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Read Poetry: Are they still the same?, by Sunil Sharma

The streets
the surviving trees and
the wandering moon,

are they still the same
or changed?

The dusty locality
with twisted lanes/leaning houses,
the neighbours sitting outside, chatting
in the yellow sun, curs barking, kids fighting
over the ball?

Do the wooden doors always open these days
or shut on your face in alarm?

The summer breeze
evening/night; morning/day/afternoon lazing around

the bends in the uneven streets and crowded bazaars?
Does Ma’s wrinkled visage lights up, when someone
knocks in the late evenings; temple bells chiming in the background; her eyes searching the dim courtyard?

Does she still call out my name in the sedated sleep?

How does the water taste from that rusted hand-pump, near the Tulsi plant?

And the guava tree in the compound?

Do folks automatically smile and greet passing strangers in our dusty town or, have become terrified by the odd looks and dresses worn by them?

Are the old-world courtesies and customs remain the same?
Or, has the sweet town also changed and shut down?
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Bio:
Sunil Sharma is Mumbai-based senior academic, critic, literary editor and author with 18 published books: Six collections of poetry; two of short fiction; one novel; a critical study of the novel, and, eight joint anthologies on prose, poetry and criticism. He is a recipient of the UK-based Destiny Poets’ inaugural Poet of the Year award—2012. His poems were published in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, in the year 2015.

Sunil edits the English section of the monthly bilingual journal Setu published from Pittsburgh, USA:
http://www.setumag.com/p/setu-home.html

For more details, please visit the blog:
http://www.drsunilsharma.blogspot.in/

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Read Poetry: I Edit my Life, by Michael Lee Johnson

I edit my life
clothesline pins & clips
hang to dry,
dirty laundry,
I turn poetic hedonistic
in my early 70’s
reviewing the joys
and the sorrows
of my journey.
I find myself wanting
a new review, a new product,
a new time machine,
a new internet space,
a new planet where
we small, wee creative
creatures can grow.

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Read Poetry: GRAIN OF CHOICE, by Patrick Turner-Lee

Held in broken silence; a breath
A torn tissue left
Blood in channels flowing
Going to the window
That’s showing eloquent features.

Stepping in golden shoes;
In sunlit meadows
On sandy beaches

Reaching the shore
In shallow silver streams
That trickle between the stones
Thrown by angry voices.
Choices in terms of stagnant emotions.

A commotion of broken glass
Drifting to sea
Not to mention the thoughts in question

Cry at a drop in the ocean
At shards of crystal
A fire
A reaction
A faction of reality will no longer return

Burned by fusing sun and light
Exposed to negative reasons

Crisp in tired response we sleep
Until ideas wreck our slumber
Our number is up
The peace is frozen

May 5th 2017
Patrick Turner-Lee

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Read Poetry: PUT ME TO SLEEP BEFORE IT COMES, by Sarah Francisco

Genre: Love, Fear, Sadness, Death, Loneliness

Put me to sleep before it comes
I pray that everything in me completely numbs
I cannot face it, seeing it coming back
Put me to sleep and don’t wake me up

Sleep is death’s kindred, a kindness
That approaches by night and lets
A weary soul get rest — solace
A way out of pain and sadness

Put me to sleep before it comes
An assault of memories — keeps on
Distracting me from my escape
It insists — keeping me awake

There is no running away in
The night when everyone is kept
Tight by a blanket of arms — so
Put me to sleep before it comes

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Read Poetry: Desert’s Watermelon, by Kate Rauner

Wild in the deserts
Of Egypt and Sudan,
Grows hard and bitter fruit
Called gurma in the land.
Harvested and hoarded
Somewhere in the shade,
It holds a fount of water
In green flesh that it made.
Water for dry seasons,
Water kept in storage,
Water for a Pharaoh’s Ba
On his celestial voyage.
The fibrous fruit was pounded,
So water bound would flow.
A gift to desert dwellers
Five millennia ago.
From one gene only dominant
That bitter taste was made,
So if recessive flowers met
The bitterness would fade.
Melons bearing yellow flesh,
By the Common Era’s time,
Rabbis classed with grapes and figs
As sweet within the rind.
The gene for sugar links with red,
Though DNA was not yet spelled,
Medieval farmers bred
A fruit fit for angels.
Ruby slabs of watermelon
Decorate my table,
While in the wild deserts
Its ancestral stock is stable.
Civilization could collapse,
There could be Armageddon.
But in five thousand years,
Survivors could
-Again -
Have watermelon
.
More at https://katerauner.wordpress.com/poetry/

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Read Poetry: The Tale of Jimmy Neverbee, by Michael Medlen

Of the all the kids there had to be,
All but one, not two nor three,
A young tike gone by Jimmy Neverbee.
“For no one can give birth to me,
I create my own destiny,” said he.

And young Jimmy of age three,
Upon after receiving a whipping,
Hissed at his mother ever so sweetly,
“Dear mom, dare not strike upon thee
I am his own, Jimmy Neverbee,
For no one can discipline me,
I create my own destiny.”

And by the time of his teens,
Jimmy went uncontrollably,
Through school without creed,
To get grades, no better than a D.
“For no one can learn me,
I create my own destiny,” said he.

Now one day he, ol’ poor Jimmy,
Ran into the likes of a mean bully,
Named Bobby McGee.
Who happened to be,
In Jimmy’s tree.
Not two nor three,
But one finger so mean,
To Bobby he let free,

Mean Bobby gave Jimmy,
A swift kick to the groin,
And left the fledging,
On the ground laying,
To beg and plead.
“For no one can hurt me,
I create my own destiny,” cried he.

But Jimmy, did ever he,
Never ever come to see,
What creating his own destiny,
Was to mean?
“I am the one and only,
Jimmy Neverbee,
Live by his own philosophy,
For no one can own me,
I create my own destiny,” said he.

And soon he met meaner bullies,
With more than a swift knee,
But rather a knife used for stabbing.
And poor ol’ Jimmy,
Was to be left to bleed,
And upon his body, laying dying,
Did he ever mutter so gently,
“I live easy,
A follower of my own philosophy,
Creator of my own destiny,
I shall always be free,
Of this cruel world’s tyranny.
For I am me, and only shall I be,
The one and only,
Jimmy Neverbee,” said he.

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Read Poetry: AT NIGHT I PRAY!!!!!!!, by FABIAN CHRISTOPHER

No night
I sleep
with no fight.
First, with my eyelid
When mind demanding a closure.
Ma eyes still sighting
the curtains of the windows to my soul are on torture.
Tears fall slowly like blue jams.
Ears on my phones its slow jams.
Fears of getting lost here do comes.
Getting me lonelier than Akon.
My fouls bring darkness, the true light is gone.
Life becomes rightless, then left switches on.
Sin carry empty boxes, lure and illusion.
My white garment has gone dirty.
Selfishness is leading this party.
Trynna impress the world with its braggart.
I’m a lost soul in GREAT SPIRIT’s sight.
Heading back home if I only get lucky.
I won’t place it all, for sure I’m done blest.
LORD lead my soul, to Thy right path.
My prayer is no more, cuzThy know the right forth.
Let your angels rain me, blessings from up above.
Put some guidance on me, Thee protect me also preserve.
Alotta things trynna betwixt, my life and purpose I serve.
They all gettin it twist, help me out this Math I solve.
Down here hold my wrist.
Thy wisdom make me bright.
Thy words provide delight.
I dwell in Thy understanding
cuz Thy know when I’m wrong and once I’m right.
IN YOUR HOLY NAME
I PRAY
AMEN……..

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Watch the July 2017 Poetry Readings

Performed by Val Cole

Poetry Reading: ME, by Jim Durkey

Poetry Reading: Time Passing So Quickly, by Kayla Krilove

Poetry Reading: Journey of the Butterfly by Denise Stephani

Poetry Reading: eVu TPS, by Lawrence Klein

Poetry Reading: Dreams… by Buffy Sammons

Poetry Reading: Journey of the Butterfly by Denise Stephani

Performed by Val Cole

Get to know the poet:

What is the theme of your poem?

The poem represents the individual journey which leads to activism and standing up for truth and justice. It is meant to be motivation and inspiration for all those on such a life journey.

What motivated you to write this poem?

My own life and struggles as an activist against all forms of abuse.

How long have you been writing poetry?

Since I was a child. Too aging to give figures. 😉

If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

Maya Angelou

What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

I want to share my poetry on the internet in a viewer friendly form.

Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

I have published 2 books: ‘In the Wings’ and ‘Letters to Mandela’ (Award-winning)and written a few screenplays, some of which have been placed in competitions.

What is your passion in life?

Inspiring global change to create a better world for future generations.

Poetry Reading: Dreams… by Buffy Sammons

Performed by Val Cole

Get to know the winning poet:

What is the theme of your poem?

Being ill and bedridden for so long, these are the dreams that I have and they get me away from my reality. It’s my bucket list and really it’s my way out sometimes.

What motivated you to write this poem?

To give others that are in similar situations reasons to find Solutions or places to dream about and that they sometimes do come true. I want people to know that they’re not alone and there are ways to take your mind elsewhere sometimes.

How long have you been writing poetry?

I actually just recently found out that I was writing poems in 1st grade. I’m not saying that they were good poems, but they did rhyme so I guess prose was always a love of mine.

If you could have dinner with one person (dead or alive), who would that be?

All of my family and loved ones lost.

What influenced you to submit to have your poetry performed by a professional actor?

I am a disabled bedridden nurse and I am just an amateur poet prose just struck me and gave me a reason to get up each day.

Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

I actually write a lot because it calms my mind and helps me to relax because I don’t sleep much and it eases my pain along with painting. Most of my poems come in the middle of the night.

What is your passion in life?

As someone who took care of and watched her family and friends pass away I am a 45 year old that never knew how to slow down and smell the roses I just want to try to be kind to one another and pay it forward to others in similar situations I’m trying to set up a foundation because art and any form really saved my life and gave me a reason to wake up and try each morning and as long as God blesses me to give me those daily breaths I will continue to use them to try to do something for others and hopefully get better in the process.