Hans D. Amadé Esperer



Still Life

There we lay, two pared orange-
halves, still sticky and full of juice the fingers
resting deep in the other' s flesh
softly forgetting
for a blink of an eyelash not feeling
the knife, which was ready for us
to finish the peeling, flash in the sunlight
 

(More poems by Amadé Esperer)


Eldar Akhadov

FAIRY TALES


The Good and the Bad
The good words and the bad words once met. The bad words were just spoiling for a fight, but the good words wouldn't notice that. How come? The worst words got into a rage, they were shaking fists, crying loudly, hearing nobody around. But the good words were smiling. Then the bad words decided to attack the good ones and beat them. They ran up well... And missed the ears. But the good words remained.

 

(More Poems by Eldar Akhadov )


Fahredin Shehu

This dry day age of mine


They were classifying stones
to decorate the pavement
a mosaic of life
a mosaic for life and beyond

Friends called me to go
swimming in the river
far from home

Father was strict
I dare not to ask him permission
unless I lied to him as I was
going to shop a chain for my pappy
a Yorkshire terrier
he brought from Vojvodina
some days ago

I didn’t know how
to put those days in the memory ampules
to preserve them in a velvet box
all nacre and silver decorated
and satin flushing red inside
smelling the oakmoss and ambergris
and Tonka perfume of my Mom

in this dry day age of mine
smog and skunk and rotten
fruits suffocate and drown
us down to the ravine
all blood and bones
of the past ages


(More poems by Fahredin Shehu )


Suman Pokhrel
 

LIVING: FROM HERE TO ETERNITY

No burden to carry home
No trouble of sending loads.

What's there to come
has come all right,
Life
Age
Time.

What's there to go
is going all right,
Time
Age
Life.

Have to do the living
for time eternal
standing
on this very summit of being.


--
Translated from Nepali by Abhi Subedi
 

(More poems by Suman Pokhrel )



A Poem by  Meyer Gao

Job


You score vertical from my roots
Once again blooming a part of Rot.
In a place where sick after sickness.
Sue a loved one after a loved one.
You collect my tears to the necklace
And I'm hitting the dirt
As Moshe who hit a rock in his headquarters.
A spring bursts from stone
You can take the last of my clothes
As a shorter of last sheaves in a wheat field.
And the last dew of my blood
Take it, if it's your will,
But I was allowed the last dawn
Abandoned my bloated lips
Abandoned my teeth chewing ice wind
I will arrive in Bethlehem prematurely.
To be done there hay stalk in the manger
Or from shortage, after thirty years,
I will arrive prematurely to Jerusalem.
Pick stings from the monastery of thorns in your head
To be another Shimon, that loads the cross on his shoulders.
Or picking up another tower
The pharmacist Moore Valoa
Get your feet off the road.
I'll believe in this
And don't put me in a try
Give me a bowl of water
And I'll turn her into a stream you'll ask for

 


Augusta Laar

SOUTHPOLE

... dreaming on the hills of heaven.
the demise of the South Pole seems certain
Hölderlin’s monologues gas balls diffuse
tracks ice-floes in spasmic waves
the little blue dot above Saturn’s rings
a bit to the left above the ring system so small

no - it’s not one of saturn’s moons it is the earth
cloud-remains (too slow) too speculative or
shadow figures in orbit rotational period
12 h 28 min ... and the band begins to play the
demise of the south pole is easy and
twilight in the daytime cloud-remains blurry
dots (welcome) in asteroid belt 7.03 mag
... that things crawl off in the manner of snakes


(
More Poems by Augusta Laar)

 


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