Category: Uncategorized

Read Poem: SOUNDS OF A HOMECOMING by Phil Isherwood

Collected sounds, a story found,
assembled voices, words
that weave a way to journey’s end
by threads of all that’s heard.

Along the hedgerows children laugh,
the noisy boys on stage
play their war with made-up guns
as real worlds burn with rage.

Again I hear the footsteps come,
to mark and make the ways,
music folds and folds the time.
Today it plays, it plays

as violin, the woods in France,
souvenirs from halls,
conversations, murmurs, shouts,
a glockenspiel, the squalls

of birds, the cattle sheds.
Doors scrape to close. A key.
There’s a voice that makes a plea
to sing, to ‘sing for me’.

Collected sounds, a story found,
assembled voices, words
that weave a way to journey’s end
by threads of all that’s heard.

Read Poem: RESPECT by Sahaj Sabharwal

*1Respect is the Desire of everybody’s mind,
But is only given to people who are kind.
*2Respect is given to those who deserve it,
And is not given to those who are unfit for it.
*3Respect is like a fuel of life,
Without which a man cannot work rife.
*4Respect to our elders plays an important role,
As its the blessing to achieve our goal.
*5Respect is like a bullet of a gun,
Which Travels with us in long run.
*6Respect when given to all,
His reputation will never fall.

©sahajsabharwal.

Read Poem: Anonymous Meeting by Isha A. Poet

Passion: Hi Group
I’m Passion

Group: Hi Passion

Passion: So I’ve been inactive for a week
I know it’s not a lot of time but
I’m usually ablaze
Radiating like the Suns flares
I shine bright
So aluminise that I burn those around me
Like the Phoenix I don’t just burst into flames
And set my soul on fire
To rise again from the ashes
I skald those who are around me
In the designated areas that are fire proof
Storm proof
Hurricane proof
Basically
Me proof
But
They enter
Or are there by circumstance
Like my old partners
Who loved the fire within me
But hated the after effects
You know- like when you drink too much you have a hangover
Well when I ignite
I usually singe everything around me
And I notice he takes the flare
Takes the hit from my fire
That leaves holes in his armour

Poetry: But wait you have to tell the whole story

Passion: God damn it Poetry
Why do you have to interfere?

Poetry: Well explain it truthfully then ….

Passion: Oh here she goes again

Poetry: Well.. I thought so
So what happened was
She didn’t want to write no more
Didn’t want to be with me and decided she wanted to take leave
And ended the connection we had which was me
Poetry
The only thing we had was the pain
From love gone wrong
Nearly going right
Nope you was wrong
Your emotionally stability to instability
Your religious belief to disbelief
But you stopped
Stopped putting pen to paper
Finger to tablet
To your keyboard
Seems like someone forgot who they needed to call
You left me hanging, waiting by the phone
Hoping you would call and whisper sweet painful memories to me

Passion: You see. This is why I don’t write anymore
I can’t write about how everything is fucked up
Of how lonely and sad the world has made us the minority
That we are part of a statistic that have had their heartbroken too much
I don’t want to do it

Therapist: Then why are you here?

©️Isha A Poet

Read Poem: Madness of a Mad God by Mishka Zakharin

So sits the Mad God

In Divine contemplation,

Thinking on the plight of the world

And His place, if any, within it…

The other Gods stand idly by—

On aloof and lonely mountains,

Beneath cold, uncaring seas,

Within the stark cruelty of barren deserts—

The darkening glow of Judgment

Burning in Their eyes:

“We do not taunt You—

Though it would be justified if We did—

For You mock Yourself

By Your own existence…”

The frailties of the mortal world,

The weaknesses inherent in the human condition,

Wrap Me in their clinging bonds,

And it is as being enfolded by Death

With the tenderness of a lover’s embrace…

Kali nuzzles close

With Her promises of sin and seduction,

Of Infinite Being through consumption by Her love—

But I unwrap Her from around Me and roll free,

Telling Her I have a headache…

Forever guided toward complacency—

Tread softly… behave Yourself…

Well, perhaps I do,

And the world just has the wrong rules…

Poseidon is all wet;

Thor is left thunderstruck;

Hades wanders in darkness;

Osiris tries to pull Himself together;

Odin is half blinded by His own wisdom;

Hephaestus gets all weak in the knees;

Loki cheats at cards…

So I really don’t understand

Why I should constantly be blamed

For everything I do…

In all things, I surpass even Myself—

Yet I am too far behind,

Left too deeply in shadow, to see it;

Powerless to wield the Omnipotence

That is My birthright,

I look to Zeus—

A comrade in arms,

A kindred spirit,

The brother I never had,

As though My second self…

Where, then, is My Aegis,

To protect Me and keep the world at bay?

For those who would be Gods—

Or the living incarnation of Godly power—

For the Pharaohs and Caesars and starry-eyed prophets,

Lost in their delusions of grandeur

And feats of magnanimous self-aggrandizement,

You would do well to note,

It isn’t that the world has fallen—

The lofty ideals of man have always far outshone

The realization of those ideals…

But man looks to the Gods

To find who he thinks he should be,

And there was always more of war than of wisdom

In the heart of glorious Athena…

Against the harsh rantings of the world around Me,

Forever opposing what I do and who I am,

Through the feeble, incoherent ravings

Of My own chaotic thoughts,

The only thing Omniscience ever did for Me

Was to allow but a glimpse of the Truth—

I don’t know anything about anything…

So I fall on My knees

And stare into the blinding light of Eternity—

But it only hurts My eyes;

The sought-after and elusive answers,

Offering Oblivion through Shiva’s destruction

Or the Redemption of Ahura Mazda’s enlightenment,

Remain damnably unknown…

Ensconced by the heady awareness

Invoked by the rich lifeblood of heavenly Nectar—

Or a cheap Chianti, which is easier to come by—

The meditations of the Mad God

Draw finally to a conclusion:

Sanity is but an illusion—

The lie created to convince

That the world should make sense…

And, so, what matter could it possibly make

In denying the world entirely

And surrendering to the Madness……

Read Poem: Grand Central Station by Sandra Fernandez

Honestly, it’s not the same anymore, so I stopped going, she said as she took another sip of her tamarindo.

What do you mean? he asked her.

Gabriela ripped off a chunk of pupusa, crammed it into her mouth and swallowed.

It’s like… that feeling you get when you go to city walk or the mall. You’re surrounded by restaurants, stores & brightly lit bars. That Latin cultura vibe is basically gone… AND to top it all off there’s only one frutero left… you know that big stand en medio del Grand Central that was also a small marketa? They’re like one of the last latinx owned businesses there now. It just makes me feel some typa way, she explained.

Gentrification is spreading everywhere in LA. People are getting kicked out of their businesses & their homes, it’s fucked up. It’s like colonization all over again, the brown, black & poor just get erased from their neighborhoods & their lands like they never existed there at all. It’s become a fad too, he replied.

It’s really sad. Just makes me not want to visit anymore. It’s not at all like what I remember as a child. The whole thing just seems superficial.

They ate their last bites, paid & walked out of the restaurant towards Normandie Avenue.

Read Poem: THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME by Magdalena Munro

Why did Dorothy’s
slippers become a
fiery red?

They were always
silver

like strands of
tinsel billowing from
the beaks of blackbirds
in formation,

lifting up into a
caulked grey zone
above the outstretched
hands of dreamy
caravans,

streaking starspilled
skies ebbing and flowing
like the heaving chest
of God in a righteous
slumber.

Wake up –

I pass an estate
sale and am pulled
toward the buzzing
hum of a concealed
magnet.

Propped on draped
tables are trinkets,
battered books,
woolly coats,
and a leathery
parade of
clutchless
purses.

I finger the engraved
pewter of a baby spoon
and imagine the faraway
giggle of a peachy toddler
beyond the musty hallway
where strangers pick through
pieces from a departed one.

We carry her seeds into
vaulted spaces smelling
of citron and spruce.

Clutching the spoon,
I toss my dirty hiking
boots and slip into a
speck of silver.

Read Poem: She Has Touched My Heart by David P Carroll

Listen to the sound of
Our hearts beating my love Feel our forever love
Butterflies flying above
Whenever we’re apart

Listen to the sound of your heart.

You’re forever in my beating heart sweetheart
In times when I’m sad lonely
I think about you the one
Who’s touched my heart
It’s you who brightens my day’s
Every day, every night I smile thinking about you forever in my heart your the one who has truly touched my heart.

Read Poem: Be Balanced by Olwyn Williams

Be playful.
Be bold, brave and balanced,
So you can float to new heights
Above the tree’s canopy to see your fears made small
Against the expanse of the full forest tall,
Trees reaching, competing,
Breathing , releasing.

Be comfortable.
Find the edges of your comfort
So you can gently nudge them out,
Coax them into stretching
Until they encompass the world wide
and all the skies.

Be relaxed and supported.
Float, don’t swim.
Trust that you are
Just where you need to be.
Be filthy footed and wet with sweat
Don’t prune yourself just for appearance sake
nor anybody’s random order.
Be grounded, like a tree,
Though mobile like a breeze.

Be as wild or as quiet as you need to be .
Be what you feel and do as you please.
Be at ease in the your skin, be at peace in your mind,
Let your soul to fly where it will at night
When in bed you lie.
Heed your dreams, my sweet, for so much they do reveal
And let your fears go, as you swing from branch to branch
Until they are lost
and far out of sight.