Ann Iverson Ann Iverson
A Poem By Changming Yuan

At the Ferry

from the front yard of a melodious morning
from the busy road of a sweet Saturday
from the moist corner of a heavy march
and from the back lane of a pale winter
we have come, here and now, all gathering
in big crowds gathering in big crowds
gathering in ever-bigger crowds gathering
for the boat to cross the wide wild waters
before the fairy ferry is fated to fall
under our foul-covered shoes too earthly

( More poems by Changming Yuan )

A  Poem  by Theodora Ranelli

do i look pregnant?

i try to tell myself
this dance is gonna
be different
i usually end up
crying in the bathroom
it’s the slow songs and
feelings of rejection
i’ve been through this ritual so
many times

we go outside
no, i don’t want to dance
the sculpture is buried in snow

( More Poems by Theodora Ranelli )

A Poem by Innocenza Istarte

To Emily

The quinceñera, a year out of date,
Surrounded by her court, was dressed
Like a tribal chiefteness. Bottles of rum
And sugar cane brandy in the port of London,
Tribute on rickety wooden tables. Reggaeton

And salsa licked the sticky dancefloor.
Her top pulled back, eventually off,
Revealing her coloured brassiere,
Leaving the brief flower
Of pert breasts. Her white jeans slung
Under her hips, a black thong
Hooked over the bones
She rubbed her firm arse
On the overheated pricks
Of her pretenders.

Her head twisted round as though fucked coarsely from behind
She stuck her pink, sixteen year old tongue
Firmly into the baying mouth
Of those clawing at her.

I accompanied her to the toilets,
But we could not get in. The dealers
Blocked our entrance whilst they made
Transactions. Outside

A man lay bleeding
Amongst the autumn leaves,
A gunshot to the head. A fight
Had spilled out into the night
From the club down the road.
Shots were fired. Innocent,
He had walked out of this one
Into the wrong place
At the wrong time.

The trees were bare,
Dry sticks
Whipped by a foul wind off the Thames.

(More Poems by Innocenza Istarte)

A Poem by Anupama R.

How would it feel

How would it feel to be married to you?
Would I sway, safe, in your broad arms?
Or hide, scared, inside your hollow soul?
Perhaps I'd snooze, fed well by your fruits of labour.
Then, I will dream of your scented touch, hold, grasp,
woody like your mind.
Rooted in ground, in reality.
I hear you're heat-resistant,
safe from my burning passions.
But you grew on my fertile soil,
And now, stand tall like my ego.
So I will always water you with my devotion.
But who comes? An axe to saw down my life?
Please, don't take this away from me.
I need the broad arms, the hollow, the scented touch.
I need my husband. I need to be a wife.
Not the widow of a tree.

(More Poems by Anupama R.)

A  Poem by Kamal Abdul Nasir

A moment; An eternity

When moments thaw, melting
Into a single moment
An eternity
A moment; An eternity

Take that moment
Close, very close to your closed eyes
And think
Think of an eternity
We had an eternity!
( More poems by Kamal Abdul Nasir )

A Poem by Laljee Verma

Time of Spring

Touch- is lost
In the furrows of palms and fingers,
Music- arrested in the ears,
Mind a serpentine tortuous alley,
Time- a convoluted path forgotten.

But something happens sometime
The waves unwind,
The touch becomes fire.
The nimble vibration which,
Slept for a long time,
Causes oscillation.

One day
When vision marches;
One day when ears vibrate;
One day,
When touch
Reminds me of curled strings of violin
I want you to play the tunes of spring.
( More poems by Laljee Verma )

A Poem by Mahnaz Badihian
For Mahi
I will never stop being a woman

My grandmother,
Was an adult from childhood and
Never played with Barbies
She came from an ancient River...
Her soul was wet with dreams, and
Her hands were wounded,
Digging in oceans
Searching for destiny...

Her breast was milking,
The loneliness of the Caspian Sea.

She said my ancestors were a river

My grandmother never knew
One day I will follow her dreams from
River to River

She did not know my hands
Filled with her dreams.
And my eyes
Have all the colors of the universe,
when I see my eyes in the
Caspian Sea mirror.

And her breast in my skin
Still feeds the young dreams
Floating in the river. rooted from earth.

I will never stop being a woman.
A woman of her dreams.

( More poems by Mahnaz Badihian)

A  Poem by  Thampi KEE

A rosy dream
This is for you,

Did pencils ever write
unwritten paper
empty blank
broken moment
unsaid poems and little words of fear

This morning of our affection
we spill our emotions
through the glass of wine
of ordinary hot words....
and walk through the shore of sand
sea shore is now empty....

a rosy garden
where roses fall silent
at the gaze of the moon,
where the night falls in a rosy faint, and snow
like a' ruby 'drops....

In the morning of our belief
in the faces of stars
like a kiss of words
we rely upon,
the streets remain empty
and our watches break again...
our skies sing
in a painful breeze
we miss our little song

Did paint ever portray
unspoilt canvas
empty hands
idle colours

In the morning of singing song,

(More poems by Thampi KEE )

A Poem by Kevin Kiely

Nietzsche and the Horse
'Was that life? Well, then, once again!''Thus Spoke Zarathustra IV 19'

Picture a nineteenth century
cobbled street and a horse
being lashed by a cab driver‹
the pitiable creature
with agonised eyes
slumps down in a heap
like Nietzsche from flogging himself
to death, aged 45

He wept, making a scene
in the street. Flung his arms
around the horse's neck
this personal apocalypse
visited on the drop-out academic
with walrus moustache

bedridden for the remaining 11 years
in a white dressing gown
syphilitic, demented
nursed by his mother and sister
he never wrote
another book
only notes, jottings
from the superman¹s

Imagine the wingéd horse
descending on the narrow balcony
of Villa Sonnenstich in Weimar
crashing in through the window glass
and frame, on perhaps
a golden sunlit morning

in the cramped bedroom
the philosopher reaches
out to the powerful animal
who prances with silver hooves
knocks over furniture
shattering the washbasin and water jug

out of the window
they go at a gallop
and soon are airborn

only death
could solve the enigma
of such a life

( Meet the Poet )

A Poem by A.Thiagarajan

The First

You or me?
Who is the first one?
Where are you if I am not there?
But the truth, says jesting Pilate-
I saw you as I come in!
If it is there when I sight, it came first.

You and me
We only are...
But then, darling when I look for you
you are not there
as I am there possessed by you
hundred per cent!
You come in
only when I am with myself
asking for me & my self.
What is this business of First & Second
Aren't we both together ?
conceived & delivered

( More Poems by A.Thiagarajan)

A Poem by V.Santharam

Flowers of love

The glow around you,
Grows day by day,
Charming each one around,
Like the full moon,
Amidst the cloud,
The winter night cool,
The sober bright light,
Peeps down to earth,
The milky beams sprout,
The domes and corridors,
Of palace where the Prince,
Glances she the moon,
From the balcony,
The gentle wind,
The effervescent light,
The fragrance of jasmine,
Make the fortress a paradise,
The Prince offers the Princess,
A bunch of flowers the token of his love.

( More Poems by V.Santharam)

A Poem by Rati Saxena

When the Mountain Breaks

He thought:
"I will become a mountain"
He stood on a pile of stones
Spread hands and gathered
fistfuls of dew
He thought:
The fate of the sea is closed
He took a long breath
Caught all the lives inside
He thought that
He became a mountain
He became friend to greenery
Started playing with clouds.
The crown on the head
As the slightest wind passed
Was a heap of stones.
( More Poems by Rati Saxena)

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