Poem by Bijoy Krishna Handique

 

Tonight I Shall be Crucified



Tonight I shall be crucified

Under the weeping willow

A professional mourner

Thirsty for my blood to be sanctified

The wounded song of the night bird echoes

The muted moaning of the forlorn tuberoses

The lamp of the night watchman gives out

The glowing flicker, the last before it goes out

The pale moon swallowed

By the mountain of loneliness

Sheds its radiance faded

Struggling through the dark vastness

From the sky a star falls

Chased by a hawk to the earth

I am hawked by this world

To die this inglorious death



Tonight I shall be crucified

My body plods its weary way

Carrying my soul on a pyre

Counting the minutes ticking away

With petals of sweet briar

Parting is at the stroke of midnight

I shall be crucified tonight.

The night hawk circles me thrice and swishes

Midnight air with its sword-sharp wings

To shriek out to the world my last wishes:

Give me the light that’s gone

Give me the love that’s gone

Give me the life yet to shine

By love and light.

Tonight I shall be crucified

And my body survives personified

In the night hawk lost in the light of the day

Awaiting the rise of souls on Judgement Day

To seek me, to find me, to reach me.


(More poems by Bijoy Krishna Handique  )


A Poem by Judy Katz-Levine
 


injustice


afraid but hearing your voice
and you speak out speak out

light the marvelous

a friend who lost

street lamps burn souls in obsidian
the kids who have been cheated

why is it that I feel like weeping
when I sing this psalm?

sometimes we are stern with one another
or bothered by small change

there is the waterfall and there
stands a teacher

kalimba* and wooden vibes
in the birches but

those behind bars
can write fiery poems

the blue lightning of a rock guitar
impulse to hold back tears



*kalimba - small African thumb piano



(More Poems by Judy Katz-Levine )


A Poem by Kelley Jean White


Six True Things About Water

1.

my father was on a destroyer in the South Pacific
he remembered a great storm, the small boat
an acorn in a rocky pool
stirred by an angry child,
the men clinging
to her sides like bugs on a windshield
wiper, the roar
a locomotive in an bank vault
after my father retired he had time, he could spend
hours
in the town library with books
on World War II and naval history
he thought he had identified the storm
he read me a chapter
there is nothing to compare it to


( More poems by Kelley Jean White)


A Poem by Hongri Yuan,


Four Poems

By Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan

Translated by Yuanbing zhang

Tripod



Let yourself become a container

Like the ancient tripod

Put the world in it.

Let the stars light of the sun and moon

Such as the eternal fire of the day and night

You will smelt a new kingdom

 

( More poems by Hongri Yuan)


A Poem by  Luz María López


CREATION


return all dreams
to mother earth
call back the birds
to their sacred dwelling
let the magic emerge from
each flower that blooms into the air
so life can sing to the morning
as the sun arises to kiss
the soil that sprouts sustenance
and mirrors itself over the ocean
let the animals dwell the land
unharmed by our arrows
in soul harmony
for we are one with all creation
heirs of its wisdom and glory
all eternal mysteries
while love
spins vigorously
giving birth to
inner beauty!
 


( More poems by Luz María López )


A Poem by Juby Peacock



POETRY

Poetry is the healing balm with which I sooth my wounds when they become too dry
Poetry is the strength with which I pluck my wings when my anxiety is uncontrolled and my strength threatens to harm my body
Poetry is the trigger with which I pull these bazookas when the shadows that encamp around me get too dark
Poetry is what it is, when I write it, when I say it and when I am merely performing it
Poetry is the string with which to unravel my future, prophesying with stanzas so deep my soul cannot fathom it
It’s like the ripples in my head on the waters taking me to places unknown
Poetry is the shield through which I protect my heart from impending doom
And I won’t flinch, I won’t flinch, I won’t flinch from this poetry, exposing secrets that I dint even know I had
Poetry is the bridge between my past, my present and my future
Poetry is the drum that reverberate beats that are louder than my heart beat
Poetry is the red blood from my veins that write stories on the slates of my heart
This poetry is stripping me bare naked prostituting me through words that I didn’t even know were in my vocabulary bank
Poetry is confusing, it is liberating, yet it binds me
Poetry is alive, it is the truth, and it is a lie
Poetry contends with my conscience, it challenges my theories, argues with my world views
It threatens to completely annihilate the kingdom of non-thinkers
It threatens to destroy everything I thought I knew, everything I thought I thought
This Poetry is making a complete fool out of me every time because I fall for it every time it comes knocking at my door
It appeals to all my senses and wants to seduce my heart, mind and soul
This Poetry is a dream I have I had a thousand times before but I was afraid to pursue because it made claims over things I had never seen or heard
This poetry is deeply embedded on my DNA, unmistakably in scripted on my finger prints
Poetry is the mirror that reflects my souls, it is the canvas with which I paint
This Poetry is me


(More poems by Juby Peacock )


 

A poem by Małgorzata Skałbania


soft steps

this act is not reached yet
we are walking slowly as a poet ordered
urine is dripping from the ceiling drilling the new kidneys around the rubs
we are in the living room
is not safe here
a bit like at landmark theater
it had to sell the lamp and the art played there is about the phantom
the spirit of a woman
who broke her neck on the audience


( More poems by Małgorzata Skałbania)


A Poem by Ingrid Fichtner

 

Sheer beauty


yet so very real no dream at all

all that green so very lush

the lotus orchids and plumeria

– toads frogs and crickets

as a chorus for the night and

the fierce breath of the sea

giving the sandy beach

a different shape each

day each night anew

pure beauty

 

( More poems by Ingrid Fichtner)

 


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