Friday, July 31, 2015

Dorin Popa writes


so  many  times  I  had  absurd  claims
I  thought  my  soul  was  a  perfect  radar
for  your  steps, your  breath
your  weeping
with  ardour  and  love  we  could
finally  reach  in  peace  the  other’s  skin
if  we  didn’t  discover  with  disappointment
that  we  are  the  prisoners  of  our  epidermis
and  your  singing,  and  your  weeping,  and  your  look,
the  emotions,  the  incomparable  and  your  dreams
all  of  them  are  mine  for  ever
tearfully,  crying, I  hold  you  hopelessly
I  embrace  you  like  I’ ll  never  embrace  you  again
you  exist  in  me  deeper  than  in  your  heart
and  shaken,  I  whisper  to  you  from  a  distance
– nobody  has  ever  understood

Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo writes

The Hand That Rocked My Cradle

Picture this, a mother and her adorable baby
With the setting sun at the background
She holds the tiniest hands as tears fall on her cheeks
Expressing the love for her child
Overflowing through the deepest core of her heart.

The velvety sky with tinges of orange, yellow at the far horizon
Mixes with the blue crystal-clear waters
Small waves dancing as if swaying to the rhythm of the mother and child's moment
As her feet touches the fine warm, white sand by the shore.

The mother's face is likened to that of a beautiful full moon in all its glory
Beaming brightly with each smile of her little angel wrapped in her arms
Oh, what a scene to see, a masterpiece can be created
In a single second captured by either a great artist's hand or through a photographer's nice shot.

Once the baby grows up and sees this scene, she'll reminisce and utter
"This is the hand that rocked my cradle, what a wondrous experience it is to be born
With her as my mother, a beautiful creation of God, I need not ask for more.
She has given me the best things in life and showered me with enormous love."

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Ogedengbe Tolu Impact writes

Awake! the change has come
Jubilant voices are heralding its arrival
Awake to the dazzling hope of revival
Awake the hour of liberation has come.
Awake to the chanting songs of awakening
The signs and times are now unfolding
The glory unveils from glory to glory
Awake to the fizzling of the gory story.
Awake to the dawn of a beautiful morning
The golden eyes are already shining
Awake to the fresh dew from above
Awake to the timeless monument of love.

Adesola Oladoja writes

Be You
Never change for anyone
None is worth your sweat
Feel fine always, not forlorn
Lest you we greet with wreath
Don't expect your words to count
Where they want it not
Don't go shout on any fount
Just to make the cut
Do your best
Be your friend
Rejoice always lest
Your glee soon ends
And when you remember
That you didn't live as you
You'll say alas members
I miss my precious due
So forgive hurts
Laugh alone
Know your worth
It exceeds billions
Walk head held high
Live aright
Let your foes sigh
Or take their flight
And if they want
The you you are
End their wants
Bring down the bars
Do be sure
Be very sure
Hell sure
they are sure
Of their wants

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Vernon Mooers writes

                                      A Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall

                        Here’s hoping Cyclone Kiera comes.
                        In this hard, hard week
                        banged the desk corner with my elbow
                        hit on the head by the metal steel gate
                        shocked, staggered, but didn’t fall
                        spilt blood and lots of worry of concussion
                        in this heat lay low in the house
                        for two days, ants in my bed
                        nothing on the radio
                        and the heat, the heat, the unbearable heat. 

Chris Westray films


Simon Leake writes



“Hate me for my whole kind, but me,

love me for myself .”  - Robert Pinsky

for Marley

The rooms remain bare

No matter how much I fill them;

My embrace misjudged

Provokes a growl of resentment;

The hidden lines of olfactory text

Remain undiscovered in the field.

You never cared for my books…

Others of your kind

Perform a mime of your

Prostrations, but I kid myself

That I’m not fooled,

Pretend them toys or playthings:

Tokens of appeasement

From an unforgiving God

Who took you from my enjoyment.

How selfish we can be:

You taught me many things

But yet

I find it hard to be free,

As free as one who

Never knew the word existed.

Heather Jephcott writes


Why dream of the impossible
beauty becoming grey
in the light of darkness?

Why dream of fantasies
weaving a love that
was never meant to be?

Why dream of angelic clouds
coming quickly, disappearing
empty, futile, meaningless?

Why dream up make-believe
conjuring imagined fancies
extravagant reveries?

Life can be better than dreams
more amazing than any imagining is possible....
dreams make for magical poetry