ASYLE, by Zoran Mimica

Asyle – and this is not a poem – this is a demand

I want to see the world or even a village, a town, a province if not a state
where there are no drugs, no cigarretes, no cigarette buts, no smoke
and no smoking and no abuse of drugs and alcohol and no violence……

Please let me know where is any available? Can I, maybe, establish it or I have to wait for the Kingdom of God to enter into it?

Is there question or answer? Angels help me!
I accept illnesses and old age and dying but not the above items? Why we cannot live and die without pain and longing, without desperation and sorrow?

Letter to Solitude, by Jiji Schemann

Lettre à la solitude

Quand tu es née, on ne se comprenait probablement pas. Je te parlais sachant bien que tu étais là en moi, Je tentais de t’écouter de l’intérieur mais ce n’est qu’après quelques mois que je réussi à me connecter avec toi et recouvrer le sens de mes émois.
Tu m’as donné quelques coups tu parfois, mais seulement parce que tu étais en quête d’un espace temps, un endroit où écoute et protection feraient foi d’un foyer légitime, un genre de toit
Et maintenant tu vois, j’ai fait quelques échographies de mon surmoi, J’ai tendu l’oreille vers ce cœur qui bat, Et j’ai saisi la valeur de ta présence ici-bas
Chère Solitude, saches que je serai toujours là pour toi Et un jour tu t’émanciperas de tout ce qui, et ceux qui autour de toi font tout un cinéma De ce que tu es, qui tu seras, tu leur offriras un fier schéma De ce qu’est être Soi, à minima.

Letter to Solitude

When you were born, we probably did not understand each other. I was talking to you knowing that you were there inside me, I tried to listen to you from the inside, but it was only after a few months That I was able to connect with you and regain the meaning of my emotions.
You gave me a few blows sometimes, But only because you were looking for a space of time, A place where listening and protection would be a sign of a legitimate home, a shelter to shine.
And now you see I’ve done some ultrasounds of my superego; I’ve turned my ear to this beating heart, And finally grasped the value of your presence here below…
Dear Solitude, know that I will always be there for you And one day you will emancipate yourself from all these, and all those who around you Will make a whole cinema of what you are, who you will be, you will offer them a proud schema Of what it is to be your own Self, with no dilemma

Carta a la soledad

Cuando naciste, probablemente no nos entendíamos. Te hablé sabiendo que estabas ahí en mí, intenté escucharte desde dentro, Pero sólo después de unos meses pude conectar contigo Y recuperar de mis emociones su significado
Me diste algunos golpes a veces, pero sólo porque buscabas un espacio de tiempo, Un lugar donde la escucha y la protección darán fe de un hogar legítimo, una refugio.
Y ahora verás, he hecho algunos ultrasonidos de mi superego, He vuelto mi oído a este corazón que late, Y he captado el valor de tu presencia aquí abajo…
Querida Soledad, sabe que siempre estaré ahí para ti Y un día te emanciparás de todo eso, y los que te rodean harán todo un cinema De lo que eres, de lo que serás, les ofrecerás un orgulloso esquema De lo que es ser « Yo », sin dilema

POETRY READING: CLAP, by Darell J Philip

Performed by Allison Kampf

Windows opened
Mum and I screaming at the top of our…
You know, that organ which
Mr Corona makes the point of his attack
Our voices in unison with the carnival of faces
Hand clapping together among our block
For those brave front liners
Robed in white and blue
Their lives risking for Queen and Country
For me and you

A sign in a window reads
Hang in there Hackney
Locked down, stuck in isolation
Longing to be free
Hooting and beeping cars drive by
An outpouring of love filling the illuminous sky
Dethroning Mr Corona from his royal seat
His nasty legacy we will surely defeat

An unusual crescendo took place that night
The community together an awesome sight
It was to everyone’s most absolute delight
To see Mr Corona given a most chilling fright
For all the lives he’s cruelly taken away
For all those families we kneel and pray
Our frontline heroes – relics of the past
For you we clap knowing this too shall past

The morning after the night before
A bright smile beams across the sky
As a reminder of that glorious day soon to come
When from this earth with angel’s wings
We take off and fly.

POETRY READING: Cosmogony, by Iuliana Pașca

Performed by Allison Kampf

I would like to tell you about my birth
but how to start with no beginning?

Mother said I was born
ahead of my time;
I don’t remember,
but I know I was there when
I also gave birth to my mother.

I saw when from the heart
the galaxies
gushed streamingly,
suns were smiling on the spine
rasing satellites
from the tireless breath.
Neurons formed stars
in the rainbow hair,
while Mars was preparing
for the fight.

From the fingers of the left hand
it detached,
together with the rings, Saturn
then, as lightning,
Jupiter came out of nowhere,
and to my feet
was lying down
the Earth.

POETRY READING: What Will Be Your Legacy, by The P.O.E.T. aka The Anointed Pen

Performed by Allison Kampf

By: Noel A. Figueroa (The P.O.E.T. aka The Anointed Pen) ©2020

When your book is opened, what will be read in the story of your life?
What will be your story that is on display for all to see?
Will it speak of your courage to persevere?
Will it speak of your determination and faith?
Will it speak of your kindness and compassion for others?
Will it speak of your empathy and diligence?
Will it speak your reflection of your love and hope in God?
Will it speak of the love you have for yourself, your community, your people?

What will be your legacy?
Will it speak your ancestor’s names and the roads they paved for you?
Will it speak of their sacrifices and their successes?
Will it speak of the lessons learned from their failures?
Will it put your achievements on display?
Will your own failures be lessons learned and used as stepping-stones?
Will it speak of a life well lived to its full capacity in purpose?

What will be your legacy?
When the children gather around and ask you to tell the stories from your time,
What will your share that will enlighten their minds?
What will be the level of your impartation?
Will you tell them that as you received help to be the vessel of blessing to others?
Will you tell them that respect, empathy and compassion are non negotiable?
Will you tell them to stand for something even if it means standing alone?
Will you tell them that one of the greatest weapons that you can have is love & respect for self?
Will you tell them that it’s because if those that came before us that we have the ability to go further and do greater works?
Will you tell them that when their purpose is clear, their passion is defined, and their vision is focused that their dreams and goals are possible.
What will be your legacy?

about saying goodbye to my grandmother by Lauren Burstein

Instagram: @laurenrachel414

it wasn’t possible.
in DNA, in gestures
you remain.
your dark European years,
now woven, abstract haunts.
saying goodbye is a social construct,
because
my vision of you
experience of you
transcends celestial orbits.
even when you’re lost,
i always find you
in nursery rhymes,
in chicken soup
in my mother’s face.
without a goodbye there is no closure,
but love moves in open space.

Marina Dymchenko Lily In The Darkness, by Marina Dymchenko

A peaceful Lily in the darkness
Was looking up to big bright Moon
Whose light so cold and calm and harmless
Was making Lily almost swoon.

It bathed in it, it awed, admired
Until a random someone asked:
“Are you not even little tired
That with that Moon you’re noticed last?

That no one looks under the feet
When beauty is so high above,
And do you think you really need
To stay down there and wait for love?

The Lily did not frown or fret,
It looked around and softly said:
“I am not here to be compared,
I am not here to fight or please,
My light is there to be shared,
To softly flow in silent peace,
I don’t need anyone to notice
How hard or not it is to grow,

I’m NOT ALONE creating all this,
For it’s Moon’s light that makes me glow.”
The lesson is – we’re all in this together,
And each of us has our path and pace,
We’re meant to thrive, not ask how, why, or whether,
To shine our light in OWN perfect ways.

Ode to the girl with the sunflower tattoo, by Khadija Ajaoud

I saw you once, a long time ago
and felt as we met in our lives elsewhere.
I tried to sing but I stuttered
And could noway pronounce the word liberta
As you like people to pronounce it.

I killed all the airs then and sank
In the sounding of your voice.
I was frightened to explore you,
As well as the thousand little nerves
inside my heart.

You were walking on my stanzas
Soundless just as your plastic bags of tobacco
And i was pretending triteness
Telling you about how picasso met Fernand olivier

We were pure as a soft morning breeze
Floating around.
You and I where we came from?
Are we from the murmuring of the mid-sea swell?
Or the wall where scarlet windows burn?

Or hope or calm
Or wisdom of the East!

The Aura of a Being, by Andrea Irigoyen Paez

Soul that blows
stripping the wishes
from dark corners.
You light up the passions.
From a horizon,
infinite and mysterious.
Only God created you.
Those who swim to you,
they discover
the essence of being.
As the autumn leaves fall,
You’re lighting up the hope.
And when
the eternal winter comes,
You whisper,
look at around you.
Be the aura
of what was once,
lost.

Lyrics While on an Edible on the Plane Back From California, by Siena Facciolo

I’ll go to visit you
In the green fields of my youth
Your skin as soft as flowers
That dot the hillside

My mother she will hold
Your hand until she knows
That you will safely make it
Through her memories

I remember summer treats
Blueberries between my teeth
Raw cane sugar in a little bowl
Whole-oat oatmeal by the window

I can’t recall the sound
Of your voice while we sat around
The dining room table full
Of food we had to share

I loved that magnet on your fridge
Of Jesus on a tie die binge
I’d get him down to his underwear
Then dress him up again

The Siena-colored kitchen floor
the swinging swanging screen porch door
Your many-layered pantry shelves
Your late-life rebellion

I’ll go to visit you
In my mother’s arms at night
Your skin as soft as flowers
Your eyes hold futures bright