Editor'sChoice

Editor's Choice

MUSIC THAT PLAYS

My body reverberates
In search of your soul
Though I sometimes
Brace them hard
But, I feel the very affinity of nature
Feel like I'm riding the horse
In the prairie land
Let me not trip
As when I see you smiling
Under the azure sky
Conquer the world in me
As I've seen you
Amidst those hard fights
Ah! How graceful
You smile by my side
A warm love as I embrace
To touch your swaying hair
The fragrance
Of this nature caresses
Running through you
And, music that plays
Flying over the unruffled sea
And, I find your soul
Ever to nestle
The purity of nature
Shall but embed
Till I live
You flicker
Like a crescent moon
And, I could see you
Far from the quiet night.

© Hum Ale

FIVE FIFTY FIVE

Moon hangs
like a wire in the sky
above tree touched roofs
of semi detached houses

while clouds become waves

marking the passage

of afternoon into evening.

Looking down upon

pale yellowish leaves

scattered on the moist green

not daring to dance against

the moods of a capricious wind

which casts away scraps of

discarded memories

Meanwhile from an upstairs window

a small red hair figure

imagines these scenes in his mind

before writing them down on paper

hoping to make some poetry

out of all pictures he sees

on this bleak autumnal weekday.

Transcending Definitions

Art is not an institution...
It is an inner fire
Born out of those
Whose eyes pierce deeply

Into hidden burning beauty.

Art is not a class taught by Academia...

It is a holy vibration
Pulsing through the veins

Of those who sense the truth

Of this world's perfect purity.

Art is not a transaction...

It is a soulful expression

That has no choice

But to be released

As a reflection of the Source.

Art is not a sales pitch...

It is an intense emotion

Coupled with a vision

Of crystalline transcendence

That ruptures open new dimensions.

Art is not yet ready for the grave...

It is a raging protest

Against the mortal flesh

That sings the sweetest melody

About overcoming life's suffering.

MY ONLY COMPANY

You left me in my silent world
Where your voice was lost;
Where on the road of night, your path
Separated from mine
Where in our love story,
Your heart was taken
Away from the story line;
And where the ancient
Sadness came and replaced
you in my mind.

Although the day of
Seeing you again is no
More in my calendar,

To see you over the
unconfirmed time I will
Constantly wonder;
So, be with me with your

Caring eyes till I die -
I am only a leaf on the end
Reach of an alienated fall;
Be with me till the moment
This leaf is going to fall.
Without you I know,
I will move on these roads
With no arriving at...,
Me and the galaxy of
Loneliness which will
Attack
My existence and your very
Being
That has been kidnapped.

© Martin Foroz

Tears in Your Eyes

Poems are hard to create

They live, then die, walk

Alone in tears,

Resurrect in family
Mausoleums.

They walk with you alone

In ghostly patterns,

Memories they deliver
Feeling unexpectedly
Through the open

Windows of strangers.

Silk roses lie in a potted bowl
Memories seven days

Before Mother's Day.

Soak those tears,
Patience is the poetry of

Love.
Plant your memories,

Your seeds, your passion,

Once a year, maybe twice.

Jesus knows we all need

More
Then a vase filled with silk flowers,

Poems on paper from a poet sacred,

The mystery, the love of a Caretaker -

Multicolored silk flowers

In a basket
Handed out by the flower girl.

SILENT MOONLIGHT

Record, she's a creeping spider.

Hurt love dangles net

From a silent moonlight hanger,

Tortures this damaged heart

Daggers twist in hints of the rising sun.

Silence snores.
Sometimes she's a bitch.

Sunlight scatters these shadows

Across my bare feet in
This spotty rain.

Sometimes we rewind,

Sometimes no recourse,

Numbness, no feeling at all.

Michael Lee Johnson lived 10 years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today, he is a poet, freelance writer,

amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson has been published in more than 1,072 new publications, his poems

have appeared in 39 countries, and he edits as well as publishes 10 poetry sites. Michael Lee Johnson has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards, Poetry 2015/
1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net 2017, 2 Best of the Net 2018.

Editor-in-Chief Poetry Anthology, "Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze":

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762

Editor-in-Chief of Poetry Anthology, "Dandelion in a Vase of Roses", available at:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089

Editor-in-Chief, "Warriors with Wings: The Best in Contemporary Poetry"

http://www.amazon.com/dp/1722130717

Michael Lee Johnson's YouTube (200+ Videos) can be viewed below, at:

https://www.youtube.com/users/poetrymanusa/videos

MIRABILIA

Roseate yearnings

Lapped in pearl snow
She has neither seen

Their faces nor contours.

Yet those silver

Silhouettes pacify her

Quivering shoulders.

Shoulders which have

Become ashen-faced hands

Of that cracked clock,

Mounted on a derelict horizon.

Such has been her life,

Ever since she caressed that damask rose.

Crepe laughter from wilted dream -

Meanderings,

Rustling in the shriveled haze.

Probably by now, most of her soul -

Marrow has been scooped out.

While some distinct mirabilia

Only savor rare genuflections.

It seems, she has trudged

Through longitudes of eternity

At least a few times.

© Jyoti Nair

OVERLOOKING THE CLIFF

The emotional union of land and sea runs deep.

Watch from your height

The early morning fire-mist on the beach

Before the sun consents to appear

As a glowing epic.

A constant flood of waves over sand.

A constant sea breeze ruffling hair.

In bright daylight,

Over the tricky tor, you'll spot

Fish leaping in a single bound.

They then reverse,

And dive headlong,

To then rejoin the ocean ceaseless.

If they land wrong, they weep,

And all their tribe weeps with them.

Daily sails memories across
This noble body of water.

And under the waves,

You may imagine
The attended continuum of life.

As the sun sits and puts up his feet,

The pale-faced moon the twilight brings,

And with it, a different tide.

I see it all,

Standing,
Overlooking the cliff.

© Linda Imbler

CRY FOR LIFE

And she cried as she left her mother's womb

Not wanting to leave the safety of this warmth.

She knew that this was the beginning of life,

Life that would be challenging and dangerous

Yet mother's love kept her feeling comfort

Quickly she grew and always there was mother

Offering arms of consolation and happiness.

This woman instinctively knew her needs and wants

Mother, mother full of kindness and patience

Watching as baby slept, smiled, crawled, walked

Achievements to be announced to all around

So proud, the mother of this growing beauty.

And she cried as she scraped her knee for the first time

Running to mother, because mother knew what to do.

Mother, with her magic kisses and healing potions

Mother, only mother could fix what was broken

With soft spoken words and encouragement

Telling her little girl it will be all right, go play

Stay strong for there will be other bruises along the way

My sweet girl, you are full of softness and toughness

You will take what life gives you with kindness

Although you may despair you will come through shining

The sun and the stars live deep inside you, you are special

So proud, the mother of this growing beauty.

And she cried in confusion as she becomes a young woman

Mother was alongside her, telling her it is part of growing up

Easing her anxiety of things she didn't quite understand

Telling this maturing young woman the secrets of true love

Speaking desires that bring forth the beauty of more life.

Do not be afraid of love my darling daughter, embrace it.

Bring forward all the beautiful things you have stored inside.

Love is a commitment, so find a mate who will compliment you

As you should complement him, share your dreams of the future

But also share your sorrows, your nightmares, so that you become one soul.

You should also share your individualities, giving joy to each other

So proud, the mother of this growing beauty.

And she cried tears of joy on her wedding day

Mother had prepared her for what was to come

Happiness, the gift of sharing yourself with another being

Living for what lay ahead, her own family and children

Loving like you had never before known love as this

Friendship, companionship, intimacy with another

Working so hard to keep this special love alive

Slowly reinventing herself to become the best she could

Mother always at her side, offering her advice and comfort

The grounding force of her life, stability and generosity

Showing the way to a beautiful fulfillment of self

So proud, the mother of this growing beauty.

And she cried out in pain and exultation as baby came

Her tears and baby's tears mingled together forever

Bonding, that which could never be broken in life or death

Mother, so thrilled at having her daughter birth another life.

Such beauty, three generations attached by unseen umbilical cords

Mother seeing the face of her daughter in this new unique baby

All mother's knowledge there for her, raising this beautiful new life

So much joy was shared at this moment, knowing part of her would live on.

That amazing woman who brought goodness and thoughtfulness

Together they would impart all the wisdom they shared with baby

Wisdom of a thousand generations, virtuousness, patience, caring

So proud, the mother of this growing beauty.

And she cried out in agony, screamed of the injustice

Her guiding sail, taken from her, she was not ready.

She would never be ready to let go of sweet mother

It was as if the sky fell into the ocean and the ocean dried up

Come back to her mother, the woman who held her heart

She cannot go on without you, you kept her safe from herself

Mother, you are the only one who knew her, her angst

She loved her family, truly she did, loved them beyond measure

But you, you could see inside her, lay her soul open

You recognized her fear and doubts, herself loathing

Now she is nothing, she cannot live this life without you

So along, the daughter of this mother of beauty.

© Antoinette DiGiorgio Corbell

Antoinette DiGiorgio Corbell has been writing poetry since 2013, but just within the last few months, decided to share
her poems with others. In those few months, she has been honored as Poet of the Day, several times and Poet of the Week.
She also has been published in Bharath Vision Web Magazine and has been named winner for her works in different Poetry
Group online contests.

Long ago

Before the rise

Of the cancel culture

Eagle Hawk frequented

The presence of Annabelle Lee

Because she was a marvel

Above time and space.

Together

They roamed through the land

Of the free and brave

Leaving Truth

As their legacy

As becoming there

Embraced cosmic consciousness.

How

Mind travels through trance
Into the unknown

With a heart

As true as pure music

And the wilderness

Of thought shelters

What matters

With the authentic article.

To be

With the light

Of the everlasting

Allows heart

To feel blessed assurance
As trumpets sound

The beginning of eternity.

Because

Back in time past

Annabelle Lee danced

Upon his mind

Freedom sang a battle hymn

In stars and stripes

And destiny pictured

The triumph of love.

How

The deep touch

Moved Eagle Hawk

Onto the beyond

Taking his trance

Into the always

Already there

As the Unknown God

Allowed them

The breath of love.

Then

They dressed

What was there

With endless possibility

As they lived

The life of freedom

The life of love

Forevermore.

More of his books can be viewed below:

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=dean+c+gardner&ref=nb_sb_noss1

MY REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR

My mother held me...as I looked in the mirror and the reflection I could see

A little girl with bright blue eyes, dark curly hair, about the age of three

Brushing my teeth, I looked into the mirror, a young girl now in grade school

Brushing my teeth vigorously, I was young...it was my bedtime rule

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, past my shoulders long shiny dark hair

Closer to the mirror I peered, seeing pimples...just didn't quite seem fair

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, it was a wedding gown that I wore

Nervous and shaking I was, unsure of the life that would be in store

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, holding a small child on my hip

Kissing my babe on the cheek, from a glass of water, I took a sip

Closely I stare in the mirror, surprised to see age had begun to set

Hair is slightly graying with faint wrinkles...I hadn't yet begun to forget

I now look at my reflection in the mirror, my hair is now a silvery gray

Wrinkle lines indented on my face, no cream will help...they are now here to stay

Rising from a wheelchair she stands, gazing at a reflection unknown

Curious who the woman in the mirror is...my, how fast the years have flown.

Annette (Wengert) Tarpley hails from the United States, originally from Iowa, now residing in Virginia.
She works as a nurse practitioner by day and poet by night, which she recently rekindled and has been

writing with fervor. New to the online Facebook community, in a short span, she has received numerous

accolades and awards including: Featured Poet, Poem of the Day, Poem of the Month and several poems

published on online poetry sites. She has published her book of poetry, "Poetry Potpourri", which is

available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble, comprised of a variety of over 100 poems. A playlist of

her poems can be found on YouTube, by "The Sparrow".

Mutually Exclusive

As indicative of a well-lived life,

not only happily ever after, but...

a love indeed forsaking all others,

we clasp hands, fingers entwined.

And with a strength and fortitude

seldom seen in mere mortal beings,

we endeavor to embrace the fairy's tall tale;

eternal symphonic symbiosis.

Ours is a well-orchestrated interaction.

Nothing like the so hopelessly addicted

puppy love of the connected youngsters.

Rather, a mutually beneficial relationship

between hardened and experienced adults.

Two completely different, polar opposite

organisms, living disparate, but analogous.

Each depending on the other for survival.

Many common loves manifest as parasitic,

one individual draining the life of another.

While you and I are nothing akin to perfection,

our baseline is care and concern, not obligation.

Like the oft overlooked lichen,

we are simply a composite;

self-contained, miniature ecosystem.

Soundproof

The curtains are restless and rustling,

Yet the wind chimes seem very quiet,

As if someone's preventing their song

From being echo echoed around.
Little sound reverberates from the tin,

Aluminum, stainless steel, or whatever

Metal mine are made of, hardly matters.

They have been silenced, it feels eerie,

As when clocks stop for the deceased.

Beggars belief to be so cruel, quietude,

When the stirring winds normally bring

A symphony of tinny instruments alive.

I cannot help but wonder what dearly

Departed has begun toying with me...

Hands entwined within the lattice work

Of status symbolism creating musicals.

He, (it could never possibly be a she!)

Must be restless in his eternal slumber.

Perhaps he left the mortal coil too soon

With work undone and a lover forsaken?

I awaken to the midnight hour chiming,

Houseful of clocks beckoning a new day

To release me from the sorrow of my loss,

Stagnant grief of an unintentional betrayal

Of trust, promises made yet unable to keep.

I begin to weep uncontrollably,

Inconsolably.

So loud am I, that the reverberating chimes

Go completely unnoticed until I'm whimpering,

As a resounding message of love transcends!

A Tale of my Burning Home

Here

I bring you

A tale

Of my burning home

From this dreary paradise

Where peace is no where

In the whirling shades

Of this incompatibility.

Being its dwellers

Means to

Fall prey to

Its expected uncertainties

Either becoming

The victims

Or first hand witnesses

Of these expected uncertainties

We are left

In a despair

Only to scribble

The epitaphs

Over the grave stones

And sing

The elegies

To mourn

In a grief

Of those falling flowers,

Who,

In their tender age

Are being forced

To leave for the heavenly abode,

Whose

Blood soaked bodies

Are tomorrow's witnesses

Of today's brutalities.

Imtiyaz Pandow from Budgam, Kashmir, is a postgraduate

in Journalism and Mass Communication. He has worked

with several local and national media organizations.

Imitiyaz Pandow is interested in poetry and fiction.

His poetry is featured in several outlets.

MINUTIAE OF THE QUEEN

"The flutter along with their beautiful wings to light our souls"

THE BUTTERFLIES - One of the ardent creatures by God -

The sun sitting higher, the fairy warmed her lashes

Agape, the sun is witnessing frenetic cadence that enclasps her.

The willows wounded abysmal imprecating the queen's allures

Clouds in instantaneous camouflage, the uprising blizzard an umbrage

Stood like grey show flowers molded beneath the ardent sky.

Wind of rain stealing those wilting leaves interrupting the beauty

Flowers wiggle her dewdrops enchanting the queen

Swaying trees in musical notes of her floating phosphenes

Hearing the rumble scorching butterfly's ardent secrecy

She weaves a hammock by the trees, magnificent.

And there she lay in her prestigious epiphanies

Sweven of a tete a tete wsh her soulmate

Each drop of the rain titillating amused her eager eyes

The psithurism melodious irking her ears unfathomable

Uncontrollable emotions knitted by her heart.

Hiraeth she was in contemplating its return to her mother's lap

Wished to be deluged underneath their never-ending superlatives

By the time clouds clear and shine like sparkling swords

Deviating from a long sleep, she fluttered again

To leave a goodbye note to those ravishing souls of nature deep.