Category: Uncategorized

Read Poem: Cages by Kristen Corbisiero

I built myself inside this cage,

And foolishly gave you the only key,
Thinking you’d keep it safe,

Hoping you would, at least.

Cages aren’t always meant to keep people in you tell me,
Sometimes, they’re meant to keep certain ones out,
For safety, for love, for whatever reason you choose,
Because this cage has kept me inside for far too long,
And I have no choice but to believe the poison that drips from your mouth,
Lapping it up with dry tongue,
Foolishly praying one day it’ll give me the strength to break the locks,
Cast the iron aside and find my way out.

I built this cage, yes,
I know that now,
Always did,
But never did I think you’d use it to keep me locked away.

Read Poem: Craning: a montage in three acts by Joanna Hannigan

Lament

Into the snow fly wild geese

Over trees stripped bare of bark

And leaves—a feather slivers free.

The white crane, austere and silent

At water’s edge—does not budge

It stands—passive and intense.

Into the past, where I and you were we

Concealed interiors, glass and steel visibility

Impervious to ardor and rage—I plunge.

The snow descends, worlds blur

I will not let you go—and turn

Eastward—into a biting embrace.

His Hymn

He held her sagging head—until the drunken retching stopped

He’d held it before—when the tooth was pulled, the D&C, bad news received

He stroked the damp hair; quieted sobs, then

moved from their bed to the couch in the den,

to the studio miles away, then out of state.

He worked hard—married again, mourned thinning hair, loss of another wife

He grew distant from friends—especially those who reminded him

Restored cars and bought a sail boat,

performed magic tricks for sick kids, took yearly trips

to the coast, and continued to vote.

He avoided college reunions—returned home only for weddings, deaths

He played tennis and racquetball, ate at the country club

Invested his money wisely, tried to laugh enough,

advanced, he suspected, because he didn’t give a damn

about research, going green, using four letter words.

They said he was a good man—few would disagree.

How she would loathe what he was and had become

How she disliked flat rituals and routine, memberships—comforting

And adored spontaneity, dinners in reverse, and snow white cranes

disciplined and solitary in their gaze, prone to migrate

to new sources of feed, retaining wisdom in their wings.

They said she was a flawed thing—only he disagreed.

He wasn’t a sentimental man—and sometimes woke to stop the dreams

He only played CDs and mix tapes—he’d never risk hearing her moody notes

Shunned zoos and parks, rivers and lakes—all inland water ways

until one day, he did what he would never have done

focusing on sky, lake, land—he stood at water’s edge.

He remembered all of her—damp hair, pale lips, shadows and curves

He wondered if silver replaced the mane of gold, if she still hummed those words

He reclaimed what for 30 years had been lost—her, him

he pleaded for a sign, then demanded—with raised fist

she be returned to him—he lifted his head, majestically

and craned.

Requiem

The crane posed, leg bent, at water’s edge

Walking, I saw it—though the form

Could have been two—flurries of white at dusk.

Swiftly, limbs spread, it turned

Joyfully, feathers preened, unconcerned

Spinning zealously—with ardent intensity.

Into the twilight soared the bird

Merging until vague—until only dark remained

That was when I saw her.

The snow whirled, eyes blurred as

Human form turned into bird—winging

Westward—free of earth.

Poem by Joanna Hannigan, Creative Writer/Proposal Developer

Cailleach Bhur Caer, Loudon, TN 37774

Read Poem: The Calling of a Magical Minstrel by Rama Devi Nina Marshall

A wand’ring minstrel I, a thing of shreds and patches, of ballads, songs and snatches, and dreamy lullaby!
—Nanki-Poo, The Mikado

The princess ponders her musician
with sparkling eyes that seek petition.
“Dear Minstrel, friend, I envy your
position as a troubadour.
Please tell me of this sage tradition,
I want to hear your own rendition!”

The minstrel bows his head down low
and says, “M’lady, do you know
how lonely life is on the road,
bestowing joy to all abodes,
yet owed no comfort, though it’s showed?

“With horn or lute or fife or flute
a minstrel must stay resolute
to serve the people music’s magic—
melodies both sweet and tragic.

With fiddles’ festive flourishing
that nudges soul with nourishing
and artistry that he invests,
he conjures jests for puzzled guests
at court’s resort for festive sports
to serve retorts to courtier sorts
while they indulge in berry tortes
with bottled brews and servant’s news
and conversations they may choose,
with gossip chews or flirty cues,
jokes to amuse—or ramblers whose
enthused, sophisticated views
might make some simply blow a fuse
but will, for some, prove to bemuse.”

He winks and bows again, with cheer.
“I hope you liked my humor here!”

The princess smiles and claps her hands.
“My merry man, I understand!
You smile for all those in the land,
and yet your style’s a one man band.”

“We troubadours won’t stay indoors
but always tour—we’re never bores!
We score aristocratic wars
with stories of some far-off shores
and mentors who will only yield
those secrets kept with inner-shield
to worthy ones who prove their mettle,
like kettledrums that never settle,
or juggling jesters’ acrobatics,
or bard’s ecstatic stage dramatics.”

The princess smiles again and says,
“My friend, I feel your heart and head.
Imagination’s creative station
is conjuring, without cessation,
amused narrations—invocations.
May I extend an invitation?
Please stay here as my honored guest
and share your gifts—we’d be most blessed!”

“I’d love to, Princess, stay with you.
Yet, I cannot. I bid adieu.
Continuing my calling, I
must travel over mountains high.
Your words will serve to fortify
my heart as distant lands fly by.”

Read Poem: LOVE THIS WAY by Noor Ashu

It took me hours to think
what you saw in my body when you praised about it
it forced me to think about love again
as they say,
love exists behind bodies
and in between souls
I have heard it many times
that I never thought about my body as beautiful
I never tried it to be,
and for years I never thought that it need love too
because I never looked at my body as something special,
I have abused it so much,
that it is not okay for me to praise it,
how I neglected the part of myself for years
it took me hours to realize
it is never always lust
as we considered,
when our bodies are being loved

Author’s bio
I am Noorulain Ayesha, an Electrical Engineer, nature lover, an author of “The Unknown Journey”, “Heart to Heart with Nature” and “Sunshine of your love”.