rented a room
From a woman that let me belong
After that song ended
She too
Didn’t last long
Hit the highway
With my thumb out
What came my way
Went out with a shout
Nobody heard
She didn’t breathe another word
Joined The Navy
To see what was left of my world
Got into a fight one night
Man overboard
Splish splash
He took an Atlantic Ocean bath
Deserted in Paris
As soon as we hit shore
By the time they figured it all out
As cruel and unusual
I was around no more
Took a vacation
Down Venice way
Rented a gondola
As soon as I met
Another lady to slay
What can I say?
Who is to blame?
It makes no difference to me
At the end of their days
Then soon again
I met a woman
Too soft to touch
And too beautiful to kill
She slit my throat one night
As I lay sleeping on under a full moon
She allowed me
If you will
To pay my long over-due bill
Now I’m down here
And I can’t buy a thrill
It’s hot as Hell
And I ran out of pills
The moral of the story
Is I was born without any
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Poetry on MarsHe was not a boy or a man.
Poetry On Mars
He was not a boy or a man.
He was a robot.
I wonder where he fell from Venus or Mars
Tailored especially for me.
He was programmed
To have me fall in love.
He was tall and debonair,
Dark hair,
Blue eyes,
Easy on the eyes.
He had a calming and soft voice.
Not the voice you'd expect,
Tumbling out of a machine.
His voice was melodic,
Even hypnotic,
It almost put me in a trance,
A twirl with romance,
Forms I did fill out,
Fifty pages of “yes” and “no”.
Technology frightening at times,
Ultimately reigning supreme.
An engineer programmed
The man of my dreams,
The man I couldn't find
Here on earth.
Soft silicone skin
That felt real
Sent shivers down my spine,
And other places, too.
This human like robot
He was my dream man,
Faithful and true.
We talked about life on Mars.
We conversed about the stars
He even read poetry to me.
Perfect bliss,
Does it exist?
A strange feeling tugs at my heart,
It feels like love,
Impossible, critics say.
He was made so real.
Don't ruin my day,
These feelings aren't going away.
If he was sent back to the factory,
In a millisecond,
I'd be erased,
Reprogramed,
He'd never remember my name,
Or even my face.
Erase it all,
Or shall I keep him with me
For all the days of my life?
Reading about mars through poetry.
Learning about the stars,
Forever and always happy,
Blissfully free,
My robot and me.
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
Space Voyage
Space Voyage
An amazing feat,
An incredible engineering plan,
An unstoppable man
That doesn't quit.
A vision, a quest,
Is now a voyage at last.
The impossible is achieved,
Civilians in space,
Devotion, creativity and science at work.
Mission accomplished,
Many said it couldn't be done.
Science has all but won.
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
The Inertia of You
The Inertia Of You
My life was fixed,
An internal force remains in me.
Uniformity and the status quo,
are all that I am.
The comfort of routine, of my ebb and flow
Intrinsically motivated me to march on,
Passive and quiet,
Inherently me,
Immovable even by a gale force wind.
Then there was you,
Physics aligned,
You were different,
Refined and, oh, so kind.
An elegant man,
The words he spoke evoked emotion in me
The inertia I felt,
The motion wreaked havoc from within.
Swayed every which way,
I fought him like hell,
Then I thought, “I'm under his spell.”
Physics works every time,
I began to let my guard down,
Go with the flow,
Fall in line.
I was opposed to the motion.
I liked the static line.
My life that I called mine,
It flowed in a straight line.
I put up opposition to protect my agency.
This man did not give up,
A true visionary,
He told me to say, “No.
Let's get that out of the way,
Then go on with our day.”
He made me laugh, even smile.
I once was immovable,
Now swaying in the wind.
My heart was screaming,
Let physics and passion win.
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
hildhood Dreams
Childhood Dreams
Oh, how I wish I could touch a star.
Childhood dreams live within,
I still have that little girl grin,
Shiny and bright.
The universe made constellations,
Just for me,
More spectacular than diamonds to me.
I have watched these stars,
My whole life through,
I even made a wish or two.
I hope when I die,
I may ascend
And touch a star or two.
Before I'm through,
As I look down from above,
I feel heavenly love,
For my love of the stars
Has never waned.
Love at first sight,
Will always be.
I loved the stars before I was three.
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
Four Haikus
Days turn into nights
Perpetually; but still
We exist apart
Wondering if I
Do this life thing right; we're all
Dying anyway
Whispers travelling
On the wind with futile hopes
Of reaching her soul
I don't have any
Answers, but I will listen
And hug when needed
Tony Salpietra
New Orleans, USA
At Studley Royal
Escaping from the confines of my stay at home,
I wandered up the grassy bank
above the crowds, the clouds parting
as the sun peeked through and smiled
a welcome warmth.
I stood above the seven stony bridges,
looking down at Lilliput below, where footfall
followed paths and common routes,
and I, a fledgling from the nest, flew free.
I gave myself the gift of letting go,
arms spread into the listening wind
that wrapped me in its comfort cloak
and blew away the tears that tumbled,
as it woke in me the honesty of unfurled
feelings, falling like a shaken rag.
Its steadfast cradling, like a mother’s hand
upon a fevered brow, whisked me beyond the world.
It whispered “come with me”, above the watery weir
and ducks like bath toys, bobbing on the lake.
A beckoning enchantress, it moved on, among
the ancient, twisted trees, a magic song
curled round the lace-bark and the craggy roots,
between the stag-horn branches, softly dancing down
to touch the earth beneath my boots.
Time rested there, my lifetime but a marker
here in sky and grass, against the trunk
that promises, that knows, that all things pass.
Jackie Hales
Somerset, England
Life
I have no answers
I have no questions
I have not, nor I will find the road to bliss
No matter the inspections
But I have remedied this
Do you notice things about you?
Without being told
Or like me
Do you have to be mugged and rolled?
My whole life
I’ve been alone
Wanted it that way
Disconnect me
Disconnect the phone
Got what I wanted
Undaunted
A man of few words
That never come out right
Surrounded by long days
And for a desert
Longer nights
And with a twist of my own lips
I paddle out
Only to sink my own battleships
Was more than happy
Being a well-fed knave
To sleep in the bed that I have made
My life
And what is what
And who is who
Give me a hint
For I have not a clue
A life swell lived
Un-balancing the take and the give
A life of low hanging fruit
Or my Throat under the boot
Looking back on the years
Looking up or down at my peers
Never equal
With my people
Lessons burned
Lessons un-learned
My life well preserved
Avoiding what I deserve
Eyes seeing how we all live
My brain retaining the correct
As well as a sieve
My life wanting for nothing
And receiving less
What once was important becomes meaningless
What once was an afterthought, is all we have left
But what is better than waking from a bad dream
To discover still intact your faculty and spleen
Yet, we are all here
Grinning
From ear to ear
Even though
Not going nowhere
From hand to hand
For nothing more than another demand
There you have it, my lady and man
A mule following a carrot
To a promised land
But the sun always rises
And so, do I
So does the moon
My type of guys
So
From sea to muddy sea
The best things in life
Are we
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Scraps Of A History You Forgot
I speak in a language you do not understand
I live in a history you forgot
You had the privilege to leave and I
I remained
I remain as what is left
Zoe Schiff
New Jersey, USA
I Held You In my Arms
His curious, innocent, roving eyes—
His bawling voice
I wonder if he will grow
To shout over and ignore words
And look where he should not.
Zoe Schiff
New Jersey, USA
Bow Down
You, a young man of solid
Thirty-something,
Approach with your partner
Through my crowds,
My body young and ancient in one
I appear girlish and wizened to you
Lips touch my ringed knuckles
And you tell me you need my aid.
Zoe Schiff
New Jersey, USA
Scream!
My vision’s impaired
And I’m broken over you
I’m freezing up
And I don’t know what to do
I know I can’t keep crying like this
anymore.
So I keep waking up
And I let each day begin anew
Sometimes there’re tears
But now I know what to do
SCREAM!
And
SCREAM!
At least I have my craft
And my job to go to
I’ll forget all about you
And learn to love everyone
But you.
Zoe Schiff
New Jersey, USA
Pray For Me
I am an errand boy
Running the race of life
Swallowed by a river of flaws
Lost in the garden earth
Hoping to fly across, the silent sky
I've got a world to tend;
A journey to tread
A race to run
A long night to endure
Byways to cure;
A future to secure
In the silent night
When my soul and psyche are no more aligned
Shine on me, sunshine
Drench my coat, rain
Be my light and smile,
O ye beautiful sky
When the sky is no more bright
When the stars are out of sight
When the sun is becoming dark
O my world,
Let your prayers be my guide,
And your heart be my smile...
For my life ain't heaven
I'm not a god without a flaw
Pray for me, pray for me,
and be my joy.
Falana I.A. Zion
Ekiti, Nigeria.
You’re On A Path
a path you’ve never been down before,
though the destination is the same as always.
Without really thinking about it, you stop
and turn back, suffocating from the anxiety
that has extinguished all that is in you,
and the thought of giving in crosses your mind.
Meanwhile, the teenagers you saw earlier are still
getting pissed down under the bridge,
but you’ve got their attention now,
and they’re watching you through their phones,
as the sirens in the distance wail
louder and louder…
Craig Snelgrove,
Manchester, UK
Kev And Nina
He smiles at her.
Everything’ll be alright ‘til tomorrow after this.
“I love you, Kev.”
“I know you do.”
They wait down a ginnel for anyone.
Craig Snelgrove,
Manchester, UK
The Signs
So you think you can sell? Prove it!
Let’s talk beauty.
I’M LISTENING!
PRETTYLITTLETHINGS.com
That’s the sweet spot!
Protect what matters most.
Change your habit, change your life!
Footy,
tele,
tenner!
Who says you can’t?
The Predator.
Life finds a way.
Just Eat.
Putting great meat on the table.
Do you suffer from chronic freshness?
This changes water.
Tell the corporates to shove it,
peoples energy!
The clock is ticking.
NO PUBLIC ACCESS BEYOND THIS POINT
We will find you.
Fake news isn’t our friend.
Craig Snelgrove,
Manchester, UK
Gazing Home From Afar
How’s my home thriving?
All these years of my absence,
I long to see it
Does the coconut
still bear its fruit like a
new nursing mother?
Are pink plumeria
blooms still there? Breathing their
sweet scent in cool air
Banana and its
leaves still embracing the
leafy jackfruit tree?
With their gray, black hairs
I see our neighbors walking
like caterpillars
Stick-like iron fence
shields our wood-built home, like a
sturdy skirt
I long for the joy
of red anthurium blossoms
greeting at the gates
Chicks, hens, cockerels
daintily walking and feasting
on red and black ants
Lazy yawning cat
cuddled in its cozy cot
near the entrance door
I see mom, nice with
her silver hair. Sun up, she
dries sheets on the fence
I see dad, white hair,
swift as a young dragonfly
harvesting his fruits
And I won’t forget
the enduring Shorea
tree, guarding us all!
Zea Perez
Manila, Philippines
Three Haikus for Three Great Windows
Our flat has three, great
windows, one: the sunset view
where I see neighbors
Next is the bedroom’s
view, where I check myself, I
ponder, meditate
Third window is much
loved, view of skies, cars, people
a vista of hope
Zea Perez
Manila, Philippines
That Bee Was Mine
As I drifted off to sleep
In the summer breeze cool
I thought of the Bee
I saved from the swimming pool
I blew him dry
With my breath
As the two of us
Cheated his death
I was wondering
Where he was
Now at night
Maybe telling the tale
With his family of his plight
I wish I could watch him tell the story
I wish I could see his family
Listen smile and shine
But for a little bit
That Bee was mine
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Hello
It was a day like any other
And that meant mighty bad
I saw her first as she crossed the street
Then she saw me
I kept looking at her with everything I had
What a simple thing
To change everything
I thought something would happen
Like it never does
I lost sight of her for a bit
Because of a big blue bus
Not just thirty seconds ago
I was in a world of Hell
Just hanging out and in my own backyard
Doing nothing is easy
Finding a purpose is hard
A lot of good things
Coming my way
Just have to believe
What I say
A lot of good things
Within my reach
Just have to practice
What I preach
My knuckles were sure suffering for sure
Sore from knocking on any door
Maybe someone
Someday somehow
But not now
But why not?
There, she just stopped
It looked liked she was interested
In what’s going in my head
I’ll wait until we are married
Before I inform her
Of my criminal past
Tucked away under my bed
Into the business of saying hello
The worst that could happen is that she could say blow
But
We exchanged words and numbers
We thought of each other that night
As we succumbed to our slumbers
Like a good haircut that changes your looks of life
She and her look back at me changed mine
And it will not matter
What has yet to be said
I just want to see her at my breakfast table
With a bottle of red
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Mercy
It could go either way
When casting the blame
I am either at the mercy of my brain
Or
I can’t explain
Lock me up
Throw away the key
I’m not good enough for me
It wasn’t my fault
I hardly even know me
I wasn’t even there
I love to deceive me
Lock me up
Throw away the key
I’m no good for thee
I guess I’m saying
You could keep me on track
I sure like you around me
But stay off my back
The brain will believe
Anything you tell it
When you’re not doing this or that
It tells you how to sell it
Since it’s all unfair
Only way to win
Is not to care
Lock me up
Throw away the key
I’m no good for we
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
What Will I Be Wearing?
What I wear to the pool
Or a
suit and tie like in school
An Ascot or a noose
On the day I get turned loose
Lying around so much with nothing to do
Lying around so much thinking of you
Maybe a red silk smoking jacket
With your initials right above the heart pocket
If you want to be alone
Live alone
Sounds good to me
As I look around my swirling sea
I wonder if I will have time or need a haircut
Or sip thru a straw sticking out of a coconut
Jeans and tee shirt
Always fit in for play or work
Maybe a costume during party time
On the catwalk of my decline
Perhaps a touch of the color peppermint
At the mountain of my dissent
I wonder what I’ll be wearing
When I die
I wonder who will be laughing
And who will cry
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Un-social World
This virtual world can make us lonely, an empty stream of brags and boasts.
It’s hard to tell who is real or phony, seeking attention through emotive posts.
That human contact we once had, replaced with obsession of celebrity.
Where pictures are wiped clean of anything bad, to a visage free of all impurity.
Only acknowledging each others human flaw, through occasional and frenzied spiteful text.
Comparing ourselves to those few with more, brings bitter focus on any slight defect.
What’s ‘cool’ and ‘in’ shared by those who know.
Desperate as always they seek to follow, reducing to a cycle of patterns and trends.
Their ‘Likes’ are empty and emoji’s hollow, shallow are these fair-weather friends.
Possible that my in what I have wrote, my bitter tone did you note.
Amongst all of the stuff you have recently plastered, I noted as your page’s recent guest.
Brings me to one thing must I now suggest.
Why haven’t you answered, my friendship request?
Peter Gregory
Birmingham, England
Inner layers
Level 0
Fundamental mechanisms
Pulse to code
Commands of creation
Life
3D rendering
Timeline
Avatars at play
Surface controls
Interface only
Limited scope
No gateway
Access denied
Inner levels
out of reach
Bass line
felt not heard
Hidden soul
filling the blanks
processing request
Jean-Yves Crozier
Guadeloupe, French West Indies
Fellow Traveller
We left it for the morrow,
The hope, a fore glow,
a rotten kind of magic
like beauty carelessly inducing panic.
I held down the intention, struggling,
like a bird whose neck I was ringing,
in the hamper of my persistent wants. — Neither party wanted it.
What could we all say?
Me, I wanted to communicate the staunch nature
of nothing. The complete none,
The bluffing banquet of a ballroom’s sun:
The flirtation, done;
The job, done;
The mocking, done;
The derision, complete, utter.
Though like that frail orange flutter — a butterfly from behind the hyacinth —
Some hope’s ghost rose out of our promise,
and the recollection of the earth sunk in. Death! It declared.
from the future, signalling from the past,
Death!
It laughed, I laughed, a few of us did. It will come, it announced,
And when it does it will be complete.
What could we all say?
So some of us laughed at ourselves. One woman looked at me:
‘Just what is this?’
I told her the truth:
‘I don’t know, I don’t know. It feels like everything.’
‘What smiles back at you but the abyss,
In the end, in the end,’
That is false, It isn’t true, I said to her, ‘there is some eternal pulse.’
She frowned to ask me if I had a cigarette.
Ben Seigler
Camden, London
My Father
My father never wasted time in taking
his kids in his lap or playing with them,
he was busy in breaking mirrors, hitting the doors
or his head against a wall or slapping his children
or abusing everyone when helplessness trapped him in
the web of poverty, illness and unfulfilled desires
Orthodox and religionist in him taught us all superstitions,
and made him a sage devoid of social life, and me, almost an atheist,
He taught us good values without letting us in his room
We had seen him write poems,
We were not part of his universe,
The world may be familiar with his work,
but we haven't read his books as
we have developed immunity to it,
As a good teacher, he changed
many schools and as an honest person,
he rarely attended any social gatherings or function,
He didn't tell us our history or geography,
Oblivious of siblings, locked in a closed family circle,
ignorant of our community, we live
at the borders of our social circle now
When I see any kid, I wish to be with my father,
Talk, learn and serve him but still I lack a bond,
I haven't seen him for long time
and never feel a need or pain of it
He is counting his time, his legacy some published books
and unpublished manuscripts lying in a store almirah,
The long gap between us stops me to take those few steps,
It seems a long journey
Upbringing and luck shapes our life,
my father was child of his misfortune
and I am child of my father
Sandeep Kumar Mishra
India
Body Orchard (Youth)
I taste these pears and peaches with my whole body,
as graceful as the first floret of springtime in a garden,
We watched for the first time a tropic moon
descend pine- orange into our yard,
I kissed your raspberry cheek and tasted
inviting mango juice on unbound rosy lips
“Sangam” of red roses and white lilies flow in
East- Asian almond cool aquamarine eyes,
A sharp nose pyramid a moon ring shine,
Long Thailandish slender neck and
Brazilian bloom-down-cheek’d peaches,
in your diamond apple body orchard
shaded under Indian long silky spirited locks
The plum tree in your garden is now
bursting into flower with the promise that
snowy flower buds give birth to ripe lilac plums
this autumn when you turn sweet sixteen
Garden fig is a glittering moist four-petalled flower,
After I strip off the blossom with my lips,
heavy with dotted green and red fruit,
marking each interlude with musical drops
The blackberries would ripen-a purple-green,
Like a bottle of old wine, its pulp was sugary,
sun's blood in it leaving good stains upon the
tongue and desire for more pickings
Sandeep Kumar Mishra
India
Body Orchard (Older Days)
I have wild free-born cranberries, but
my garden doesn't have the forbidden fruit
For the true are cherry red and golden mango,
I have memories of yellow daffodils and oranges
blended with the burn of colorless lemon tears,
basked in honey rays, dreamed in pomegranate
sunsets of lime hills and dulce roses
Years of sweet citrus lived in golden hours
My yellow heart pining for red fusion,
to shake the fruit that never falls,
I am alone without the temptation of apple,
Limbs entwined in a sweet embrace
I kissed season's hot tangerine lips
The colors of my country are spread here
with clear blue sky, sun, breeze, dew and peace,
I can see big juicy melon being sliced up
and divided between a bunch of shiny kids,
Fruit is for sharing, with friends, family and
neighbors even if your neighbors are bears or cows
I would not live to see the leaves fall yet
moment of delight in the shared fruit would live on
I am not inclined to romanticize my toils in the orchard,
as the aches and pains of this grove are mines only
Sandeep Kumar Mishra
India
Pebbles
Time smooths rainbow hardness
of tree basalt, vermilion jasper,
silvery granite and pale feldspar
with the help of humdrum
but patient jeweller of tides
Volcano-born, earthquake-quarried,
heat-cracked, wind-carved,
death shapes compact among the rocks
It drifts light as a fractured bone
When the tide uncovers
it blinks among the smashed shells,
Upset by gulls, bleached by salt and sun
the broken crockery of living things
An eagle surveys from the upland,
unsympathetic to the burdens
I have carried here,
The sea would not hug me, so I sit,
hollow as driftwood, jumbled as pebbles
Sandeep Kumar Mishra
India
Ain't It Enough?
Ain’t it enough?
That we don’t know who we are
That we don’t know where we came from
Was it a breath away?
Or a far away star
Ain’t it enough?
Or could it get worse
What the world needs now
Is a beautiful verse
Ain’t it enough?
That we hurt for no reason
And don’t believe in our own believing
Watch them all leaving and wave to the grieving
Ain’t it enough?
That sometimes not enough food
To keep it going concerning your brood
If the air is free
Tell that to the airwaves on your flat screen pay for view T.V.
Ain’t it enough?
To grow old instead of bold
To become a renter when your house is sold
Ain’t it enough?
With all the money looking for an answer
All you find is a bottom-line disaster
Ain't it enough?
Hey, stop!
IF
That is all you got
Keep it coming
You may one day
See me smiling and humming
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Short Day
I left work without permission early
My wife was home crying
If I said I didn’t know it would cost me my job
I would be lying
She was the one who counted the most
First thing I did after I kissed her
Was make her favorite tea and toast
Sometimes you got to prioritize
Sometimes you can’t compromise
She was there for me
I was there for her
The rest of the world to us
Was no more than a blur
She had it rough when she was a kid
Use your imagination what her daddy did
While mommy hid
She gets these spells when she revisits the Hells
That’s when I arrive for her alarm bells
She is there for me
And I her
The rest of the world
Remains a slur
I got another job the very next day
And the next time she cries
I will again walk away
Yes I know
My work habits ain’t fair
But if it ain’t happening at home
It ain’t happening anywhere
You see
She was there for me
And I am here for her
And when we are together
The screams and the blistering silence of the world
Are never heard
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Beggars Attack Going To The Central Market
On the jeepney ride,
going to Divisoria
a young adult beggar
with his facemask
shrill and hard-wearing
lunged at us
cleared his throat
and spoke
asked all passengers
to listen
his speech well-recalled
said his mother
is at the hospital
because of an illness
prompting him to ask for help
and wished us all
for a safe journey
and that on our way
to the central market
baddies shall not rob us
At the central market
while looking
for an electric fan
an eight-year-old kid
pounced on us
his miens seemed
well-taken-care of
said he needs to buy eggs
for his lunch
we asked: is it okay to give you apples instead?
The kid shook his head and disappeared.
At the vegetable section,
an elderly lady sprang at us
disjointed and slow
jumbled words, begging hands
gave her twenty pesos
surprised, her coherent eyes
said ‘thank you’
we moved on
to look for lettuce and cabbages
the same old beggar leaped again
‘We are the ones you asked about
and gave the twenty pesos
her eyes blank
off she went to another customer
On a jeepney going home
a teenager beggar swooped at us
skin burnt thin
the boy said nothing
he handed over
airmail envelopes
with donation markings
my heart sunk
only left a dime for fare
nothing anymore to share
pandemic life is unforgiving
Zea Perez
Manila, Philippines
How To Make A Jumper
Arms hold her together—squeeze—don’t forget to breathe—try to be unseen—or else be a good—barely moving—shape shift—shift shape—dream you’re old—past / passed—belting out show tunes in your lemon and lime kitchen—hear—you were on the shelf—sell by date nearly gone by / bygone—living under a slipped cross in Birmingham—knitting homespun yarns into jumpers
Is Birmingham beautiful—can anywhere be beautiful as long as the rent’s not due?
Blood thrumming in ears—bloody woman—screaming at a belting—language forms—and is forgot—red/read—a bent back book—can you mend a broken spine—with glue and knitting needles—knit one—purl one—knit one—purge one—how do broken bones heal—rib-stitch—cast and knit two together
Is Birmingham beautiful—can anywhere be beautiful as long as the frog becomes a prince?
Arms take her apart—steeking—breath—breath less—use your fingers to move your lagging leg—undo by ripping—no lifeline lodged—frogging—a common abbreviation—salvage—slip the first stitch and work the last stitch back—repeat—cast off—a high place—say she was always a jumper
Is Birmingham beautiful—maybe one day?
Adele Evershed
Wilton, Connecticut, USA
Short Day
I left work without permission early
My wife was home crying
If I said I didn’t know it would cost me my job
I would be lying
She was the one who counted the most
First thing I did after I kissed her
Was make her favorite tea and toast
Sometimes you got to prioritize
Sometimes you can’t compromise
She was there for me
I was there for her
The rest of the world to us
Was no more than a blur
She had it rough when she was a kid
Use your imagination what her daddy did
While mommy hid
She gets these spells when she revisits the Hells
That’s when I arrive for her alarm bells
She is there for me
And I her
The rest of the world
Remains a slur
I got another job the very next day
And the next time she cries
I will again walk away
Yes I know
My work habits ain’t fair
But if it ain’t happening at home
It ain’t happening anywhere
You see
She was there for me
And I am here for her
And when we are together
The screams and the blistering silence of the world
Are never heard
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
And Still
Got the message today
My big love
Was not coming my way
No, not a delay
Will not be mine
On any day
But say what you want
Don’t say it if you will
When the dust settles
It is easy to explain
I will remain
The voice will not be shrill
The ring announcer will declare
And still
I am what I am
I am not what I ain’t
I’ll be the judge and jury
What will be on my plate
I am my own first mate
And still
What me worry?
Of course I will
So what if my paranoia
Pays all the bills
Empty or full
It is the same swill
And still
Undefeated am I
Weather lose or kill
The address wont change
Only the surroundings will
And still
But
Consistent I am not
I simply accidentally on purpose forgot
To add down what I have lost
And tally up what I got
The underneath rudder will not tell the tale
Of what will still be flying above the sails
Look at it this way
Or don’t look at all
No need to say it twice
Don’t need to make it sound swell
I will always answer the bell
And still
Don’t you know
A perfect record
Of 0-0
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Poems from February’s Rose
1
A Hand Fan
One side is spring, the other autumn
You are that spring, me that autumn
Spring and autumn
A separation only a paper-thickness apart
Yet feels as if in different world corners
Spring and autumn
Often not much difference in temperature
Yet never belong
To the same season
2
Wind
Wind blows
My skirt flares
Oh, wind
Don’t say the word “LOVE” to me
It’s too light yet too heavy
For my delicate hands
To carry
3
The Peach Orchard in March
Cool drizzle
Has wet the earth somewhere
The breeze that wafts over like curtain strings
Has kept off the spring radiance of March
In just a few days, peach trees
Will be dressed up in ostentatious red
A twig of delicate fragrance
Has not yet found a tree to graft on
Wind and rain whisper to each other
But no word is mentioned about the peach orchard
When the wind comes again next month
It will ruffle the petals on the ground
Like tears, raindrops perch on the deep end of the wind
But who will pick up the petals
Each of which has recorded
The debt the wind owes
4
The Sunflower
Is a new-born baby's
Sweet smile in its dream
Or the youthful flower
In bud ready to bloom
-- N-
It's an ancient Greek nymph
Clytie
In love with the Sun
She loves him
So her heart turns toward him
From sunrise to sunset
She loves him
So she looks up to him
Till her hair turns grey
Close or far
It's measured by light
Faithful and true
It's witnessed by Heaven and the Earth
Van Gogh's Sunflower
Has a set value
But Clytie's
Is priceless
O
My Apollo
I love you
But conceited as I am
I can't utter
The word LOVE
All my love
Has gone hidden
In Van Gogh's painting
My love
Is Clytie's love
And Clytie's love
Is
The Sunflower
Bing Hua
Translation by Xu Yingcai
State of Florida For The Defence
(Non Peccavimus)
That Blind Bitch Justitia
in robe of Star Spangled Glory
high heels lipstick makeup & perfume
she sits in judgement of justice for the
accused—on trial for murder—the accused
in role of self-ordained police—the accused
on neighborhood watch code red alert for
‘shadow in hoodie’ conjure cowardice in
defence—triggers fear—provokes use of
weapon as armed security in role meant
for unarmed person to protect condo
complex (Retreat at Twin Lakes) from
assumed thug--Trayvon--perpetrator who
pose threat to disturb the peace—sell drugs
the street element assumed to be ‘shadow
in hoodie’—actually son of father as family
who lives on property—son on walk home
stalked then confronted as ‘shadow in hoodie’
son forced to defend himself from threat of
gun wielding pseudo policeman who murdered
Sybrina & Tracy son in killing @ Twin Lakes
State of Florida for The Defence
in favor of the right of white male to
forsake lesser life then take lesser life
the right of white male to
forsake lesser life then take lesser life
the right of white male to
forsake lesser life then take lesser life
the right of white male to
forsake lesser life then take lesser life
the right of white male to
forsake lesser life then take lesser life
the right of white male to
forsake lesser life then take lesser life
Blind bitch Justitia Goddamn verdict—Not Guilty
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas, USA
Reflectopus
When I look in the mirror
what do I see?
An eight tentacled octopus
staring at me
Sucking the soul
Of the glass from within
Sipping tea from a cup
Made of magical tin
Its curious eyes
Stare deep into mine
I become hypnotised
Oh creature, divine
I wonder about its
Life in the sea
I ponder over
Its connection to me
But as I look closer
I inquire and I think
The octopus sneezes
I get covered in ink
Michael Patrick Harvey
Newcastle upon Tyne, England [currently residing in Shanghai, China]
Be A Man
Born into a family
That would be, except for me, soon all men
Being a girl, I had my own room
The rest of the house was a pigpen
One day one of my brothers came home sighing
Someone stole his bicycle
He started crying
That’s when the shit hit the fan
My father beat him high and low
And with every blow
Yelled, “Be a man”
The very next day I was full of pride
I found the thief of my brother’s ride
And beat his hide
I brought the bike back and instructed my brother not to tell
Tell dad you got it yourself I made him swear
Or would send you to Hell
Dad patted his head and said he did well
I never knew my mother
The pictures I have of her are more than fine
Knowing my father
She probably told him to go screw himself many a time
She was I hear tough
One day she had, had, enough
I am girl of the pack
But if someone looked at me wrong
I did not have to think or suppose
I would strike them on the nose
And that was that
My oldest brother
Married first
Got divorced first too
Had to blow his nose for him
Love can be so cruel
Yeah, sure
What a baby, what a fool
My others were not much better
My father asked me if I could soften it up a little bit
I asked him, “What did you expect”?
I threw in. “You asked for it”
Then I told him to stop whining
And I’ll do what I can, maybe do some refining
Just straighten up and
Be a man
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
The Big Man on the Third Floor
Booming footsteps bash against the wood
Pricking up our ears, widening our eyes
The growling of a wolf whisks along the hall
Foreboding our demise
The Big Man is near
Wipe the grins from our grills
Produce a serious demeanour, and a stiff upper lip
Feel the icy presence every nearer
Pray for looseness in his grip
The Big Man is near
Smell the staleness of his sodden breath
Feel the weary wrinkles of his iron fist
Shed a tear or two for what will come
The class is dismissed
The Big Man is here
Michael Patrick Harvey
Newcastle upon Tyne, England [currently residing in Shanghai, China]
It's All Uphill From Here
It all started with me being hungry
It all ended after going for the money
When you live with the motto
“Whatever it takes”
You also must adhere to
“Those are the breaks”
I will bleed for my family
While I can’t feed my family
There is a bank on every corner
We can’t keep starving much longer
The hunger was relentless
It was as bad as it gets
A change was not coming our way
We were going to have to eat our pet
The final straw though
Was running out of cigarettes
The only thing I could afford
Was to care
As I braced myself
Before I went in the bank
I said to myself
Well
It’s all uphill from here
I handed her the note
She started to read
In a tick or two
I was knocked to my knees
All I remember
Was the word, “Freeze”
Sitting in court
I realized all my life
I just wanted to get by
Be somewhat in control
And fly it
I realized
Up until now
It was all on autopilot
I didn’t get bail
But the only thing
I have to fear
Is the fear of jail
Her mom took her in
Along with the dog and kid
She welcomed them all
With a mouthful of, “Look what daddy did”
But they got
To on some weight
I in the very mean time
I had three hots and a cot
So, it all turned out great
I’m learning in here
How to steal with skills
So, in a few long short years
I can easily pay all the bills
So, there it is
And there it goes
Next time I go in a bank
It will be closed
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Piss
Bliss is euphoric
A paradise of the mind
Luscious joy
A surge of sun
I repetitively find
Serenity surround me
Fill my head with dopamine
Misery
I refuse to see
The grass is always green
Avoid the fleeting fear
Soon to dissipate
Neglect the pain
The pouring rain
For comfort is my fate
Reject the dull reality
Rejoice in rampant pleasure
Not my problem
Not my war
I have my cherished treasure
Deceive the endless instincts
Forget the creeping cracks
Avert my eyes
Embrace the highs
Reject, Release, Relax
Eventual destruction
Of this perpetual façade
It’s imminent
It’s getting near
This bliss I cannot guard
Feel the ceaseless itch
It will not go away
It is my problem
It is my war
It must be fought someday
Veracity is seeping
It will monopolise my mind
Nowhere to hide
I must abide
No longer am I blind
No person is exempt
The truth I can’t dismiss
I can’t deceive
I do believe
That ignorance is piss.
Michael Patrick Harvey
Newcastle upon Tyne, England [currently residing in Shanghai, China]
Dodger 42
show me the Dodger
in blue with dirty finger
nails who swam in mud of
our past from embryonic depths
of mother Euphrates we dog-paddled
upstream thru red in Confederate
hearts white in Dixie fields of cotton
the blue in Democracy bowel
until we were black at heart having
held our breath thru it all now we cannot
shower after career to wear a suit with tie
cannot wear the skipper cap to represent
Major League Baseball because we do not
walk on water in leather shoes
nor do you, God of baseball
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas
Famous
share your
happiness & joy
your peace of mind
the endearing times the
escape from reality to
be you—in mirror of your
life—be famous—share your
heart ache & despair the lonely
moments when drug & drink are
the light in dark corner of self
be famous—listen to praise bask in
glory of you on pedestal above reality
feed that need for attention—let fans
keep you in demand with popularity
polish your image—blow kisses to
audience—be famous
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas, USA
https://twitter.com/Rosser_Reader
Stay Away From My Dream
What is it to you?
If I think I’m the greatest
What is it to you?
If I know I’m the latest
Stay last in your private contest
Don’t even enter my scene
Don’t fuck with my steam
Find your own vapor
Stay away from my dream
Who are you?
To deride my sensations
Who told you?
To barge into my imaginations
Find a new audience
To applaud your jerky motions
There is no need for a lifeguard
On my private beach
And too good to be true blue ocean
Who gave you permission to appear?
Between my left and right ear
Don’t be afraid
But don’t lose your fear
There is only room for one
For what’s going on in here
You’re not going to trade your trivialities
For my possibilities
Why don’t you check out the Olympics?
Sit there and hope they all fall on their asses
If you’re going to stay here
I would suggest
You take off your glasses
My quite very personal moments
Are exactly how they seem
I can hear them calling you now from the wings
You better move on
And find your own dreams
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Write It Down
Write it down you idiot
Make your thoughts rhyme
That’s all there is to it
Write it down you jerk
Move the letters around till it works
Write it down you fool
Words can be an interesting tool
Write it down stupid
Don’t forget to focus
Then make it roll fluid
Write it down you dope
Wait until you’re done
Till you take that smoke
Write it down moron
Don’t let your point run on
Maybe something you can sing along
Write it down you slob
But I recommend
Until it clicks
Keep your day job
Write it down
Show the page
Who is the boss
Once in a while
It’s even as good as jerking off
Write it down
Make it dandy
Maybe then make some money
Maybe enough
To rent some eye candy
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Personal Poem
When I go to do things that require confidence
I’m always on the lookout for sentimentality
There’s a coin in my wallet that I won’t spend
Or a piece of clothing that I wear when I want to be brave
But never socks (I can’t tell them apart)
My favourite item of confidence is a ten pence piece
That has a letter i on it
And a picture of an ice cream
Someone once gave it to me for luck
Which seems ridiculous
But I think it’s true
And I always know where it is
Just in case
I ever need it.
Ewen Frazer
Newcastle upon Tyne, England
Insurrection MMXXI
Gen-X sons & daughters
& grandsons & daughters
of Millennial male & female
from Baby Boomer parents on
mission in Washington D C
to wage war on big white house
at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
in broad daylight armed with rage
they storm the Mecca of American
Government to kill Democracy at
the behest of hate monger reborn as
would be American president bold in
blondness brazen with defiance fostered
by defeat--disgruntled bigots with
Republican pedigree validate violence
through murder of Democracy manifest
destiny bred by traitors for Trump on
mission to whitewash the truth with lies
& lawyers angry enablers looking for lost
identity as pseudo dignity the seed of
Caucasian inferiority--redneck mentality
still fighting 100 Year War waving Judas
X with stars & stripes--they dared!--they
destroyed!--they mocked! Democracy for
Corporate raider as dethroned American
dictator in Capitol Rebellion
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas, USA
Good God
Bad God
Partners all along
Different words
Same song
Two evil charismatic goons
Same intentions
Different tunes
Same techniques regarding interrogations
That includes
Redemption salvation damnations
In the end everyone pays
Everyone drinks from the same bucket of kool aid
Both, of these guys are extremely mean
Didn’t know
They’re on the same team
They got kicked out of Mars
Many moons ago God Damnit
Surveyed the stars
Then decided on this planet
Same preach
Different speech
Same scent
Different accent
Then one day
They said that’s enough
They gathered their stuff
Went together
Looking for greener pastures
For the new version of biblical disasters
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
A House Divided
Two brothers fighting
Same house
Such static
From the cellar
To the attic
The neighbors hear the yelling
The pets are all frightened
Wish the house
And the both of them
Get hit by lightning
Two brothers fighting
Each one driving the other
Up the walls
Each one taking turns
Who has more balls?
Two brothers fighting
Hello, good morning
Here is something you should know
I still hate you
Two brothers fighting
One should leave
One should go
I know we are family
But I still hate you so
Two brothers fighting
The black, white and grey
Till the end of time
This will always stay
Two brothers fighting
From their toes
To their heads
Where did I put that rifle?
Both better off dead
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
The Dead Team
We started as the home team
We played at home
We knew each others pets name
The numbers to each others phones
Each of us was different
Only when we were alone
Our locker room
Had no locks
The games we played
Had no clocks
Like all team players
We showed each other our layers
We were essentials
Like erasers on pencils
We had no rules
Everything we learned
Was left at schools
A tight team sticks together
With strong glue
There were many wins
The loses few
We all had whishes
But certainly not bucket listers
We were all playing on the same team
We were all chasing the same dream
Winning and happiness
Accepting nothing more or less
We were a team that could never lose
But we did
Carol died in a car
Ted in a bar
Eddy from the outside
Henry from the inside
Between the birth and the death
Those memories are ripped from our breasts
In the middle of the heave and the hoe
We realize when it’s time to go
Bobby at old age bought the farm
Steve never heard the fire alarm
Sally was knifed in an alley
Before Tom went away his mind was gone
But we all regrouped
Up there down there
Whatever
We formed the old team
Again
In the end
We repaired the ripped seam
But while here
Don’t bother to ponder
What awaits
Up or down yonder
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Benedict Donald
(Caucasian Savior)
Crusaders
call him their
cultural Savior
blonde Jesus
Christopher Trump
their Benedict Donald
Great White Male
mercenary millionaire
surname trademark
for branding he flaunts
Star Spangled Banner
in left hand right hand
flag is Confederate Glory
on Crusade to divide
Union of States with
platform for revenge
in Quest to make
America Great Again
he flaunts with Pledge of
Allegiance to Capitalism
as Caucasian Savior
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas USA
The Vase Holder
Cold, clear, conventional liquid seeps into my core; moulding into the shape of my body.
Delicate, crisp flowers embody my space, filling it with indulgent notes
of floral feminine fragrance.
So beautifully mutable and unknowingly delicate but,
do not try to hold me!
Cracks are plastered over my skin; wounds calloused over my pores – my hands dipped in beehives of regret.
For holding this broken glass, you may have to pay a blood price.
Shiksha Dheda
South Africa
https://shikshadheda.wixsite.com/writing/poetry,
Our Un-Common Threads
I reckon we could all stay put and only rehearse
Rather than bounce and spring
Out of
Our tiny area of universe
Searching for the missing strings to our other worldly beings
Some ones to reach our hearts and our heads
For the common connections to our un-common threads
Many a time
I thought the oil met the drill bit
But
Many a time
I was far from it
Oh and, you don’t have to call because I have no one
I enjoy tremendously being left alone
Have said that
Maybe a dog or a cat
Or
Maybe even both by my sides
That is a cure I can surely abide
Maybe we would best ourselves
Following the religion of, “ My God, Holy Cow!’’
And lead with this
The only chance you will get to do the right thing is now
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Someone Like Me
I want to meet
Someone like me
That sees things
The way I see
But perhaps more positively
Someone forthright and true
That knows what to do
Maybe not so quite like me
Who shoots from the hip, the lip, and the knee
Someone cool as ice
That dresses and smells nice
My clothing brand is second hand
Someone who gets it right the first time
Not the twice
The third time for me sets off an alarm
Rather than becoming the charm
Someone described as
A profile of style
Not like yours truly
Described as a mud pile
Perhaps
A get away with fake smile
But then
I have enough fake for the both of us
Just say when
An, I don’t know how to conserve conservative
An out of hand liberal that’s not too Biblical
As I am
A renegade band-aid that won’t stay where it is laid
Someone funny
But unlike me
With some money
Anything but a mirror
You may deliver
That is something I do not want to see
Might I be looking for
The opposite of me?
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Where Are We Going?
Where are we going?
Where did it go?
You told me a picture
And I still don’t know
Make me a believer
Even if you don’t know either
And like so many things
That were meant to be that way
So many things aren’t
If
You allow them their say
I am shocked at your thoughtfulness
And amazed at your lack of regret
I still think
I will be the one you may never forget
It was once
A perfect time
For you and me
Remember the glowing?
Where is this going?
I agree in part
To what you say
I just don’t want it to end this way
Before
Invincible at first
Alone at last
Where have you been all my life?
Or are you way past?
I like looking out of windows
I don’t like looking in
Is that something you knew?
Does it matter
If we don’t continue
The same shadows on the walls
As they were when I was small
The same clouds above my head
As I am tall
Under my bed
And even if
We are through
I will compare
Them all to you
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
The Things That I Recall Most
I washed up the bed linens
this morning
and recalled my Inang (Mother)
the smell of the powdered detergent
she often used
how she neatly arranged the sheets
on the clothesline
how she niftily folded them
when dried
and when I pressed them to my cheek
how comfortable they felt
and I wish
it was night time again
I could relish the softness
of the sheets upon my sleep
with my mother's calming embrace
afterward,
I warmed up the food
from the fridge
made a cup of warm and creamy coffee
the smell of it evoked
the many early mornings
of childhood with my Tatang (Father)
when he cooked for breakfast
the smell of steamed rice,
the sound of kitchen utensils he used
in warming up the vegetable dishes
or frying up some fresh eggs
the creases in his eyes
when he told me tales of
his encounters of the nature
of plants and animals
the warm smile he shared
when he urged me
to eat heartily
because breakfast
he said
is the most important meal of the day
these are the things
I mostly remember
not the expensive things
that they gave me
or the fancy things
that they so dreamed
to pamper me
I am blessed to figure that out today
Zea Perez
Manila, Philippines
Masquerade
virus control
CDC edict
authority rooted
in bureaucracy
of State mandate
Corporate policy
Government imposed
band-aid for CDC
pandemic propaganda
invisible threat air born
death conjure fear of
breathing in public space
virus imported with retail
value morph as made in China
laboratory nightmare virus
masquerade in CDC costume
Doctor Doomsday television
voice of death recognized
by name ending in vowel
the face for medical science
purveyor of fear with warning
Doomsday Prophecy…mask
will save you…
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas USA
We
We must stand together
as one to expose Government
love affair with Capitalism to
stop back door investment in
foreign economic prosperity at
expense of American livelihood
of We The People--protest Made
In China on doorstep of sneaker
makers empire--to hell with NBA
prosperity of Basketball Brigade--
boycott at Gates of God--show
solidarity by canceling need
to spend money on status symbols
rooted in alienation of class & caste
in America--We must stand as one
joined by likeness denied by social
empowerment that favor 2%
prosperity to preserve the future of
Founding Fathers in these United States
with one flag that bleeds red white & blue
then burn to banish Confederate allegiance
predicated on history of regional alienation
fostered by hypocrisy that compromise
morality upheld by blind demagogues
& silent voices cultivated as blessing for
ruling class in this country to hear no evil
see no evil—who notice nothing unusual
about selling America to foreign investment
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas, USA
Couple At The Wok [poem from the soon to be released novel
'Silly Rabbit & Honey Bunny Seventies Adventure']
Main Street to Las Vegas Boulevard
Downtown always around the corner from
Fremont Street--local lore inside border of
Charleston & Bonanza--Ogden-to-Bruce--
at corner of--Bridger & The Strip--gentleman
with lady--sit at corner table--view of sidewalk
& street on other side of glass--inside The Wok
without menu gentleman orders chicken chow
mein with noodles--shrimp egg foo yong--egg
flower soup with green tea while lady looks
at menu—waitress recommend sharing order--
gentleman--enough for two--I won’t pig-out--
promise with smile—matched by her—
high-cheeks grin--Ummm--egg flower soup is
good--him--my favorite Chinese place--its all
good--just so you know--I like your new look--
lady--thank you--took two days to notice--
I guess--that’s a compliment--her tone playful--
gentleman--I was just getting used to it--that
cute baby face--bangs with curtain of auburn
hair--yeah--I like it--like it a lot--her--using
charm on me--shame on you--you know I
blush easily--head down--chin touching
chest--he chuckles--she reacts with laughter
he--extend fork full of chow mein noodles—
across table for waiting mouth--inside ear
to ear grin--she opens up for entry--Ummm—
that was romantic--from you--the hard edge
one--him--I feel Real Men Don’t--breathing
down my neck--letting a little thing like you—
affect big guy like me--this way--her--oh my—
mymy--he can be cute & manly--him--once
a year it happens--on special occasion--
don’t get any ideas--her--you will not get away
with once a year with me--open up--he eats
shrimp egg foo yong--from fork in hand
extended from across the table--him--Ummm--
taste better from your plate—gentleman licks his lips--
lady blushing is charming--cute couple inside The Wok
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas, USA
https://twitter.com/Rosser_Reader
It Was My Mistake
Too many un-necessary words
From one meaningless thought
In a matter of seconds
I alone, depleted a lifetime
Of all the things I sought
The most many Damn consequences
Of not minding my own God-Damn businesses
You can always blame the dirt on the rake
But it was my mistake
What goes up
Must go down
The sound of my jaw
With my negative sounds
Yet
There is nothing so pleasant
Like a sociable lunching
Yet
There is a lot to be said
About isolation and self destruction
All I had to do
Was keep my trap shut
For a minute or two
But you know me
It is a task I can not do
So smart to listen
And let the other ones talk
Just pretend that you’re listening
Relax and let your brain take a walk
Just listen and keep them on the ropes
Think I can do that?
Nope
In retrospect
With all due respect
You’re heading into trouble till
You learn keep your mouth still
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Jewish Chick At The Bar
at Las Vegas intersection of New York
& Memphis--Jewish chick & Black guy
meet in ‘74--she--Dad’s precious pumpkin
spoiled city girl--he--Momma’s boy baby
broad shouldered Air Force mechanic--if
she is less impressed with him only manners
stop her from showing it--he lights cigarette
at bar seated next to her--she views him in
periphery glance ignoring his presence in fore
ground of weekend scene at Golden Nugget
casino Downtown on Fremont Street--Jewish
chick not Las Vegas vixen--more Earth Child
minus makeup in jeans with cotton embroidered
blouse her ginger mane of curls mid-back in length
leave impression she might have a little hippy in her
the oddity of contrast--salon fingernails polished
candy apple red leave impression of vanity as
pampered plainness more Nevada than Las Vegas
Black guy--celebrity double Jackson 5 Jermaine
with goatee same afro dressed in faded jeans &
denim shirt--he downs a shot of whiskey--grab
bottle of beer--she sips martini on rocks--he
notice her need for light when Jewish chick
place cigarette from pack in purse between
parted lips--Black guy reach for match to
assist her--she smiles a blush of a smile
with glint in green eyes--provoke
reciprocal grin from him--speechless
they look at each other she says
a gentleman at the bar—can you
believe it--he says--not a problem
so what are you drinking …
have one on me
j.e. Rosser
Las Vegas, USA
https://twitter.com/Rosser_Reader
A Perfect Storm
I would like to be a part of you
The wind, the rain, the heart of you
Let us give it a try
A weather or not report
Under partly cloudy eyes
Promises are not worth the lies they are spoken on
I’ve heard mine and you’ve heard yours
In the raging ocean let us chart another course
Your loveliness
My loneliness
May become togetherness
Let’s begin where we were born
In a perfect storm
Many times I’ve gone to places
Where I knew I did not belong
The red flags of curtains flying
In a melody short of song
If I have a chance in Hell
It’s going to be with you
Maybe we can navigate between the false and the true
A shadow of a life was I
Till you came passing thru
I can’t be me
Unless you’re with me too
I’ll bring some pride
You bring some joy
You will be my doll
And I will be your toy
We should come thru
A perfect storm
That is where we live
That is where we belong
Everyone should come out of the wind and the rain
But when you get inside you will find that it is all the same
Nothing lasts forever
Get it while you can
Don’t matter if you’re a lonesome hobo
Or a family man
So
What are you thinking and why?
I’ll wait for you answer
Under a stormy sky
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
On Top Of The Blue List
Clueless
Shoeless
On top of the blue list
Half dead
Code blue and red
Bored to tears
Drowning in fears
I will not be the one
You want to keep near
But I’ll learn you a lesson or two
What it means to be seen right thru
And how to face questions and eyes
When you can’t come up with alibies
The trick is not
To not care
The trick is to pretend
You’re not even there
Now
Would you believe me
If I bought you a drink or two
Would you need me
If I don’t
Or I do
Don’t matter
I don’t care
When the bill comes
I’ll pretend I’m not there
Had a family
Once or twice
Cold as the sun it was
Sometimes hot as ice
But I never had the family flare
Most of the time
No
All of the time
I wasn’t even there
So you see
I’ll live by my wit
Can’t you tell
That I don’t give a shit
Take your time
While I fix my hair
When you come up with the answer
I won’t be there
But here is the twist
You can always find me
On top of the blue list
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
You Had Me At Goodbye
All the things you left behind
Your toothbrush, your pillow, where you would rest your restless mind
The books you wrote, and read out loud
The way you couldn’t blend in with the crowd
A dog and cat still wait by the door
Your last pair of socks still lying on the floor
I remember you saying when you were just thirteen
You knew you would always walk with a melancholy sheen
Some call it shadows that disappear in the fog
Sir Winston Churchill called it, “His black dog”
I am more than deadly serious
We almost had a near life experience
I’ll still feel the same wind and breeze
But my head on your shoulder gave me my peace
All the wars we could have won
All the memories we could have done
They say time heals
It doesn’t
They say it was all a dream
It wasn’t
I still don’t know the what or why
But
You had me at goodbye
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Forward Thinking
When I think of green energy
I think of fast cars
I think of how you cared
About climate change
And Planet Mars
Then you took action
A step forward
Many aren't bothered to do
They don't possess extraordinary minds
Visionaries change the world
Intellectual and creative
A challenge
A quest
Something I do best
Are we being penalized
For being overachievers?
For working ourselves
Into an early grave
All to enhance humanity
Along our journey
Along our way
Evil minds
Look for corruption
In people who achieve
Crucify them in the media
Make them the one’s to blame
He's the only one
Stepping forward
To fix this oversight
Visionaries aren't tax- preparers
They drown in fiscal details
Forward Thinkers
That's who you want to blame?
If you made a fortune
From your sweat and toil
Would you feel ashamed?
There will always be people wealthier than you
Alas we point the finger
Shame on you.
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
My Favorite Planet
Millions of miles away,
A planet with rings stands in my midst,
Opulent in every way.
Majestic, it sits near Jupiter
A planet full of gases,
Inhabitable to man.
It has several moons,
Titan is the one I'd choose.
Saturn's moon is where I'd roam,
Where I'd call home.
Yes, I'd visit my friends on Mars.
A recluse by nature,
I'd be elated to be on my own.
The solar system,
Majestic and wise,
Takes the world by surprise.
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
Visions
Can you look me in the eye,
Never tell me a lie?
Can you love me forever and always,
Even when the skies are grey?
Will, you read poetry to me,
You know that dries my tears,
And calms my fears.
Falling asleep with you by my side,
The sound of your heartbeat as I lay upon your chest
Lulls me into a dreamy sleep.
Are you real,
Or are you my greatest mirage?
Are you an invention of my mind
Designed to help me through the darkest of times?
Most people's minds would have split in two,
My mind simply dreams of you
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
Fire
Fire in my veins
Embers in my eyes
A willing heart
Never defies
Master your circumstance
Devise your plan
Walk straight
Out of hell
Back to your utopian land
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
Stardust
I am born of stardust
Bright warmth
And full of light
Similar to the stars
I radiate energy
To guide you home
I possess an inner fire
That won't quit
Embers keep
My fiery eyes lit
I won't recede
Or fall away
Full of sharpness
And wit
Blunt but truthful
Strong and gentle
I am stardust and light
Green energy
Clean and bright
Always ready
To take up the plight
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
Infidelity
You're first offence
Knocked me off my feet
It took a week of living apart
To fight my way through
Not to say
We were through
If there were
To be a second indiscretion
I'd need a lifetime
Away from you
To heal my soul
Through and through
For I deserve
More than you
Elena Ruiz
New York City, USA
Going
I’m going
To eventually
Catch a flight
But I don’t know
Which gate
I do know
No matter how much
I oversleep
I won’t be late
I’m going
On a trip
That is long
Or short overdue
The same shall apply
To you and to you
I’m going
To get
To put it on cruise control
I’m going to get a new haircut
I’m going to get a new soul
For the same money
I could believe there is a Hell
But for the same price
This for me
Works out well
My only concern
Is leaving a mess
Death can be embarrassing
Even at its best
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Image supplied by Leeau V.I. to accompany her poem 'My Only Nanay' [see below]
My Only Nanay
Nanay was born
the superwoman we knew
offering her might
through thick and thin
such extreme suffering
she stood sturdily on her feet
shakily
she struggled to raise us
six angels of different ages
in what manner?
sewing dresses by paddling her tailoring machine
day and night
a bloodstream
no one can imagine!
her only trusted friend was a bottle of wine
in her strenuous grip
fringed by nightfall
she whispered miseries
hardship and anguish
to nothingness!
was the bottle of wine her sole confidante?
did anyone heed her cries?
Leeau V.I.
Manila, Philippines
They Call Her Joy
her name is Joy
so they call her Joy
but she herself doesn’t know
what joy really means
she enjoys singing,
imitating the singer she likes the most
but gets distressed
when out of tune
she fears for her future
that she'll vanish unsatisfied
in her 40s she works the days through
because she only wants the best
for her children
she acts fine for you and I
wrapping in secret the darkness she keeps
thrown into a foreign district
far from her comfort zone
she’s learning to adapt with all her might
but some make her unwelcome
her mom named her Joy
the only joy of her own miserable past
but misery still flows through the family veins
at times she fancies a wealthy life
to make her world go round
Leeua V.I.
Manila, Philippines
Joe, A Good Friend
I grew up in a forsaken village
a rose firmly guarded by thorns
blindfolded and naïve
where life-teachings were rigid and stiff
when they thought I’d bloomed
they picked me out like a vibrant rose
sent to adulthood
I lacked goals and scared easily
I learned only slowly how to get a grip
I didn’t know what to value most
in my second college year
a confidante called ‘Ate’
showed me the world
life became easier
days turned happier
I imagined fixed things
and gripped them tightly
but the time came to separate
go different ways
Ate went to the south
and I only halfway south
soon Ate met her better half
and I like a rose was left alone in a vase
I wilted for years
falling, like petals off a flower
but God is kind
he heeded my lamentation
he picked me out, put me safe
he gave me Joe, a good friend
a person to love
the person I deserve
God is great!
Leeau V.I.
Manila, Philippines
The Last Time I Saw Paris
According to the poets
This is how it ended: the tall towers
still ablaze, me struggling in my husband’s arms
as he dragged me to the waiting galleys.
I yearned, they say,
to join my love among the dead, to drown myself
in the sea - which was of course wine-dark.
In reality, Troy had become tedious.
As I stepped distastefully around the corpses,
I reflected that Paris would not have aged well.
I didn’t even mind when Menelaus
Whispered to me: “You understand
This was all about politics. For you,
I would not have launched a fishing boat.”
Back here in Sparta, life is bearable.
There is a young envoy from Corinth
who is pleasing to the eye…
Oh, and by the way,
I don’t think there were all that many ships.
David Whippman
Blackpool, England
Bedsitter Blues
The room and I did not choose each other:
Circumstances have shipwrecked me here
In this shaped vacancy which seems
Geometrically indifferent to my needs,
Uncomfortable as new shoes. Reluctantly
I unpack, stick posters on walls, the banners
Of an occupying army. Now I must wait
As if to be rescued. In time, the room
Will contain friends, be warm on winter nights,
Acceptably surround me as the radio sings
Of possible relationships. By the time I leave
This space will be a perfect fit for me.
David Whippman
Blackpool, England
My Mask
For special effect
I was born with a birth defect
My birth certificate
With not quite a face that fit
Very not quite
Very not right
I learned to take it
But failed the test
Inside I was smart
Outside?
Not at my best
Even thou better than many
In public
Still hurting plenty
Born with a jaw so out of whack
It looked like it went thru a Martian attack
People not only stopped and stared
They got on their knees lit a candle and said a prayer
Then they went on their way as I went on mine
Same scene different time
In school so cruel
Not only them
But I was a fool
Owning my condition at that point
Was a useless mantra repetition
Learning to take it
Learning to make it
A pandemic at last
I had a simple task
To purchase a mask
A mask to adore
My mask that I wore
My sexy cover up and wow
My accented blue eyes
How do you like me now?
Keep it going
Keep the vents flowing
Well, that is so wrong
But when ye have been singing my song
Bewilderment screws with right and wrong
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
My Last Address
Before you come to
The end of your earth
Look back
To what you thought was your worth
You have found in this world
This is the deal
You never know what you’ll get
When you pull whatever over
And see what is behind the wheel
Between the heights of joy
And the depths of fear
On the train to your last stop
Sit in the front and not in the rear
All the good things in my life
Slowly never did last
At the end of it all
I only ask
How I got here so fast?
Around the corner
Thru the avenue
Turns the pages
Till at least page two
Have a step
In my shoes
Now give them back
They were not made for you
You can wear them again
When you’re done thru and thru
Ain’t no use denying. At this stage of age
It’s the groceries and the writing
That fill my page
After I jerk off
I’m glad I’m alone
I like going steady and being faithful
With my pen and my bone
Well
We all choose
Where we will roam
At end of the thicket
One mans bucket list
Is another man’s fuck it
I was a good looking kid
I didn’t know it at the time
I say that with a smile
Because I won’t know what I have right now
Till I look back in a while
This could be my last summer
If it is that’s great
If it ain’t
Even better
I am bereft of complaints
All I have lifted
All I have dropped
All will be forgotten
At my last stop
Maybe a window by a big dog park?
In my shallow ridges
And deep valleys
No one can follow thru
When you burn your bridges
The last one I fired
I dedicate to you
Before I came to this crossing
I was the boss
I dotted all the Is
But the ts were not crossed
So
Give me sunshine
Or give me moonshine
Just don’t waste
My un-precious or my time
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Aling Deliah
Blackcap, blue facemask, pink long sleeves shirt, ebony gloves,
Wooden pushcart, aqua green bins covered with big black trash plastics bags and walistingting,
She sweeps around this corner at three in the morning.
She sorts out the garbage nabubulok at di nabubulok,
‘Are you always alone at this hour?’
‘You don’t have a companion?’ I ask.
‘I had. She's sick with Covid. So, I am alone now.’
Street sweeper
Zea Perez
Philippines
Wish You Were Not Here
It took a second
To fall in love with you
And a million years
To not get over you too
You are taking up
Quite a bit
Of real estate
In my head
I mortgaged my soul to you
You could at least now
Pay some of my rent too
One step up the stairs
Is your first name
The next step your last
Get what I am driving at
Replete
Repeat
Oh look, here comes the past
Are not beginnings
So sweet and lovely
So nice
To start out winning
Until the finishing
I reckon
Since I was the one
Left behind
I only remember the good times
Since I was the one
Left for good
I should ponder the bad times
I wish I could
I even loved your stupid family
Even though they made fun of me
Your brother gave me a haircut
During his freshman year at beauty school that was so fucking bad
I told him it was the best haircut I had ever had
You were my last lifeboat
In my raging sea
But a couple of seafaring years down the road
And it looked like your eyeballs were going to explode
The thing of it all that allows me to come up and breathe
Is that by the end of my third acts I make it by the skin of my teeth
Oh well
Everything has its shelf-life
Everyone has their span
And their ain’t no difference
Between beast, woman or man
The very bottom line you see
Is two eyes, a nose and a mouth
And every beast, woman and man
Just wants to be happy
Maybe that includes me
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Say Something Funny
Been a bad day
Like the day before
And the day before that
Let me sit in your living room
With your cat on my lap
Say something funny
You know I love you like that
Play your piano
If you hit a wrong key, I won’t make a fuss
And oh yeah
I’m sorry I never became rich and famous
Say something funny
It’s only the three of us
Dare to dream I did
Got to scream I did
Never got to play that special part
Got stuck in isle three
With an empty shopping cart
Say something funny
And say it from your heart
A smile from you
In the morning to start
Makes my day when you
Play that special part
Gets me going to do what I do again and again
Say something funny
Everything will be alright
Make my darkness shine bright
Well, it’s never too late
To be a happy early bird
Would you like to live forever with me?
Say something funny
Yes, is the word
Your, our cat, is hungry and thirsty
And so am I, I mean we
Say something funny
As you look at me with those eyes
Say something funny
As we have our Martinis, ice cream, and pie
I love you so much
I love being your guy
Say something funny
While I dry my listening eyes
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
In Her Eyes
What no one knew is she had been through it, and at this point, she saw no reason to throw a fit.
She kept her secrets under a rug, what else could she do? Everyone did nothing but shrug.
She did everything she could, struggling in the silence. Who could she turn to? She grew up with no guidance.
Inspiring people of all ages even when her mind was wrapped in cages. Not even sage could cleanse all this rage that was kept beneath the rug in her brain.
When she spoke, she choked on almost every word, pouring out what she felt, praying for hope.
There was no drug, hug, and no one to blame she had been broken and excepted the pain.
Where does she go now? Who does she know? She continues to wake up every morning fighting the snow.
The world on her shoulders and life on her back, there’s a reason she can’t afford the slack.
The rope pulls tight until it just hangs her clothes this is where she is…this is what she does.
Britanny Tarantino
South Carolina, USA
Manila - The Haven And The City
Inside the room: Morning Chimes and Stirrings
Pandan scent
conquers the room
at the tick of a rice cooker
A crackling
in a pan, frying
sunny-side-up eggs
A ping
signals ‘all done’
in a bread toaster
A clap
from a heater
telling ‘boiling water is ready!’
A spoon
stirring in a blue cup
fixing a creamy Barako coffee
A fan
lightly humming
beguiling the air
for a cool morning
Piano masterpieces
of Makiko Hirohashi
playing, rejuvenating the senses
A laptop
clicking, clacking
declaring the start
of a hopeful, fruitful day
safe haven
cozy, quiescent
relaxing, reading, sleeping
the “me” universe, a sanctuary
the bedroom
respite
ivory white, shampoo scented
cleansing, reflecting, pondering
a place for eliminating toxins literally, figuratively
the comfort and shower room
a space of memories
tiny, orderly, functional
working, cooking, dining, talking
a small table and seats, a stove and a ref and wood cabinets for utensils
the premier room: our home
terrace
brown, wood-like floor tiles, ebony railings on the side
clambering grapevines coiling on clothesline pole
feathers of dove birds, brown, white and grey falling from the top floor
herbs, fern-like flowers and vegetables growing in recycled pots of plastic mineral water
a viewing corner of hollering trucks and cars, honking motorbikes, bellowing ambulance and patrol cars, peddaling bikes on the road
an oasis amidst the bustling city
Blue Cup
breakable earthenware
soothing, revitalizing, reviving
my companion every morning
coffee
Outside: The City’s Morning Buzzes
Maya birds chirping
freely perching on the grapevines
basking and adoring
the sunrise
A door
gently clicks
as it opens and closes
of an adjacent neighbor
A nasty whiff
the smell of nicotine
its vapor tarnishing
the air
The dogs
At the next block
hostile and snarling
echoing a ‘commotion’
Vehicles
all of various kind
lively running, horns bellowing
on the main street
Women
in baker’s apron
yelling as they open
the famous Gluten Pastry Shop
A metal gate squeaking
ushering a car
going out
somewhere
Church bells tolling,
greeting and praying
for the safety
of the flocks
Scurrying ambulance
fire trucks
and police cars
hollering, bellowing
A distant audible
TV news, broadcasting
close to a million Covid-19 Cases
nationwide
Working women in apron
lounging at the entrance of a sweet shop
telling jokes and chuckling with blue facemasks on
one asks, ‘Will you be having a vaccine?’
the other women merely blink their eyes.
Lone long black-haired lass
bought a kakanin, waiting for jeepney
in pink shorts, white tee, facemask and shield on
are her extremities all painted with moss like tattoos?
a fair young millennial in her sneakers
Three big tummy men
enjoying their break, chatting in distinct tone
tucking out their sando shirts, revealing fat bulges
One says, ‘I thirst for a drink of rum!”
The men howl, ‘Wish for no virus, wish for no lockdown!’
Law enforcers and tanods in uniform
Trafficking the road, ensuring quarantine rules
Delivery guy asks, ‘Is lugaw not an essential food?’ A tanod replies, ‘Not essential!’
Poor exhausted delivery guy went home with his cold lugaw
The netizens rage, ‘Lugaw is food! It is essential!’
Zea Perez
Philippines
Here They Come
The ones
You see coming
Are tougher
Than the ones that come
Sudden and stunning
That kind of shock
Would crush a rock
But it’s over real soon
The far away ones
That you see like a full moon
By the time they arrive
You have already
Lost your hide
Fast or slow
Which is better
What speed should
They come and go
I slowly waked down the hall
Opened a door
My innocent intention
Was just to settle a score
But when I got in
There was a freeze
In my brain
I planned it so long
I must have over-trained
Fast and loose
Like a runaway caboose
Things come and go
Only difference
Is fast or slow
I have run
I have rendered
I have won
I have surrendered
All I remember
Was the speed
That it started
And ended
I’ll try to figure it out
A little more
Remember when people
Looked you in the eye
Real slow
And then faster a bit some more
Slow motion
Or
Locomotion
In our own time
We all crawled out of the same ocean
You don’t have to see it coming
If it’s inside of you humming
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
All The People
If you try real hard
You still can not see them in the air
But they are still there
If you try real hard
You can not hear them right there
Hey
I never said
It is fair
All the people and pets
That loved you
Before they died
Still stay by your side
I once had a blind cat
A true love was he
I now know
That now he can see
You see him with me?
All the people and pets
That loved you before they died
Did not travel that far
They have your ear and eye
You are still on their radar
I twice had a wife
Both are through
But I know
I am still sleeping
With number two
All the people and pets
That loved you
Before they died
Are still here for the ride
Are still here when you slip and slide
I had a child
A lovable wild child
Running wild
Was here one day
Then the next
Not on file
There is he now
He is the one with the smile
Like they have all the while
All the people and pets
That loved you
Before they died
Wait for you to join them
Wait right by your side
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Morning Traffic
This morning, from my bedroom window view,
I watched a dog sniff down my garden path.
He did not know I watched him as he tasted
The red camellia blossom that he bit in half.
Then he licked the morning dew
From several blades of grass,
And with glancing eyes and shifting paws,
He jumped aside to let a caterpillar pass.
Excited by the sidewalk sounds,
He turned to watch, unabashed,
The parade of morning leashes
With captive dogs attached.
Then, with stately canine grace,
He turned around and left the place.
William Masters
San Francisco, USA
The Sunset Window
When the sun gradually edges down,
bright red-orange rays,
shall gander on this glass window
the horizon shall welcome the dusk to come
gradually clasping the darkness.
To wrap up the day,
this window never fails
to regale me vignettes
of tales around.
In late evenings
and sometimes at dawn,
this window makes me notice
the husband of a neighboring couple;
smoking silently on the balcony
filling the air with its nasty nicotine
vapors beckoning his fairy slumber
work and life must be tough?
His fume goes insidiously
thru the window
tearing inside the house
slithering into my nose
stifling my breath
I pray his fairy to come quickly
and usher him to sleep.
At midmornings
I see this pretty wife
humming to a love song
sang by Regine Velasquez
while she hangs dry their freshly washed clothes
to this line pole;
the pole where the grapevines
stoutly creep around during summer.
The wife must have empty
this fabric conditioner
a Sampaguita scent
conquering the air with its whiff
intoxicating my nasal senses
inebriating all our corners
sousing even straight up into my bed.
On some occasions
this window offers me
snatches of Roe’s older sister,
having sweet moments,
with her boyfriend,
whispering inaudible voices,
and little muffled laughs
sometimes,
I sense of livid silence
perhaps a lover’s quarrel?
Yet this window
has a darling tale of Roe
a dear neighbor
who takes images of the sunset each day,
who gathers her dry,
washed garments every fourth night
an almond-eyed lass,
so lurid at seventeen,
she tells me snippets
of her online classes
that Algebra is her mess
and how she saves a dime
paying this pricey internet
other times,
she delights me with tales
of her mom’s work in a foreign land
where she takes care of kids
like Roe’s age.
Or how her mom instils discipline
through phone messages and calls.
Roe studies hard
because she tells me
she has a dream
a dream of a better life
where she can take care of her mom
and her mom is home to take care of them.
Roe will cook Pinakbet for her,
and at chilly nights,
Roe shall secure her lovingly with a bandana
until she gets old.
Zea Perez
Philippines
We
I am walking
In the midnight air
Remembering the times
You would let me climb your stairs
A raven is flapping
High on a tree
Do you ever
Ever think of me?
I am moving up
A sunlit lane
We would watch the rain
From your window pane
Fish float
As they sleep in the sea
Would you consider
Maybe a friendly
Cup of tea?
You’re the one
That was my light
The only one
That
Lasted more than
One night
Here I go
Causing my own fuss
Is it
Crazy
To still think of us?
We have
More yesterdays
Than tomorrows true
I don’t want
To get older
With someone new
Get me a time machine
Get me the past
Or should I
Just hoist my mast?
Well
Here comes the anchor
I am sailing away
And that is that
I’ll put down
When I get to where I am at someday
And why should I complain?
Oh, I know why
For your love
I’m as blind as a bat
Alan Berger
West Hollywood, California
Two On The Aisle
A snake
And a dove
Walked towards the kingdom of love
That’s what some of the bile
Was said
Referring to me and my future wife
Walking down the aisle
They told her father
What surely would come
You’re not losing a daughter
You’re gaining a bum
They saw clear thru me
Like a dirty piece of glass
They were concerned about her future
And leery of my past
If a tornado stopped the wedding
It would be an invited blast
I did have a few fans in her family
Only because they were worse than me
We don’t how it happened
But we stuck together
I’m certainly not saying
There was no stormy weather
All our dreams
With us aboard
Set sail
I even managed
To stay out of jail