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A
Poem by Elan Pavlinich
Auto/emotive
I'm caught in your headlights
so I know that you can see.
But you are not swerving.
Just crash right into me.
You feel like steel
and caress much too hard.
Breathing like an engine,
I'm caught on your shards
Fell in love on impact
with the metal that broke my heart.
The velocity that brought you to me
is the same that tears me apart.
(More Poems by Elan Pavlinich)
A poem by
Lisa Zaran
Whereto
I am not here.
Cease being.
Gravity shifts
and my soul slips
out of my lips.
How kind it is
to let my body
sleep. All she
ever wanted.
( More
poems by Lisa Zaran)
A Poem by
Gary
Langford
The
Waist Land
I will meet you here honestly,
without losing a single sense,
regardless of a thousand small hesitations,
where brevity is lost in terror.
Your eyes are underlined for emphasis,
measurements calculated with coffee spoons.
The tiger springs inside us,
happy to devour each careful rib.
Life and death dances along the artery.
I will become your clothing,
shuffling around your windy skin
without cosmetic clearance.
You draw your stockings up.
You wave as if you know me,
reorganising each capillary turn.
We bathe together without hesitation.
Do you know the female temperament?
Are you a male beyond a single thought?
We grow in a scattered moment,
cheerfully pressing on a small button,
to wash ourselves cleaner than a bone,
indifferent to being seen nude by others.
They take pride in putting us down.
What a waist is a familiar sound.
(
More poems by Gary Langford )
A Poem by Sunil P. Narayan
Sacrifice of The Heart
A capsule of love is sitting in my heart
It grows like the thick hairs on your mountainous chest
I sit in a meditative state, chanting your name till Sūrya
arises
Calmness and warmth, the two things he taught me
Saraya runs away from him every night, frightened and secretive
Sunlight rushes into the world as the Ashvinau storm through the
sky in their chariots
I close my eyes to prevent any pain from occurring
But open to see nothing while your breath trickles down my neck
Your scent of trees with pine needles containing clear sap
The birds singing a song of romantic mating
No! Don't feed me your sap, my lord!
Rub it onto my lips as if they were your sweat
We slither into the corridor under a grassy hill
All the way into another world of playful fairies
Little moss-covered wooden homes surround a clear clairvoyant
lake
Lamps adorn the water, unmoving but showing me the whole earth
I do not know what you want me to do tonight
But I caught myself obeying your every command, a hornet in your
catacomb
Ensnare my seducing eyes to make me see just your body which
crushes me into glass pieces
Your voice screams like a wolf when mating
When you are done I am gone: an existence leaving behind
encapsulated love
Your soul is not in your body so devour it!
I am the reason for you to continue living in a demon-filled
world
Soorya gave me love to give to you!
Your tears become little drops of pearls for which the fairies
hurriedly gather
The door for this world is sealed shut as you dwell in a cage of
timeless ecstasy
( More
poems by Sunil P. Narayan)
A poem by Peter Waldor
Exile
Should I say
I am lost,
far from home,
as the masters
say from
their exiles?
I am glad
to be walking
high above
a village full
of strangers.
(More
poems by Peter Waldor)
A Poem by Michael D. Sollars
Trapeze Girl
A graceful girl with floating emerald eyes,
Dances perched high above, on one leg,
Thin like a sprouting ivory spindle;
Slowly, like a sacred rite, she rubs white dust across her
palms,
And then as a heron winged for flight across the sky she glides,
Arcs softly and quietly to and fro in marked melody,
Under a canopy of hand-painted red stars.
Clowns, all three mad musicians, strut about below
Circling the whirligig of horses, bears, lions, and elephants,
Marking the spotlight shadow of the big tent,
Our tremolo trio-a Danish prince, Gogo, and Didi,
Costumed as the scarecrow, the lion, and the tin man-
Dance but crippled in consciousness together,
Playing a brass and wood calliope of "Over the Waves";
And then our stinger in B-flat
Announces the apex of the artist's majestic flight.
Her aerial apparatus, mere ropes and a wooden bar,
Peaks the nymph sublime at threshold height, to and fro;
Her body, luminous and ethereal like moonlight, belongs not to
the earth,
Final tunes from our saxes and clarinet waft: "Please, remember
me,
Happily, By the rosebush laughing...."
Then canons fire triumphant volleys to echo our interlude.
But it had to end this way,
As all such visions must-in the fall,
That was the only way;
Everything, all ... all memories,
All must finally be set to the torch
Burned like the Maid of Orleans
Atop the last step of the pyre's stairwell
Now costumed in flame and blaze
Until all that remain of bird and tent
But ash, empty flakes of white dust,
Powdery gray and cold,
Awaiting a capricious wind to stir
The final dust to flight.
A Poem by Chung Chin-Yi.
Education
Education here
Is practical
Is only used for real situations
Only limited to quantifiable results
There is no room for
Abstraction
Ideals
Dreams
Romance
The poet is barefoot in a desert
The philosopher is parched for drink
Where education ends
Poetry begins
Philosophy buds
Infinity cannot be contained
By the finite
It is always an excess
That meets failure in the material.
(More
poems by Chung Chin-Yi)
A poem
by Prem Kumari Srivastava
She is dying...
Twelve years ago,
she entered the staff room.
'5 appointments made,' said my colleague from Political Science
disbelievingly.
'Major tug of war ensued till late last night,' echoed the
other.
'Two new faces' chirped the 'one' always with news.
'Three predictable appointments, the fourth a very bright one,
the Head's protege; the fifth we don't know,' crooned the lazy
one.
'An outsider,' was the unanimous verdict for the fifth.
She heard it...all of it.
Her face belied, but I noticed her ears
Beetroot red.
This was twelve years ago.
Today, she had called.
And narrated for twenty five minutes.
I put the phone down and almost mumbled to myself,
'she is dying.'
This girl-woman that we all knew
with inherent brilliance -
flighty, unsure, grumpy, cranky,
would laugh and cry in one breath,
rushing in, when there was no hurry;
in frenzy, when wholly unnecessary;
A Samaritan for people in distress;
a warm, wailing puppy, when in stress.
Today, I saw a death
of what she was, and others thought
- and rebirth -
all at once!
into a bright, sure-minded poetess!
(More
Poems by Prem K Srivastava)
A Poem by Sergio A. Ortiz
Padded
Wasn't it enough to push me out
to graze
while your goddesses hissed
at the queues
in the image on my padded
bedroom.
"I spy on you then know I am alone."
You're like the illustrious citizen
late for work
but with no shortage of
excuses: the chicken got sick,
the lion over-ate,
the cheetah couldn't find another place
to put a spot. And I, the hermaphrodite
with a large cunt, couldn'st float
because my cock was set in stone.
To you that means I could not love.
To me it means he'l take me by the hand
and sing l mare calmo della sera.
( More
Poems by Sergio A. Ortiz)
A Poem
by Dushyant
Love in the city of Tipu Sultan
1.
In these enchanting and beautiful moments
Your remembrance has taken the form of a mountain
like your anger at times towards me
it's now an old saying that
Life should be as beautiful as poetry
Now it must be
Lovely and beautiful
Like your memories.
2.
In this far off land
Where we have come, lived or been, together
Why your remembrance blaze
And douse the earth in your existence
Either I choose or not
Love is a revelation
Revelation is the love
and the distance between time and space is thus enlightening my
love?
3.
Tipu didn't call me
he didn't call me alone
nor did he call you
My coming
And your absence
in not being here
Was Tipu's part relevant after three centuries?
The great warrior died fighting with British army
He couldn't be a phantom
But could form into a deity
By calling us together here in this land.
MYSORE 3-2-2010
( More
Poems by Dushyant)
A Poem by David Toh Kusi
A Discordant Dream
Drowsy in my bed and dreary
For the work not done,
I caught a glimpse of the fiery
Night that sounded cruel,
And woke me till dawn at the time
I needed rest, not digression-
All my fancy thoughts unskilful though,
Boggled and smuggled me out of
The real form of the person that I am,
But I know the craftsman
Used material in the state of becoming that I am,
Which in this drowsy state lie oblivious-
Though bereaved in my
Wounded modesty, I must subvert
To super-impose a form that reflects
The ideal attainable in divine paradigms,
Never to return with the same
Sackcloth that needs no amending;
And my soul will wake to incarnate
Not the arbitrary self,
But truly absorb me
In the true shape founded as a handiwork incarnate,
Which before made me whole
With great fountain to accomplish;
But I must be generous with the artificer's
Art whose role and intentions I should
Revere, leaving threat to manage cowardice
Because truth my sorrow ravishes,
Though my agony rest in the beauty
I incarnate in my dream-
And I wake now to feel my glossy eyes damp,
Fading and fading,
But will illumine the death passion
In my craving to
Restore a stately mind in a purloined and frantic world
Seeking repair in coarse warfare unending-
(More
poems by David Toh Kusi )
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