Read Poem: REVENGE TIME by Sahaj Sabharwal

Revenge time has come near,
Now, it’s your turn to be in fear.
Chance will be allotted to you to try any gear,
But no one can stop me to watch your face in tear.

Forgiving time is over,
Even it was my mistake to start my process slower.
Your mistakes have reached the brim of the tower,
It’s guranteed that you will blame yourself forever.

It’s my open threat,
That it will be difficult for you even to take last breath.
Sure that you always remain meathead,
Guranteed that you might be in hell even after death.

No one can dare to stop me doing such an end,
In which each part of its body will rend.
Even God will help me in form of temporary lend,
By not punishing me for such an offend.

Be prepared for your last day on earth,
Now remember those crimes you did from the beginning of your birth.
You destroyed many people’s hearth,
Even after that you were in heartless mirth.

Now see what is going to happen with you,
For you it will be something new.
All the problems will stick with you like glue,
Excitement is of watching your life’s end view.

Read Poem: Do Cautiously Step by Ron Houssaye

A child walked out
Into the moon-kissed sun
as free as God’s green grass,
Just when the thought
“I am alone”
obtusely came to pass.

Our greeting brief,
she did not stay,
was gone as quickly came.
My spirit and heart
fast agreed that
I was not the same.

Right quick ‘fore my sight
a new stranger came,
this one cold and dire.
Her eyes wore doom
as her voice did croak
out words like Circe’s choir.

I did know sure
that heaven spoke
that I should step with care.
For angels mingle
with devils down here.
Of that we need beware.

Read Poem: Black Vs. Black by Robert Evans

The bullets ripped through
his soft innocent black flesh
casting shreds of vein
and brain asunder
with no sympathy
for the carnage rendered;
they were only following orders
as dictated
by the law of physics
and the human
(or rather less than human)
black gang-banger
who squeezed the trigger.

Read Poem: KINTSUGI MUSINGS by Netta Kanoho

“Kintsugi is an old way of repairing broken pottery developed by the Japanese using lacquer or some other resin laced with pulverized gold. The story goes that a samurai broke his favorite tea bowl and sent it off to China to be repaired. When it came back there were ugly metal staples all over the cup firmly holding the cracked bits together. This was unsatisfactory. The cup was sent to another artisan, an old Japanese goldsmith, who worked on perfecting a new way to heal the broken cup. He made each crack in the cup a thing of beauty. He honored and emphasized every flaw. And the gold in the cracks caught the light and threw it back each time the old warrior drank his tea.

‘Kay. Try this:
Take this clay tea bowl.
Now throw it on the ground…HARD!
Go for it!
Okay.
Look at those clay bits scattered all about.
Is it still a bowl, do you think?
Sure doesn’t look like it, huh?

Okay.
Now, say “sorry” to it.
Go on.
Apologize.

Did it go back to the way it was before?
No, huh?
Come on…
Put some SINCERITY into it.
LEAN on that remorse.
Say, “PLEASE forgive me.”
Say, “I didn’t mean it.”
Say, “It was an accident.”
Hmmm.
Try pulling out the big guns.
Say, “I LOVE you!”
Yeah, really…
Say it from the heart.

So…
Did all that saying work?
Not really, huh?
Broken’s broken, ain’t it?
And words don’t do a thing.

The pieces are still lying there,
Looking all forlorn.
They will not hold together.
The integrity is gone.
When you try to make them fit,
Try to press them into place,
The pieces fall apart.
Sad, huh?

Try pouring some tea
On all those broken bits
And the wet just runs down
All over your feet.
Hmmm…

Now, what?
Oh, wait…
Here’s some sticky resin stuff.
And, look at this:
There’s this shiny golden powder sitting there,
Right next to you.

Let’s try something.
Here, take this brush.
Now pour a dollop of that goopy stuff on this plate.
Swirl it around with the brush.
Right.
Now mix in some of that powder.
Just stir it right on in.
Slowly, slowly, slowly.
Mix it all up.
No lumps, no bumps.
Mix it all up smooth.

Okay.
Now, grab up one clay piece
And turn it so the broken edge faces up.
Brush the glop – all golden now – along that ragged edge.
Carefully, carefully…no slopping allowed.
Then grab up a second clay bit
And fit together the edges.

Resin oozes out of the crack, huh?
Okay.
Run your brush along that golden bleeding line
Along the front, along the back.
Make it smooth and smoother.
Gently now, like a dream.
Now…repeat, repeat, repeat.

You will mess it up, you know.
You’ll get impatient and you’ll push too hard.
The glop will spread and splotch
And you’ll have to start it over.

Again, again, again.
You’ll have to keep on mixing, keep on brushing, keep on smoothing,
On and on and on
Until each clay piece is touching each other
And every crack glimmers golden.

Oh-oh.
There’s one piece missing.
(It probably got pulverized,
Or maybe it got lost.)
No matter.
Glop some of the gloop into that empty
And smooth, smooth, smooth it on out
Over the edges, front, then back.
There.

Okay.
Now, set it aside.
Wait.
It’ll dry in the bye-and-bye.

And…
Oh! Will you look at that!
The bowl is resurrected,
But it really is NOT the same.
Oh, no.
Now it’s something other.
Now it’s something more.
It gleams now in all the broken places.
Gold shines in all its cracks.
When you pour some tea in it
None of the wet runs out.

And when you hold what once-was-broken,
Healed now after all your gentle care,
Maybe then you will understand:
Fixing what you break
Is not supposed to be easy,
And words alone won’t get you there.

[created 16 September 2015]
[revised 17 September 2015]

POETS THE ORIGINAL:

Read Poem: Cannot Connect By Conshiality Kama

I cry till my image of heaven
Becomes flooded and fades away

My soul seeks happiness
But i only earn pain

God cannot see my tears
Not even my words
Can touch his ears

I fear when I die
He will barbecue me

But I wonder if death taste better than life
Because I have lost
My appetite for life

Read Poem: I Wanna Fruit You by Marcus Graham

🍉

Baby, I wanna fruit you
Chocolate dip and strawberry scoop you
Nibble your sweet kiwis and fondle your melon
Wanna lick your goji til I’m more than well’n
Ready to rub sugarcane on your berry while I cradle that cherry
And let you candy apple snapple my jackfruit
Until you satiate your need to savour my grape seed
Then I’ma pomegranate your plum, don’t mind if I take some
Cuz I wanna banana split you, with a lemon twist I’ll flip you
And cranberry your cherry til it turns black and blueberry
Then I’ll reach for that peach to tease, squeeze and utterly please
While you tangerine my nectarine and I kumquat your apricot
Into the avocado flow of our spiced green mango
And when we’re finished we’ll clean our cantaloupe with a shake of soursop and papaya-tamarind soap
Cuz we’re fruitful like dat…

Read Poem: NOTHING IN THE HAND RETURNS by Catherine Morrison

Is Life an empty…as it appears?
An empty jar – when you look through is clear.
Putting your hand inside, you gain nothing…
Yet you see it.

Life is an empty with much inside it.
You try to reach in….
To grasp, to catch, to hold… just something,
But your hand returns…..with nothing.

Just as the big metal hand behind the glass
Of the toy machine –
You play your quarters, you push the buttons,
You take your aim –
But try as you may…..Empty….
Is the hand that returns.

You reach out in life to grab,
Something wonderful….something grand…
But it always just slips past
And you are left with what you had.
As always: Nothing in the Hand Returns

By: Catherine Morrison (Oct/95)

Read Poem: EVA by Robin Helweg-Larsen

Some of the girls I know
Go to the University
Sit so pretty
Prissy
Kiss-kiss and cissy
With beautiful boys that they know
Friends to drink tea with
Chat with and be with
Feather-headed into the feather-bedded night.

Oh no sweet Jesus hear me I scream
Such a life of show
Is beyond what I dream
Give me a man who I’ll never know
A man without feelings, without wrong or right
Without obligations
Except for the money
Let him be cold and hard as the money
And the money as dirty and evil as me
I can’t trust feelings, I never trust feelings
And I don’t care
That I can’t care….
I don’t dare.

Some of the girls that I’ve seen
Listen to that classy music, they sit
And play piano while they drink their tea.
That’s somewhere I’ve never been.
Cello! Piano!! What SHIT!

Sweet JESus CATCH me beFORE i SCREAM
give me ROCK, ROCK, give me ROCK oh give me ROCK
ROCK, give me ROCK, give me ROCK
blast my MIND let me DROWN give me SO much of ALL
that my HEAD and my BODy are FINally SOUND
give me ROCK, ROCK, give me ROCK, ROCK
give me ROCK rock ROCK rock ROCK, ROCK
DROWN me DROWN me, LET me go DOWN
aWAY
aWAY
aWAY

Some of the kids from my school
Would sit down to a smoke, have a toke and cool down
Drift round the town feeling cool
Not me

Some of the students I’ve seen
Trip out on acid, they want to expand
They want to feel all that they can, and still more
Not me

Give me JUNK
Give me the rush and the bliss of fuck all
Give me the unsatisfaction of life
Give me the treadmill toward the next fix
The stealing or whoring, the need, the despair
Of being whipped up an unending stair
A problem of Now I can just about handle
The safety in knowing tomorrow’s the same
And the whole problem thank god unthinkable
Only the treadmill toward the next fix
The fix of nothingness, of peaceful nothing
And let me not think
LET me not THINK
Sweet JESus if i THINK even ONCE
i’ll SCREAM i’ll SCREAM i’ll SCREAM
i’ll DIE.

Read Poem: i’d rather have you by Molly Zook

we always used to have silly, little fights about who loved each
other more.

coming up with reasons like who called first the most,
who was the one who hung up,

which one looked at the other longer when they weren’t paying
attention,

and who looked back when we said goodbye everytime.

now sitting on my kitchen floor, sobbing with a gaping whole in
my chest where my heart used to be

i realize i was never the one to pull away first in a kiss.
but winning doesn’t mean much to me now.

and losing doesn’t seem to bother you either.