WINTER VEIL The snow unfolds whispers of white snowflake down on the mountains leaving soft white papers of poems written with soil written with white. AUTUMN IN THE MOUNTAINS The colors change in autumn's leaves visiting us with an enchanting surprise soft flowing orange and red candles breeze yellow lights in the sun's bright warm wing prism leaves swing and twinkle catching our views of our days true starlight Autumn is peaceful gentle cool prisms shining through everywhere especially in autumn's air. MOON'S VIEW The soft sleeping light takes us to dreams sight with a snowy owl nightingales call of whispers of stars to see the night skies warm shawl. © JoyAnne O'Donnell JoyAnne O'Donnell writes from Emmitsburg, Maryland. Originally from Pennsylvania and author of five poetry books. She loves to muse outside and is an avid swimmer who loves the water.

"Journey Incantation" May this path lead and I explore Each destination Is just a beginning of my journey Fear and excitement Are just a part of my life That drift relentlessly With a million of ripples in my body Even when there are hurdles, I encounter I will be a glider to pass through A benign world I shall make With a long road that never ends The sound of peace Wafted through the mountains Is a resonance in my journey. Written by © Hum Ale Pokara, Nepal Review: "Journey of Incantation" is a thoughtfully written and inspiring poem, exploring the continous nature of life's journey, emphasizing personal growth, resilience and the cyclical nature of life experiences. The poet's usage of vivid imagery is read throughout, such as "million of ripples in my body" and "sound of peace/wafted through the mountains", this alone creates a sensory experience for the reader. Hum Ale's free verse moved me, his natural flow of thought, mirroring the unpredictable nature of life's journey yet on the other hand, he maintains an optimism and determination which are evident in lines like, "I will be a glider to pass through" and "a benign world I shall make." The path, destinations and "long road that never ends" serve as powerful symbols for life's continuous journey and personal evolution. This thoughtful and inspiring poem Hum has crafted, encourages readers to embrace life's journey with all of its challenges as well as possibilities, with a reminder that every end is just a new beginning. Annette Nasser EIC ILA Magazine November 22, 2024

Featuring the work of Dan Flore III "A SCRATCH OFF LOTTERY TICKET" once plump with possibilities now with a ton of other losers all totally devoured scratched till they bled scribbled out numbers what rested on them? a dream? a destitution? an addiction? they all look as frustrated as their owners lottery games laying in a garbage can of hope "AUNT KAY'S CURSIVE" blue pen marks scratched onto a piece of loose leaf paper the words connected like wash on the line she had written out a list of chores for me to do while she was away and the armor of God etched out fully from the Bible for me to put on I didn't know everyday was a war perhaps that's because I was slayed so long ago I put the armor on everyday still and always picture her scrawl of the verses think of her hands protecting me with the strokes of her pen "I DREAM OF MILWAUKEE" I dreamt that she asked me to go to Milwaukee we were in a crowded train station all the cars traveling to the end of my dreams I said I'd go with her and remember the warmth I felt taking her hand I don't know what happens in Milwaukee I woke up after that we never mentioned Milwaukee in reality but in my dreams that all go away Milwaukee and me were her sweet reverie come true somewhere we were going to on the other side of our view in a dream like a movie where you're the star pampered by scratchy film and kind makeup I've never been to Milwaukee and I'll never go but I know to me the city is the destination of dreams and I'll keep it there swimming in my subconscious in holy water where her and I splash around free on our way to Milwaukee © Dan Flore III Dan Flore III's writings have appeared in many publications. His 7 poetry books are 'Lapping Water', 'Humbled Wise Men', 'Christmas Haikus', 'Home and other places I've yet to see', 'Pink Marigold Rays' (Gen Z Publishing), 'Written in the Dust on the Ceiling Fan' , (Dead Man's Press Ink), 'Hospital Issued Writing Notebook' (Querencia Press) and 'A partmentalized' (Imspired)

"Beneath Autumn's Grain" I walk the fields where autumn's rusted sprawl Lays down in layers, thick as hearth-warmed clay, And footpaths thread through furrows deep and raw, Beneath the browned leaves strewn in slow decay. The soil here wears a coat of earth's own grain, Coarse as burlap, soft as crumbling bread, Each clod, a dark and sun-baked stain, Holding warmth in shades of brown and red. Umber hums with tales of stone and seed, Of roots that burrow in the silent dark, And whispers of a slow, unhurried need, To cradle life, to shield the hidden spark. There's warmth in this rough color, rough and sure, Like hands that turn the soil with patient grace, As roots reach deep to places warm and pure, Anchoring earth in autumn's worn embrace. © Concetta Pipia U.S. "The Color Umber" What is this color that I dream in slumber? The one for me that is a high number. With hints of red and yellow upon the dark brown, Umber wears this fusion as its crown. When all of Autumn is contained in a color's glow; Upon its radiance I bestow, This gift I give within a poem, To 'Umber' I welcome home. Live always within the creative mind, Let your beauty flourish to remind, The artist's brush is filled with your beauty. The poet's praise hails your duty. Oh Umber, how brilliant you bloom, Trees and flowers you do groom. Umber is the mantle of the ground's wealth. Upon all the Earth's surface it is seen and felt. © Fibby Bob Kinney U.S. "Heliotrope Princess" Early autumn flowers dance happily in bloom Splashing with vibrant colors like a birds plume Your scent traveling by the sea and swaying trees Gives me comfort and solace with a gentle breeze. Specks of light purple and pink Flows magical with paper and ink My heart is yours, my eternal love Sign of blessings only from above. The heliotrope of raceme scent in the fields Blowing towards the east side hanging like a shield Its dainty petals alluring to the human touch Smelling its vanilla nectar which bees will crush. Writing my thoughts in poetic format with rhymes Dearest flora my literary princess don't waste your time I embrace you with a tender calm My devotion offers a tranquil balm. © Gloria Magallanes-Loeb SFO, USA "Colors of Goddess" As they gather amaranth for the goddess of fertility Deep reddish purple as timeless beauty, Umay of succulent immortality Descends as the winter darkness fell on her feet, Clouds of opulence with Byzantium butterflies deep purple with tinge of red clouding her skin with lustrous silk and satin, Playing ney down at the river of devotion To lure the heart of lovers and faithful spirits To kneel for her, The reverent mother with power at Constantinople. © Sheila Ann Packirnathan Malaysia "Fragments of Thought" Hidden in the depth of the ocean floor of our minds undisturbed by the undulating waves of our lives, the nacre lies ensconced in its own silent world away from prying eyes that pierce the soul shielding its varied hues depending on its mood pink, cream, yellow, orange a tinge or royal gold simply waiting for the right time to behold snippets of conversations fragments of thoughts of a life with stories untold we all have this yearning inside, to flip open our hearts and all to share the silent, stifled sighs, the gnawing pain, the tears we bare, sometimes buried in the maze of the shells we are all pearls, lacquered, iridescent longing, to be strung and donned. © Rosemarie Miranda Philippines

Elements of earth, water, fire, wind/air and spirit (inner/outer energy, mindfulness) was the inspiration of the recent poetry challenge held on October 2024 of our ILA Facebook Group. Poets were to choose one element and write about it. Below, are the poems we chose to feature. "THE WIND" I'd be the wind, ready to lead the way Where the elements of nature glide: Fires burn, spirits rise, and waters sway. You can tag along to see what lies outside; Wild ocean waves frothing on the beach, Nothing Arcadian in my restless reach. Some days I would be that fierce wind Carousing shamelessly, dancing to tunes. I would sloom, caressing your mind, Or rage unconsolably like typhoons - Grabbing anything that isn't nailed down; Febrile, and pulsing through each town. I'd be a whirlwind of intricate memories; Years and seasons dutifully swept away, The remnants of a hurricane, Rapt stories of soon forgotten moments on display. You'll know I have visited when you see Autumn trees stripped clean of leaf and fruit. I'd be that Eldritch feeling, looming over A world asleep, awaiting morning's light. A gust of Studious atmosphere that hover, Blowing through the campus all night. I'd be beneath your wings, make you soar High above fate's mysterious shore. © Liberty Bassey "THE ELDRITCH BREATH" (Villanelle) Through febrile nights it slips unseen, An Arcadian hush disturbed by sound, While sloom drifts thick through woods of green. Studious shadows trace a sheen Of trembling leaves on spectral ground; Through febrile nights it slips unseen. In rapt embrace of worlds between, An eerie murmur wraps around, While sloom drifts thick through woods of green. Eldritch whispers wind, serene, With ancient songs in haunted round; Through febrile nights it slips unseen. Arcadia's veil, a waking dream, Bewitched by forms the dusk has found - While sloom drifts thick through woods of green. A fevered pulse, a fleeting gleam, The night falls soft without a sound; Through febrile nights it slips unseen, While sloom drifts thick through woods of green. © Concetta Pipia U.S. "CARVER OF THE SPIRIT" Modeller sloomed to sculpt Through an alluring melody Rapt with a desire! Highly in a febrile state Sculpture felt emotional With an Arcadian spirit! Now sculptor seemed an eldritch With a mask to hide his pain! He was lost in those waves of grief! Did he sculpt all his treasures of love From his heart into the cast Of craft, very delicately like a treasure? Sometimes, I have carved all my deepest Warmth into a model, which I couldn't enact! Will I ever be myself or just be a maker??? © Sonal Rao India "LIQUID OF LIFE" I rise a new dawn sneaking out of the febrile darkness, I give last makeover saying adieu to interminable sleep. I adorn the green carpet with rapt reflection under the emerald towers, I cook the meals of hard work from the grains of Arcadian landscapes. I hug with open arms the eldritch horror in flames, I address the goblet of potion as holy drops of all faiths. I pour down the rare gems unfurling the sea of emotions, I fill the crude crannies carved on the face of globe. I sloom to spread the new colours across the worn out visages, I am the ink of the planet holding the studious taste of Nature. I am the liquid of life I am WATER. © Rafiya Sayeed Jammu/Kashmir, India "ABOUT FIRE" It is so febrile At first, it is Arcadian Then, it may become sloom. In both cases, it keeps as being eldritch Burning all and then coming back to life. We are studious, learning If we pour over fire water or if we let the fire consume us. The fire is rapt in human beings As a flame or as ash. © Bogdana Gageanu Romania "THE ARCADIAN GARDEN" You lie, slooming, half awake, half asleep, Dreaming of trees and animals, dotting the green Earth. In your eyes are caged the free birds, rapt in animated pleasure, Flying with feathers spread-eagled, trying to cover feisty rays of the sun. The eldritch waves, advancing menacingly, with their coiled fangs, Grovel in despair, on the beach, in mortal fear of your coiled hair, Like a stylish coiffeur, perming the wayward strands studiously. When you speak, words flow like sweet ambrosia; Or, like a crooner, belting tunes to the beat of the percussionist. Don't go by my face; I'm not sad, but mad-madly in love. You're the virgin earth, the Arcadian garden, before the legendary fall. © Kalucharan Sahu India "IGNITE" There was a despondency A slumberous sloom to me, As I laconically whispered Around an Arcadian idyll, Languorous, lazy Not animated or febrile. Something eldritch I'm a spectre on the breeze I longed to let go; be wild, Yet hardly dared to breathe Waiting with a studious belief. Fire... Oh God, here is Fire! I am Air! I am rapt with tingling anticipation The excitement flaming, Energy igniting With uninhibited exhilaration, Two elements Coming together, A catalyst; raw passion Magnetic, ferocious, Forever Loving... Forever Clashing © Rhiannon Owens UK "WATER BY CHANCE" The leaves with smiling eyes, On glowing faces are still slooming. The sun, rising smartly Makes them feel febrile, Despite being generous out and out, They get burnt to ashes helplessly. I'm water, an Arcadian, by chance, I'm rapt in their eldritch consequence. From the Kingdom of clouds, I'm more studious to shower on them. © Tapas Dey India

May this path lead and I explore Each destination Is just a beginning of my journey Fear and excitement Are just a part of my life That drift relentlessly With a million of ripples in my body Even when there're hurdles, I encounter I will be a glider to pass through A benign world I shall make With a long road that never ends The sound of peace Wafted through the mountains Is a resonance in my journey © HUM ALE Pokara, Nepal

"ABOUT" A kismet about life A nexus of stories Which are dinkum which a crapehanger won't trust at all because the perspective is dark and the light is dangerous for bats. © BOGDANA GAGEANU Romania "UNTITLED" The eastern gush parted the window, the eye of Kismet... displayed a script but the human eye in illusions slumber... Ah! A coin is incomplete if fails to nexus with averse, negation and affirmation A drop of dew through the window for occupied eye... a mere vomit of clouds But for the poet a pearl of perfection. A dinkum eye dictates the verses of the bard But... A crapehanger copies it for the generation to come. © MUSHTAQUE B. BARQ Jammu/Kashmir, India "EVEN IF I FALL" This life's full of nexus, I find a way even in sadness if I fall I want to have lovely kismet it catches my heart even if I fall What kind of personality is this? No matter how nice you say it. I want, I have dinkum one to bring out evil part even if I fall. The sagacious age has come to face selfish crapehanger that while flowing I want, this life makes optimistic waves to gild heart even if I fall. © PRASANNA BHATTA India "PRISM OF HER STRENGTH AND THREADS OF HER KISMET" In the hands of kismet, she's bound, A journey set, yet paths unfound. Threads connect, a nexus tight, Guiding her steps from dark to light. Through trials, true as dinkum gold, She stands her ground, both brave and bold. While crapehangers doubt and sneer, She finds her strength and casts off fear. Each choice she makes, a fate rewrites, In kismet's web, she claims her rights. From nexus born, her souls ascends, In every turn, her spirit mends. For life's a dance of fate and will, In kismet's hands, she's steady still. True as dinkum, fierce and bright, She shines her way through endless night. © Harpreet M. Caur India "A POET'S MISSION" Is often misunderstood by many Without knowing that his mission Helping hapless souls shape their kismet Proving to the sometimes unfair life That man is capable of controlling his own fate. Is to teach the readers that there is a nexus Between events, history, culture and feelings. A dinkum poet will even make a crapehanger See the beautiful things in the jungle we call Life is to heal diseases traditionally medicine can't. Like all children of the Muse, I know that I have to complete the mission Despite the obstacles naysayers put on my path, The snakes that spit venom on me Or despite the many stones thrown at me. © GHEORGHE LAURA Romania "SUNK IN KISMET" My young horse stumbled on a little stone, I thought it to be a certain nexus Between a comma and a full stop. Surprisingly a fall of dinkum meteor From a sidereal system Made me a crapehanger. I'm sure, It is kismet, an early full stop, I'm sunk in kismet. © TAPAS DEY India "IF TRUTH WORE WINGS" If Truth wore wings... Nexus would fly - like a bird so high, singing...in parallelism. If Truth wore wings, Dinkum would shine its light on my catharsis - cleansing me... to climb out of my litotes. If Truth wore wings - I would be married to this kismet, kissing her sievelet...making me a sunset. If Truth wore wings... my crapehanger, though euphemistic, cries - to the realm of paradox, taking me...a paradise © EMMANUEL CHIMEZIE Nigeria "OUT THE SHELL" The nexus feeling of love and hate is always the problem People find themselves in the middle not knowing to express the masses Being in the dark too long makes a person get out of their shell Showing resilience, strength in facing the kismet given Seeing another side of life, a crapehanger allows pessimism Bleakness overtakes you to be easily manipulated Let the nimbus light of stars in a dinkum poet flow Never to forget you're the one who can change and rewrite history © GLORIA MAGALLANES-LOEB SFO, USA

"RESTLESS SOUL" Resonance of the spirit within Beyond bourne destiny profound Inner wain of soul such adage Resound ascertain in abeyance Journey commence persistence Confound, abound as equitant Dearth may vibrate, may swain Yet, like restless soul astound As melody voyage after image Horizon alight in resemblance Sounds may rife in difference Barren passage within reverant Restless soul, world as appertain Fallen dreams thou in surround Dimness abound thine envisage Sphere of animation utterance Yearn descend thine existence Restless soul, destiny corposant. © JOEL ABERNASOR Philippines "SIN OF WAR" I have no home for me Driven away by tyranny A stranger in my own land Buried deeper in the wain of sand Decades of living in prison Hated for no other reason Consumed by anger like a poison The world has become silent in unison Bombs came relentlessly raining Innocent children, women, and old Nobody is for everyone to get hold I run, I scream, I hide War is so rife for a ride Along the piles of rubble and dust Rummage for supplies so dearth and scarce But among the scorned, I rise Stop the fear and don't be nice No more silence in the night and day Resilience, defiance, resistance; The key You cut the pillars just for today We will spread like mushrooms day by day Son, when the time comes, I will die alone Bourne everything in the tablets of your bone We will be free! Someday the blood that has been poured A swain will sprout like a new day that unfolds The sound of the guns will be silenced And bombs will be flushed and get drenched I am going to sit on a couch Broken arms, bleeding profusely I slouch In my last breath, I will laugh I will throw a stick in my hand versus their tanks Dignified, resisted, and tough. © FLOYD GALE CABUS Philippines "THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS" Passing through the rugged high mountains of Tanzania I could only hold my breath and gasp Looking down from the edge of the narrow roads Holding my pen for a moment in sheer shock I watched astonishingly down the deep abyss And through my journey of remarkable words I paused to wonder at the beauty of my verses For here I was enchanted at the end of my bourne As I sat on this very slow going wain Unable to jot my words any further As the dearth of the English grammar words hit me hard And as I moved on the unbelievable ravine nestled on the next curve of the road A swain over a half-naked lass having a romantic affair, I swayed my torch away from this unholy sight And made my wain move harder down the mountain road And I could now no longer hold my pen any more As I settled aside on the narrow rough road Holding the torch in one hand while the other held the pen My wandering thoughts were all jotted down and all the essentials seen, put to rest on verses With all that summed the rife activities murmured about reporting on the local news by a final journey of truthful words, a captivating journey through the mountains of Tanzania. © SHABBIRHUSEIN K. JAMNAGERWALLA Tanzania "THE WAYFARER" Here I am, about to head this way To where the path is untrodden Alone, heading toward a realm of choices Of a gripping intent to unearth the enigma Rife with the onset of life's occurrences Of a bewildering crossroad Perplex, like the mysticism of riddle. Here I am, embroiled in a dizzying ripple Grappling for the bourne to invigorate and pacify The frantic motion of a merry-go-round With a wain of burdens to slow down Disoriented, lost, entangled in a silky web of emotions The spirited mindset of a swain Vehement in his resolve to cross The labyrinth of confusion and uncertainties The twists and turns of this journey. I am a traveler, traversing across the pitfalls and abysses Over plateaus, valleys and deserts Amidst a dearth of purpose and reasons My feet are pained and calloused By this journey's wear and tear It's still a long, winding trek, far and away Until I finally reach my rainbow's end. © GUS PEREZ AMIO Philippines "WHEN THE STARS ARE BOURNE OF DEARTH" I will ride on this wain - wailing in my veins; I'll fly to the stars, hushing laybrinthine Mars. I'll stay by my swain: joyful sorrow, steeped in pain - When the stars are bourne of dearth. I will pull death from dearth - dying in disdain; I'll hum howling hymns to hostile, gentle rife. I will echo eerie embrace - etching my dark wain - When the stars are bourne of dearth. I will sigh in this thigh of crocodile tears - extra mile; I'll laugh in the lush, loquacious lyrics - a frowning smile. I will fain feelings fully - a fathom, furtive force - When the stars, when the stars are bourne of dearth. © EMMANUEL CHIMEZIE Nigeria "PATHWAYS THROUGH SILENCE" Along the ancient road where thoughts are rife, I wander lost, a swain who seeks his truth, as memories of love reclaim their youth, and sorrow grips the fragile edge of life. A weary wain rolls on through paths uncharted, its wooden wheels groan under time's great dearth, while silence binds the vast and distant earth, and every hope feels cold, dim - hearted, parted. Yet somewhere far, a brighter light is bourne, a glimmer through the fog where dreams ascend, where language blooms, unbound by loss or scorn. I journey forward, drawn to find the end, where words like stars break free from night's forlorn, and each step taken lets the darkness bend © CONCETTA PIPIA U.S. "WHEN WILL I LEARN TO SAY NO" The swain in me waits for the dawn to break To rise from this rife darkness muscles do not relax bones do not bend the earth beneath my feet, shakes. I wet the hands with flood of eyes to wipe the fog from the old mirror chain of customs chokes my chest. the world to me is a box of lies. Longing for the day I can say no and dust the burden off my head Dearth of emotions cast a spell all is dark wain, I have no bourne to go. © RAFIYA SAYEED Jammu/Kashmir, India "MY BOURNE" Despite the death of supporters, I take on every opportunity To reach my long-term bourne. I load the lessons I learn along the way Into my horse drawn wain, Strengthening my mind with wisdom. Writing into the language of the soul Can be hard most of the time, But rewarding to the souls seeking love's wings, To those seeking solace to heal their broken heart To those struggling to break free from fear's chains, To the travelers needing guidance as to which way to take To reach their destination or achieve their own goals. every little success fills my heart with joy Like the maiden's kiss does to the swain despite the many obstacles I have overcome, I have to admit that every step I make Gets me closer to reaching my bourne, Now that I found out that there are souls out there Considering my work to be a beacon of light Helping to dispel darkness little by little From a world where envy and hate seem to be rife. © GHEORGHE LAURA Romania "UNTITLED" Their sweet love has blossomed Rife with love and care Bourne into eternity No dearth or lack of flair The young swain found his rose Wain hitched to the stars True love, its destination The universe composed. © TONY CARTY Ireland "WORD'S BOURNE" The journey taken with each letter, Syllable, utterance, string of words, Sentences, questions, better Than any book or movie bringing A scene, rife with action, Tone, expression, wonders, Stain the bourne with a soup, an affliction of the swain's love as he conquers. His love's heart is an expressive word Melting a heart or breaking it. Enemies having 'words' lead to a flood Of hate transcends the bit Of love, empathy, compassion Belonging in hearts carried in wain Transporting over adulation Imposed in forced social media that'll rain. Down subjugation in words, a dearth of confusion Decrying the need for love, laughter, Cheer, and compulsion to integrate As you stay true to your power Words used carefully or they hurt Artfully in ways that leave behind trauma That you wish to avoid, as you flirt With how you and the other are impacted. © MALAK KALMONI CHEHAB Canada "JOURNEY OF WORDS" When will my mind's hullabaloo come to a halt? The creaking sound of a wain Journeying train of thoughts Traversing all terrain quagmired in disharmony A path littered with acute shards of dearth Daily cravings for oyster sauce Lingering pale shadows of joy Your silhouette cameo On the city's muted roaring silence. A script written to set free, From the fetters of sombre state. When to sit still? To distill essence of existential void, The deep ontological question, As entropic forces are rife at work. The pilgrim's wayfarers, Unruffle the peacock's feathers A posture of pride, prejudice. The swain in cosmic connection, Tickles the inner man to love. The universe suffers more in attachment Breaking free from attachment, the ultimate bourne of faith. A deep-flow from within, Saturating, spiraling, overflowing Benign paradox of polarity, and tonic-gusto mindset The aeonic presence to enlighten, the dark side of the moon Pervading stillness, in sounds of leaking silence. © DAVID MAZONDA Zimbabwe "THE LONE WANDERER" With intense wanderlust I live like a gypsy Sometimes I am sobre At times I am tipsy I started my journey In quest of unknown bourne A passage rife with woes Has made me so forlorn I need a companion A swain to be precise, To ease my uphill trek In search of paradise It's bliss to walk as twain Holding each other's hands Passing through hills and vales Enjoying sun and sands But I'm a lonely lass There's a dearth of passion In me for I have lost A sense of elation No charm remained sans you In travel, on each turn I had contemplated, Why should I not return? My wain is full of goods Needed for mind and soul They'll help me to achieve My predominant goal. © DR. SUDHA DIXIT India

"A PERFECT PAIR" Coffee and a book is the best comfort zone of traveling far and wide with the letters and words. It's like a feeling of peace engulfing you When the wind chimes perform a gentle dance. It's like getting to know the nooks and corners Of a beautiful picturesque With lands unknown and people you never met Yet they reside in the pages Captivating your mind and soul. © Priyalakshmi Gogoi India

"Ballad of Broken Souls" Hear the call of duty, strong and proud, Joining armies, nations' voices loud, Trumpets of war resound, unsettling peace, Partings hurried, hearts filled with unease. Into foreign lands, an unwelcome roam, Enemy lines drawn, destiny shown. Songs of sorrow echo through the rain Sing the haunting songs of sorrow's strain. Amidst the battlefield, an ominuous sight, Rockets poised, ever ready to ignite, Human souls become cannon fodder, Buried 'neath ruins, dreams in squalor. Songs of sorrow echo through the haze, Bearing witness to war's haunting ways. Wails of orphans, widows' endless pain, Sing the haunting songs of sorrow's strain. Songs of sorrow, with no lilting refrain, Dreams crumble in rubble, haunting remains. Trumpets mournfully blare, gruff in their sound, Honoring fallen soldiers, dead and found. Wrapped in flags, a final farewell embraced, Mothers yearn for hugs, its warmth erased. Oh, the folly of wars, bring senseless pain, Sing the haunting songs of sorrow's strain. Songs of sorrow float upon the air, A plea for men to choose to be fair, Let us build a world where peace shall reign. Sing the haunting songs of sorrow's strain. © Crispulo Tappa "Ballad of the Lone Wolf" On a fuggy, darkened night so deep, I howl like a wolf, from shadows I leap. Through spider-silvered webs I gaze, Gruff as a horse in its wearied haze. Tired and worn, I gasp for air, With heavy steps, though none to spare. I tread the crags with aching pride, Through winding paths I slowly stride. In whispers soft, my heart does cry, Dragging through meadows, under cloudy sky. Wounded and weary, my spirit wails, Through misty fields, on endless trails. And in this dusk, I think of you, Of days gone by and skies once blue. Oh, how I wish you walked beside, Forever here, as shadows glide. © Harpreet M. Caur

Special November 2024 "EDITOR'S CHOICE" Feature: POEMS OF PRAMOD GANGADHARAN BETWEEN REMEDY AND THE RIDDLE When they already knew, Hushed whispers in the back rooms, None of the drugs can cure The aches that burrow deep, The wounds of the spirit, The loneliness that lingers Like an uninvited guest. Yet still, the practitioners scribble, Ink flowing like the river of hope, Prescribing varieties of pills, A kaleidoscope of colours that promise relief, But offer only the illusion of a cure, Like a mirage in the desert sun. They shuffle through the notes, The weight of expectation heavy, As if each tablet is a talisman, A prayer for the broken, A lifeline thrown to those adrift, In this ocean of despair. And in the quiet moments, When hearts beat softly Against the walls of their chests, They ponder the paradox - The dance of science and faith, The fine line between remedy and riddle As they seek to heal What cannot be touched with hands. So we swallow the capsules Of their good intentions, Hoping for something - A flicker, a spark, A whisper that says We are not alone In this vast, aching world, Even if the cure Remains just out of reach. PHANTOM THREADS I had walked a long distance closing the doors that lead back to my past, making my path narrower, battling shadows that appear with each step. But at every turn, like whispers in the wind, there are echoes, small things reminding me - a laugh, a song, the taste of something sweet, awakening places I thought could stay closed. Memories slip through the cracks, inviting themselves to stay, like a well-loved book, worn and well-read, never truly forgotten. They remind me of who I was, of sunny days and evening twilight, of friendships that glowed like fireflies fading, before the night swallowed them. Still, I walk my path, with every breath a struggle against the tide, holding onto the moments, both the bright and the dark, for they are all mine, woven into the fabric of my heart URBAN NIGHT After such a long, Long way back home, The Sun is exhausted, clocking out at last, The brightness of day stolen back From the edges. Now, however, for a while, It paints the sky - A soft canvas of orange, pink and deep violet Like to say to night, "I've not done wiht you yet." Azure stretches far The cool breath of twilight wraps Around the shoulders of evening, Holding onto whispers of light, As stars begin to blink in the still silence. The world beneath me Hushes, cars slow, commuters pause, Each heart catching the glow, Before darkness settles in, Like a blanket across this tired town. And I, just a wanderer, Homing inward, Catch glimpses of such beauty that the day is full again Of closing colours - an act of defiance By some last light of the short day. KARWA CHAUTH There she stays in my heart, Who says my name at night, Continuously chanting on soft air, Desiring my long life. She wakes before day breaks, Fasting the hours' slow pace, Her smile is a lantern, Illuminating the road to the moon. Watching she looks up to the sky, Hoping love that shall stay, Arched like a promise, Her heart in a kind of aura. But my aura dances, Mischief spun with delicate light, Like dark playing tricks, It becomes hard to see me clearly. But still, expecting, Warmth that seeps through, Binds my soul with hers, As night drives on to keep pace with ours. Poet's notation: ~ 'Karwa Chauth', also known as Karva Chauth, is a significant festival celebrated by married Hindu women, primarily in Northern and Western India. Festival is a beautiful blend of devotion, love, and tradition, where women fast from sunrise to moonrise for the well-being and longevity of their husbands. ~ PRAMOD GANGADHARAN belongs to Kozhikode, Kerala, India. He started writing poems and short stories at an early age. He was an English faculty in Bright Academy Calicut, Malabar Arts and Commerce College, Mercy College and Kakkodi Women's College. Now he is self- employed as a service provider of Kerala Suchitwa Mission. He is also the founder of We Share Charitable Trust, actively involved in the upliftment of the underprivileged. He is the Founder cum Chairman of Pen Wonders International, a fast - growing poetic group on Facebook, working for the cause of literary elevations across the globe. He is certified as the Honored Poet of India on the 73rd Independence Day in 2019 by Seychelles Government Accredited Literary Society LFSF. He is also awarded diploma as World Poetic Star for his contributions to world poetry with excellence. In 2020, he was awarded by Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips. Pramod writes poems in the pen name of Sagarikapramod.

"ALL GOLDEN" I Golden barren trees End up the air like statues Autumn's stunning bliss II Golden tint leaves fall Aimlessly scattered all over Crackling under feet III Golden shadow moon Hidden away from the view Escape the nights fog IV Golden night owls hoot Tempting to take flight at dawn Eyes gleam in the dark V Golden morning sky Fill with coffee and croissants Sip foils of rust, brown VI Golden nature hues Pumpkins, gourds, squash, maple leaves Decorate our earth © Gloria Magallanes-Loeb SFO, USA