The Next Life
In my next life six hundred years
from now when I am no longer shy
and timid, I will know down to
the bone that love is the fuse,
darkness the allure.
I shall begin cutting out that future
now with my teeth. It is what
women of the future do. Until
I have arrived on the flowery breast
of my new mother.
I will be the long talker when all
of my words are still standing in line
behind the wall of my head. Strangers
will look at me and say to my mother,
in awe and confusion, this one's special,
but, we can't tell you why.
( More Poems By
Lisa Zaran )
A Poem By Yelena Dubrovina
Yet Comes That Day
Yet comes that day
I go, you stay.
I touch your forehead with a quiet hand,
Sweep the harpsichord with a silvery stanza.
What destiny do I withstand?
My son, what pain of mine can shield you?
What prayer can divert distress?
What figment's nest I'll use to hold you
Within this beggared world - unsafe the pass,
As over you I close my nestling wings.
The beast's cry, my heartfelt cry,
You'll never hear escape me,
And yet my executioner is standing by,
While you are greeting fledgling morning.
Translated from Russian by Valentina Sinkevich, with later
Vera Zubarev and Michael R. Burch
( More Poems By Yelena Dubrovina)
A Poem by Alex Thomas
So scarce and hard to find,
Though in plenty,
More want it,
Less give it.
Thus hard to recognise.
Not very salient,
More Poems by Alex Thomas )
A Poem by Alison
The Spirit in me
Salutes the Spirit in you
At the same ancestral fire
I see many of you there
Some linger in the shadows
Of admitting what your hearts
Come close to The Grandfather
Warm and uplift yourselves
The fire is always welcoming
Your relatives are waiting
I sing a welcome song
And Mother Earth's heart
poems by Alison
Poem by L. Ward Abel
Mayfly Among the Survivance
Sometimes those songs make me sad. I canít help it.
Reminders of passing, both faces and thoughts. Iíll bet
you think Iím the sentimental type, that I cry at movies
and hang on to old, useless, obscure objects in hopes of
resurrection. Well, maybe so. Or is it just the realization
of the fleeting, such as me, being among all those more
permanent things? Yes, songs are not temporary; they
fly outward, rustling molecules like chutes of light, and
never completely fade. They only slow when a mayfly
More poems by
A Poem by Patricia Carragon
The Shabbat Eve
The sun bows to twilight's world,
Enters a golden exit
In an auburn sky.
The moon lifts its silver head,
Proclaims the Shabbat Eve.
The lamb simmers in its flavor,
Unseasoned by celestial pageantry.
Aromatherapy wrapped in a towel
Dances around the tiny kitchen-
The miracle of yeast, flour and eggs.
She covers her head
With her mother's scarf
Made from Vilna's dreams -
Its lace tattered from age.
She covers her eyes
And prays over the candles
At a table set for one.
Between the breath of ancient words,
She visualizes what could have been
And wishes her life were different.
Poems By Patricia Carragon)
love but love forever
hold but hold me close
teach of longing for love
love but love me the most.
ask but not forgiveness
though it is mine to give
i choose to abuse my right
to not forgive so to live.
dream but dream of me
cry but for me alone
be with whom you want to
come back to me
( More poems by Srividya )
A Poem by Prem
Where is That Fragrance
0 Prem Janmejai
The ocean measures depth
The ocean measures distance too
O my country
having left you
the farthest that I have traveled
I have come to you.
The same faces, the same people
Same sorrows , the same afflictions.
Measuring the roads in a quick succession
are the same shinning , glittering cars
wrapping pretty forms, the same way
are beautiful Sarees.
Just take a look through the open window
like a blushing bride
the moon of Delhi
is peeping through the Trinidad sky.
Trinidad or Indianad
yes the same sameness
O dear little bird Kisskadee
having shattered the barriers of language
what is the song you sing
the strings of my heart say
this , yes this is the very song I heard
just before I got here.
When you took the music from the breath of the wind
O trees, and made it part of yourself.
Nothing at all did change in you.
Truly nothing has changed
the same trees, the same tiny bird
the same people , the same cars
the very same moon, the same sky.
Really nothing at all has changed.
But , O my beloved country
where is that fragrance
which comes from your soul.
I search everywhere
but can not find your comfortable lap.
Ė Original in Hindi by Dr. Prem Janmejai
Translation by Sumita Chakraborty Brooms
Sumita Chakraborty Brooms is a Trinidadian poetess and radio
A Poem by Ray Succre
How could I forget that when I breathe,
it is still of that same breath that sod out planets,
suns, and satellites for the aging pieces
of creation's darker case?
Yet how could I remember that when I see
into clouded sky, I am narrowing the eyes
to the same brightness that gave up atmosphere
and invention as a barrel for the first breath
to live and call its shell?
I turn the world over so the face wonít show.
( More Poems By Ray Succre)
A Poem By Andy N
Just before sunset
As I was sat
By a deserted dockyard
The sky went
A little more bluer
Than it had done
For the rest of the day.
I could see clouds
Scattered across the sky
Like little static spaceships
With splats of black
Which reminded me
Of little windows
Running almost from
The tip of the horizon
Which reminded me
Of a child
Running late for school.
There was a slight
On my shoulders
And I could
See young children
Running in the far
Off distance with their parents
Not far behind them
But my mind
I could remember similar days
As a child
Sitting in silence
Listening to stuttering engines
At the edge of my eyesight
While throwing stones
Into the rippling surface.
I remember my first
Trip to Morecombe
When I was eight.
I still have photographs
Of my brother
At no more than
1 or 2
With his tackle
Glowing in the wind.
I can still remember
The hush of the waves
Across the old pier
And my father
Running up and down
In a panic
No doubt one day
Iíll be like that.
(More Poems by Andy N)
RenŠta VargovŠ 's Poem
I will come in your room
like words come in your mouth
from a deeper inside.
Iíve been already arms and slender
hands and yellow faded leaves,
the gentle throat of breeze and all
the charming things you said. I once was everything.
Now neither stairs to mount nor handle
on the door to turn and join in.
Iím like a dust whisper in a turf.
Poem By RenŠta
by Rati Saxena
The sea is very different
From the sky
Different too are
The clouds from each other
But when, as she stands on the shore,
He holds her in his wndering arms
makes wet the hair scattered on her face
fondles her thighs,
puts his head on her feet
And turns back,
Then, where is the difference
And an unsatisfied lover ?
More poems - the sea)