The Storm in My Black Belly by Bindu Saxena

When my lady held me – I quivered with dread; I knew of the ordeal that stretched ahead…

She took me at the corner, she took me in the street; I followed her swamped in a sense of defeat.

She took me to the market, the pavement, the stall; I tested my patience – no bicker, no brawl.

Invariably, too she would run into, “a friend.” And launched into chatter that signaled no end;

Her fingers fluttered, she waggled her head, secured in her palm – “I wished I were dead!”

And though, to her, this was joy & delight; it filled me with stark & unreasoning fright.

The minutes & hours plodded painfully by; her endless chatters & my battery, continued to dry!

Left, Right and Centre my face got pinched –until my lady’s ‘DATE’ was clinched!

She flew me skies, where I rested for a while; Network out, what a relief to my pout!

Here came Diwali. The fireworks, the celebrations , the lightings & thunder ..

For a friend anew, and Lo! Was I surrendered..

Back to Air Tel, from where had I come. Lay I appeased.

Quietly told myself & ceased …

1. The Moon is My Cradle by Emily Comer

The moon is my cradle.
Through the long night;
The stars are my handmaids,
Lending their light.
The planets, my sisters, are dancing with joy,
To see the soft slumber
Of each girl and boy.
The earth is my slippers,
Heaven’s my crown;
And the air in between is
My shimmering gown.
The sky is the page
Where my portrait is drawn;
The sun is my mother,
And I am the Dawn!

2. The Invisible Entertainer by S. Winter-Hudelson

An hour before nine strikes,
He paces floors, forehead in hand.
Finally, Pianoman’s feet drag his body
to the bar

He enters Rosie’s and pours a Pabst,
Slips five-ones in his bowl
And slides behind the spinet,
seen by none.

Fingers leap-frog ivories
And tunes fight smoke
Begging for claps
rarely heard.

He croons “Moon River”
Then a version in jazz to self-amuse
A lone fan cheers,
most are numb.

Wobbling, slobbering bejeweled old fools
Stuff ten spots in tip bowl
And request words and music
he knows not.

Breasts pressing his arm,
Two too red lips exhale stench to
Breathy beer strains of sexy songs
known to most.

A stupored couple staggers toward the stage
Holding more than dancing.
When beat and step don’t match,
neither cares.

The crowd, drowned in liquor downed long ago,
And four hours crawl to an end.
He covers the keys and rotely winds the cord
to his mic.

He exits stage left,
The bill-brimming bowl
Tucked under his arm,
his sole reward.

3. The Storm in My Black Belly by Bindu Saxena

When my lady held me – I quivered with dread; I knew of the ordeal that stretched ahead…

She took me at the corner, she took me in the street; I followed her swamped in a sense of defeat.

She took me to the market, the pavement, the stall; I tested my patience – no bicker, no brawl.

Invariably, too she would run into, “a friend.” And launched into chatter that signaled no end;

Her fingers fluttered, she waggled her head, secured in her palm – “I wished I were dead!”

And though, to her, this was joy & delight; it filled me with stark & unreasoning fright.

The minutes & hours plodded painfully by; her endless chatters & my battery, continued to dry!

Left, Right and Centre my face got pinched –until my lady’s ‘DATE’ was clinched!

She flew me skies, where I rested for a while; Network out, what a relief to my pout!

Here came Diwali. The fireworks, the celebrations , the lightings & thunder ..

For a friend anew, and Lo! Was I surrendered..

Back to Air Tel, from where had I come. Lay I appeased.

Quietly told myself & ceased …

4. Perfection…? by Carlos Eduardo

The drawings on the chapel are of a perfection such
Works of an artist to a future generation as much
And even that lady who’s armless and still
Holds everyone by the beauty she reveals
Where does it live
In Rome or in Greece?
The mythology tells us of a lady that’s perfect
Eminence among gods, a touch in the heart
And within pictures that a few pay attention
He enchants everyone with those unique creations
Ross when drew Aphrodite in his mythology
Had he created the perfect syncrony?
The beauty was so much, he got paralysed
Threw himself into the lake, drowned deep inside
But the symphony was so rare and magestic
Even the deafest one could create music
Beethoven’s tail or Narcism’s lake
How does it look like?
An ornamented chapel or an incomplete statue
Where would I, an average person, find you?
At the depths of a lake or the pictures of an artist
Where would I meet the one I have searched?
Then He told me I’d never find
Whilst I didn’t look at me inside.

5. Sin’s Requiem by David Gonzalez

Don’t shed a tear for the seven of us.
As we rot justly in a grimy, black cell, waiting for our true dwelling in hell.

Luxuria is now a shadow of an evil beauty that had once begotten men and women alike to fornicate, in a twisted form of love. Lust is the first to depart. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Gula it’s never ending appetite now sated, has stopped its endless indulgence. Beckoning the end of famines, droughts, and vile addictions everywhere. Gluttony is the second to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Individa filled with a deep hatred for those that hold what it cannot have. Is now appeased by what it wields. Envy is the third to follow. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Avaritia now finished with its campaign for its selfish wealth and luxury. Its hoarded belongings now shared with all. Greed is the fourth in line to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Acedia without a care of the world or itself, has now found meaning in its existence. Sloth is the fifth in line to go.
At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Ira its eternal anger now doused. It’s downfall heralding the end of violence and hatred. Wrath is the second to last to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Superbia a never ending journey for fame, now cast aside by time forever to be forgotten. Pride proud of all the foul deeds it has committed, shouts before the gallows, with no hint of remorse.

“At twilight we all shall be dancing a jig in hell. But do not bid the seven of us adieu, and shed tears of joy at our departure. For before dawn we shall rejoin you all.” With a wicked smirk Pride is the last to go.

The word it has spoken resounding in our thoughts, filling them with angst, strife and fear…
Fear the hidden origin for all our sins.

1. Advized by Someone I Despized by D Dhebar

‘Why not a zee?’ said he to me.
To which I said, ‘Tis zed not zee.’
Now listen well to every word,
Which sounds like zed,
But ‘always’ uses ess instead.

I was once advised to televise,
By someone I despised,
My product which I wished to advertise.

Now to my surprise,
Good manners did he exercise,
But then I thought,
Surely a disguise.

I was right!
He devised a way to make me pay
Some invented excise,
I was vexed and threatened to chastise.

‘No!’ he said,
Why not let us compromise,
I urge you to revise,
As I do not wish to apprise.

‘For what?’ I said,
‘You are not an honest man,
Not a truthful word can you comprise
And to your forehead I should incise
Words which are not so very nice.’

So without his help I duly improvised,
And with a clipper be he circumcised
For all those brazen, cunning lies.

Well, I have not proof of this,
But do we not all surmise?

2. What Is Broken by Joe Dibuduo

Not grandpa’s heart as he sees
her little face wrinkling in mirth.

Jane’s a baby anybody will adore.

Every tiny move she makes is
happiness, bouncing on springs.
She’ll steal your heart when you’re not looking,

and you’ll be pleased she took it.

Jane’s flawless baby skin is smoother than a polished sapphire,
sparkling eyes brighter than any unblemished star,
her laughing voice brings glee to any who’ll listen

A carefree baby girl, so far untouched by evil.

But there’s a new man in her mother’s life.
A man Jane will try to love as she does all others.
One day she visits her grandpa and shows him,

her black and blue face.

His face turns a crimson hue. Anyone abusing
this little cherub creates lethal thoughts.
She slipped and fell, his son’s ex wife says.

You know I’d never hurt little Janey.

Homicidal thoughts subside on doubts.
Forgotten, the bruise fades from sight and memory.
Jane runs and plays like any three-year-old,

until one day, she can’t run anymore.

Both her legs are broken.
She smiles and crawls instead,
always dreaming of her dad,

who is fighting for her in Iraq.

Grandpa files a motion to get Jane out of there,
to have the court let her stay with him.
Only until her dad returns, but the judge says no.

Jane is sent home with her mom and stepdad.

Grandpa goes home to load his shotgun.

Jane cries for her dad, but her stepdad shuts her up
With a powerful kick to the stomach,
killing Jane at age three.

Grandpa comes through the door, his angel is laying face down on the floor.

Grandpa pulls the trigger, and stepdad loses his head.
Jane’s mom rushes into the room with a scream
that suddenly ends.

Grandpa had a round for her too.

3. Pink Lullabies by Amor Damaso

When the sun kiss the ground
where we lie
is it night?

The music tapering to quietness
and darkness engulfs the sky

I stare … blankly at the ceiling
while the movie in my mind
proceeds to play
memories of days gone by

A blur they pass fast
slivers of motion and then some
Most are green
some red
others the color of a mellow sun
at summer’s rest.

Carefully, I choose snapshots of pink hue
and store them someplace safe
pink lullabies
sweet, lovely memories of you I keep
to slumbering, peaceful sleep.

4. The Storm in My Black Belly by Bindu Saxena

When my lady held me – I quivered with dread; I knew of the ordeal that stretched ahead…

She took me at the corner, she took me in the street; I followed her swamped in a sense of defeat.

She took me to the market, the pavement, the stall; I tested my patience – no bicker, no brawl.

Invariably, too she would run into, “a friend.” And launched into chatter that signaled no end;

Her fingers fluttered, she waggled her head, secured in her palm – “I wished I were dead!”

And though, to her, this was joy & delight; it filled me with stark & unreasoning fright.

The minutes & hours plodded painfully by; her endless chatters & my battery, continued to dry!

Left, Right and Centre my face got pinched –until my lady’s ‘DATE’ was clinched!

She flew me skies, where I rested for a while; Network out, what a relief to my pout!

Here came Diwali. The fireworks, the celebrations , the lightings & thunder ..

For a friend anew, and Lo! Was I surrendered..

Back to Air Tel, from where had I come. Lay I appeased.

Quietly told myself & ceased …

5. Perfection…? by Carlos Eduardo

The drawings on the chapel are of a perfection such
Works of an artist to a future generation as much
And even that lady who’s armless and still
Holds everyone by the beauty she reveals
Where does it live
In Rome or in Greece?
The mythology tells us of a lady that’s perfect
Eminence among gods, a touch in the heart
And within pictures that a few pay attention
He enchants everyone with those unique creations
Ross when drew Aphrodite in his mythology
Had he created the perfect syncrony?
The beauty was so much, he got paralysed
Threw himself into the lake, drowned deep inside
But the symphony was so rare and magestic
Even the deafest one could creat music
Beethoven’s tail or Narcism’s lake
How does it look like?
An ornamented chapel or an incomplete statue
Where would I, an average person, find you?
At the depths of a lake or the pictures of an artist
Where would I meet the one I have searched?
Then He told me I’d never find
Whilst I didn’t look at me inside.

6. Life by Rachna Rohatgi

Life is a paradox,
It is a pandora’s box,
It sometimes gives us shocks,
With its beautiful surprises,
And at other times leaves us perplexed,
Thinking how wonderfully we are blessed.
Life makes us dance to its tune,
From no moon to full moon,
It makes us admire the power of destiny,
And bow our heads to its supremacy,
It lets us feel emotions we shouldn’t,
Yet at the same time teaches us control and self-restraint.
Life is indeed a paradox,
Which generally keeps us foxed,
By its devious ways and means,
Which sometimes act like Satan and sometimes like angels and fairies,
Life is a bag full of mixed emotions,
Which we all feel at some stages of our devotions,
The one thing that never changes about life,
It gives us beautiful surprises in spite of all the struggles and strife.

7. Unforgettable by Sarah Mathews

While you were holding my hand,
As we were walking on the sand,
I started to wonder why,
What made my breath so high,
There were too many times when I felt this way,
Each time I decided I could not say,
I did not know that you could read my mind,
And just exactly find,
As you guessed my fear,
That I was afraid. . . if you were not near,
You gave me comfort when i was broken,
Which I have still kept as a token. . .

8. Sin’s Requiem by David Gonzalez

Don’t shed a tear for the seven of us.
As we rot justly in a grimy, black cell, waiting for our true dwelling in hell.

Luxuria is now a shadow of an evil beauty that had once begotten men and women alike to fornicate, in a twisted form of love. Lust is the first to depart. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Gula it’s never ending appetite now sated, has stopped its endless indulgence. Beckoning the end of famines, droughts, and vile addictions everywhere. Gluttony is the second to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Individa filled with a deep hatred for those that hold what it cannot have. Is now appeased by what it wields. Envy is the third to follow. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Avaritia now finished with its campaign for its selfish wealth and luxury. Its hoarded belongings now shared with all. Greed is the fourth in line to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Acedia without a care of the world or itself, has now found meaning in its existence. Sloth is the fifth in line to go.
At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Ira its eternal anger now doused. It’s downfall heralding the end of violence and hatred. Wrath is the second to last to go. At twilight we shall all be dancing a jig in hell.

Superbia a never ending journey for fame, now cast aside by time forever to be forgotten. Pride proud of all the foul deeds it has committed, shouts before the gallows, with no hint of remorse.

“At twilight we all shall be dancing a jig in hell. But do not bid the seven of us adieu, and shed tears of joy at our departure. For before dawn we shall rejoin you all.” With a wicked smirk Pride is the last to go.

The word it has spoken resounding in our thoughts, filling them with angst, strife and fear…
Fear the hidden origin for all our sins.

1. Shapes by Tanja Cilia

Ellipse, evolute, vertex and curve,
Humdrum circle or ricochet swerve
Astroids or cusps, arcs or sectors;
What have those got to do with vectors?
Curvature, cone, Cartesian plane…
Oval, deltoid… what’s in a name?
Geoid oscillation, pedal, radial, rose…
What on earth do I know of those?
Hypocycloid, cruciform, Sierpinski carpet…
Inverse tangent or Apollonian gasket?
Snowflake, hypercube, space-time dimension
Pressured, gauged, or under tension?
Trammel of Archimedes, planes, rotations -
Congruence, right angles, equivalence relation;
Conchoid curve, Orthoptic, Lemoine hexagon,
Triangle, star or good old pentagon.
Crescent, rhombus, magatama, square,
Caustic curves, salinon, ying-yang or sphere!
About whichever’s the shape that you talk,
Basically, it’s taking a line for a walk!

2. Status Quote by Paul Fraser

My friends, my dear friends, are so very well read
They start off their sentences with “Oscar once said…”

or “To paraphrase Shaw…and “Shakespeare said it best…”
They will quote whole books with which they were impressed

They recite morning, noon and night, their capacity is amazing
They can recall an epigram for every occasion

But for once, just once, be it collectively or alone,
I wish they’d have an original idea of their own

3. The Moon is My Cradle by Emily Comer

The moon is my cradle.
Through the long night;
The stars are my handmaids,
Lending their light.
The planets, my sisters, are dancing with joy,
To see the soft slumber
Of each girl and boy.
The earth is my slippers,
Heaven’s my crown;
And the air in between is
My shimmering gown.
The sky is the page
Where my portrait is drawn;
The sun is my mother,
And I am the Dawn!

4. Charybdis and Scylla by James Cosentino

This page of stars that flies at night
And sheets of wind on which I write
And all my small attempts to love
Aim sadly low with you above

The wind is warm that breezes by
Invites my gaze toward the sky
The night is calm, the stars are set
To bed, to sleep with dreams unmet

Among these stars, I see your face
Your eyes, your lips I long to trace
The subtle curve of countless smiles
Your cheek, your laugh that e’er beguiles

And on this night, I breathe your name
Unworthy, e’en, to mouth in shame
The hint of prayer, my vulgar voice
Arrested, gagged, denied of choice

Beyond this breath, I turn away
From you, my sky, this night my day
I turn in shame, to keep you bless’d
Untainted by my crass caress

But then, your word breathes by my ear
Your whispered plea enchants me near
And witness full your holy face
Behold the glory of your grace.

Humbled, slow, comes my reply
Without a thought of reasons why
One like you might call me near
Why me, with such a loathsome fear

“You can’t mean me in your appeal
You must mean one perhaps concealed
One, perhaps, more worthy than I
More worthy of you, with nobler eye.”

“No,” speak you with tend’rest breath
“Upon my life, until my death
‘Tis you, my love, I ever call
For only you my dance enthralls.”

And then, as if my heart’s delight
Could ne’er burst more before your light
My wand’ring step obeys your voice
My tongue now free, sings out rejoice

And from this night, for all my days
You are my church wherein I pray
The holy grail that guides my fire
That lights my path, that stokes desire

5. The Invisible Entertainer by S. Winter-Hudelson

An hour before nine strikes,
He paces floors, forehead in hand.
Finally, Pianoman’s feet drag his body
to the bar

He enters Rosie’s and pours a Pabst,
Slips five-ones in his bowl
And slides behind the spinet,
seen by none.

Fingers leap-frog ivories
And tunes fight smoke
Begging for claps
rarely heard.

He croons “Moon River”
Then a version in jazz to self-amuse
A lone fan cheers,
most are numb.

Wobbling, slobbering bejeweled old fools
Stuff ten spots in tip bowl
And request words and music
he knows not.

Breasts pressing his arm,
Two too red lips exhale stench to
Breathy beer strains of sexy songs
known to most.

A stupored couple staggers toward the stage
Holding more than dancing.
When beat and step don’t match,
neither cares.

The crowd, drowned in liquor downed long ago,
And four hours crawl to an end.
He covers the keys and rotely winds the cord
to his mic.

He exits stage left,
The bill-brimming bowl
Tucked under his arm,
his sole reward.

6. A Rueful Host by Ben Winter

Commuting through rich humus soil with little sound,
An earthworm toils to aerate his fertile ground;
But up above, alert to Red Worm slight mistake,
Red Robin hops in search for tender prey to take.

Safe down below the Red Worm dines on loamy feast,
But soon must rise and brave the world of savage beast.
And Robin waits while Red Worm dines through earthy night,
More suited to dark solitude than world of light.

But instinct soon abides to render creature fate,
And each would venture forth to meet with tragic date.
For bird and worm must each pursue his normal fare,
While unfair gain holds forth for this unlikely pair.

Strait way the worm comes vis a vis to feral eyes,
Too late, undone, Red Worm becomes Red Robin prize.
For lowly worm must serve when come to banquet fest;
At once a rueful host and also favored guest.

7. Untitled by Brandon Cooper

A print upon the sodden dirt,
Natures posture forlorn no more,
I’ve come with wonder to see what I may,
Absconded life’s lethargic bore.

Walk O’ walk and never stop,
Keep your head upon a disc,
Let the wind control where you may look,
Only fear that beauty you may miss.

It’s not the same, it never was,
Walk with zeal 10,000 times,
A myriad of shadows cover different days,
Every one through a different eye.

I’ve never seen the winters jeer;
The rain follows with auspicious beat,
I’ve never traversed through the fulgent moon,
Ground trembled beneath aged feet,

It wont be the same, it never will,
Not if walked 10,000,000 times,
A myriad of whispers expose false lies,
Every one told countless times,

So Walk O’ walk and never stop,
Keep your head upon a disc,
For the wind will control where you may look,
Only fear that beauty you may miss.