Shirt | Baris Semerci
twisted universe
hyperbolic skyscraper
the joke is on you
drops from air conditioner
fall on my favourite shirt
More at https://twitter.com/hwl76/status/1295638945011847174.
poetry web
Mrs. Smith | Wandering Biku
A pale face, dark eyes, an uneasy smile,
Surrounded by a mass of tangly black curls,
She sat in that circle
Unengaged, aloof, disruptive,
There for everyone else’s sake
But her own.
Trapped in a world by demons who
Would let her see another way
But kept her from it because
It wouldn’t serve their obsessive needs.
Within screaming distance but held behind thick glass,
Visible but achingly unreachable.
And now she appears, life
Shining from her eyes.
A purpose in her movement
An energy no longer nervous or restrained.
An arrogant addiction now replaced
By an enthusiastic vulnerability.
The tangle of curls now worn up
To frame a new maturity.
She sits in the circle for her own sake now
Proving to everyone else that she is worthy,
Meeting life bravely while hearts around her
Now swell with inspiration.
Chautauqua | Stephen Mead
Remember a Savannah in past grass stains fabric-embedded
with a thunderhead rumbling from such knowledge homegrown.
Early on roots do not realize how deep they will plunge.
From this jungle gym, these tree tops, children of Peter Pan dangle…
Rover, Red Rover, come put on your play clothes.
The rain is our ally.
Do you remember bike trips to the Amazon through mud puddle ruts?
Twigs poking pebbles were gateways.
Bang. Bang. Count to ten.
Now toys in the attic hide what we seek,
a mystical passage of letters, costumes found buried in boxes.
The Sabbath grows shorter. A work whistle blows.
Waning, these days dream of picking blueberries in August.
From black cellars, wax-lidded jam jars gleam with beginnings.
To return there is to struggle with wisdom’s Braille, a face-reader,
our fingers, blind but for the insights
of a dying planet still managing
to send out a last shoot.
More at http://stephenmead.weebly.com/.
Sass Me | J. Ash Gamble
Don’t sass me, mama told
us, but these kids today
don’t seem to listen, don’t
seem to mind much
Glass Box | J. Ash Gamble
I marvel at the way he
unfolds himself, then
refolds placing himself
inside the tiny glass box
confined to his own space.
In Quest of Freedom | Zarrineh
As long as we hold the high rank, as long we have money in the bank,
Who cares about the little boy washed up dead on the Turkish shores?
Trying to escape terror and hopeless wars,
In quest of freedom, knocking on strangers’ doors,
Who cares about the politicians and all their lies?
A round of applause for the recipient of the Noble Peace Prize!!!
In order to acquire extravagance, forgotten is the actual substance,
We won’t speak the truth; won’t pick the forbidden fruit,
We remain and watch, this is not our botch,
We stand on the side line; act like everything is dandy and fine,
Why bother, no one else is making an offer,
Love and tender, now, prohibited terms from a dusty folder,
Let us not be shy, it always has been about me, myself and I,
Who cares if humanity is about to die,
Ego, Power, and Money, this is no longer funny,
There is more to life than acquiring success; we are so far from progress,
The gift wrapping is pretty; the box holds nothing, just empty,
What is wrong with us, civilization is suffering a big loss,
Close your eyes for a moment, imagine their torment,
Leaving their homeland behind, with angst they decide,
Maybe, our kids will have a future, a classroom, a teacher, no more torture,
Each a child on their shoulders, they walk towards the other side of the borders,
Seeking safety and liberty for their family, knowing consequences can be deadly,
Taking a chance to a perhaps, that humanity considers the facts,
Betting on human heart, that in essence, we are much alike and not far apart,
Let us not be judgmental; freedom is basic and fundamental,
Extend your hand, try to understand.
