Thursday, March 31, 2016

Ananya S Guha writes

Post Card

In a message you wrote: you said 

you use high falutin language
I don't understand (you)
those days there were no mobiles
only post cards and inland letters
to write on and although the post 
office was near home, it always seemed
that one day like a pack of cards it would
crumble, and the old man who peered over
his eyes to take a letter, had both a distaste 
for letters, me and I suspect his work too.
So I would pass them on in the cinema where 
you came, or send through a friend. But I was actually 
practising the art of letter writing and composition
using you as a guinea pig, which maybe you understood
with your prescience.

Now, forty years later my handwriting crawls like insects
on a page, but my craft of (letter writing) has become 
worse.  No one goes to the post office, and typing on 
the mobile with such small letters is an acuity of pain. 

So the post card or the inland letter or the writing pad
dwindles in far flung areas of cobwebs.
















Postcard 82 -- Moriz Jung

Anca Mihaela Bruma writes

You Know, One Day, I Will Forget You…

You know?
One day,
I will release you
from the Heart!

from the distant springs
of your eyes….
The moment will lose its end,
snowing… namelessly….

I wish to remember how to forget!...

To undress
from your words,
to undress
from your heart’s beating!
To undress
from snow screaming…

I emptied even my breathing
not to pay my customs to Life…
How I wish to remember forgetting!...

That day…
will inexorably come…
and the hour glass will be running out
of all those jaded visions, sapphire tales…
I know,
too many oblivions kneeled my flight!

I will remove You from Me,
as I miss Myself in this old Story,
so I can still cut up pieces of Life…

Do you know?...
There was not enough space
for both
inside this incomplete
symphonic Life…

At last…
you will be released…
I will forget
how your words
sounded like daggers,
how your chimerical kisses
used to run through my veins…

And that very day,
will inexorably come…

My hopes…
Will be laid
at one star’s ankle.

Your heart’s sentences?
I will stop humming them,
talking to your absence
no more…

It was just a trance
which seemed to enclose us!

Your lament,
I will not hear it, anymore,
even the echoes of the oblivion.

A closed flight was created
between us,
the day you chose
to rust on my Soul’s edge.

In that timeless
and eonian moment
forgetfulness would wrap me,
forgetting I loved you…
beyond you,
beyond myself…

Years breaking…
You gliding along me,
still… my breath
encrypted inside your irises.

One day…
I will forget you
forgetting me!...

Heather Jephcott writes & draws

A Work Of Art

Looking for beauty 
uncovering the sunlight 
locating the endless smiles 
waiting to be recorded.

Searching for meaning, 
words dipped in radiance, 
trying to reveal lines that meet, 
connecting emotions with ideas, 
explanations that will last 
to be placed in the heart 

Endlessly delighting in parsing, 
placed in the air 
to be caught, 
in the mind, 
memories to be discovered 
looking around, 
enchanted with delicate shapes, 
truth comes flowing, 
chronicles of wonder.

one, some, many 
are never enough. 
Each new day the quest continues. 
Each new page the white blares blank.

Beginning fresh productions 
with a heart playing an interesting melody. 
Sometimes all that is needed 
is one word, 
or a scene, a pattern, a shape 
or an idea 
that jumps into the mind 
in a split second of time.

And so begins a creative ball, 
rolling, collecting, 
swirling and weaving, 
ordering into 
a work of art.

Stephen Okereke Micheal writes


Padlock the gate of your heart
Cleansing it within and without
If you still nurse the blind belief
That kings are birthed from golden wombs.

Forget the known and unknown golden eggs
Laid and hatched over the seas
Bread-and-buttered with the masses' spoon
Bearing in mind to come home someday
And continue where their fathers stopped.

Don't gaze at the valley in search of me
White paps are products of black pots
And the ghettos, home town of twinkling stars
Beautifying the sky when the sun goes to bed.

If the throne could be mounted
By a seed sowed and watered in the creek
Who roamed with feet kissing the thorns
The rain can rain again
I can be the President.
Padlocked Heart -- poetess16

Alex Krivtsov shoots

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Jennifer Sage writes


Exhaustion plagues these tired eyes until a knock at the door stirs my body from slumber on the enveloping couch,
Rising, robe tied tight around me I answer out at this darkened hour.."who’s there?"
Just a sigh answers a pleading motion of self contain...
I open, to your eyes, mystified by your unjustified presence.

One look, and against the wall, lips crashing down on mine,
The intense passion ignited, past goes, toes tingle to stomach with warmth forgotten..
Hands tangled in hair, moans and bodies pressed hard once more,
A forsaken moment of passion, gutted and raw, lost is the past.

Awakened, loss forgotten, love regained...
In a single gesture of adoration.....the way your lips taste mine with utter feverish motions,
The way mine don’t protest,
The way salt water fills my eyes from the intensity....lifted against concrete and held there, sucking air from your lungs.

Whisperings of things I haven’t heard in so long,
Reaching wayward, into me, deep, I shudder....
Then lifted further into your love.

Perhaps not ideal yet you make me feel alive....
At the cost of my life...the rigid, unknown too much for gentle souls,
But unable to pull away, no protest from my quivering lips...
As they are adored.

Could it not be, such beautiful ecstasy? Let go with me briefly to explore...
Such beauty awaits creative souls...
That can’t breathe without consuming the other completely...
And never often is there that?

Come throw me against the wall......
Kiss me like you’ve lost all else in this world without it...
Let me show you my own hunger,
You’ve seen it before, adored, as no other.
Dawns of waking nightmares gone, in but a second of your fevered touch,
Reaching wayward, into me, deep, I shudder....
Then lifted further into your love.

 Image result for an abz of love

 Eiler Krag -- illustration from AN ABZ OF LOVE