Mon coeur a mal,
Que de larmes insipides de douleur contenues
Que de haine que de guerre que de luttes intestines
Que de violence que de diatribes que de traîtrises
Dans cette contrée qui fut le grenier de Rome
Dans cette contrée de preux chevaliers
Savamment juchés sur leur selles: ils galopaient les cheveux au vent, libres!
Des vignes à perte de vue
Du blé à profusion
Des cimes enneigées touchant les cieux
Ô toi pays des preux chevaliers
Jadis grenier de Rome....
Je te pleure de mes larmes pourpres
Du sang de ceux qui on tout sacrifié pour toi
Qu'es tu devenu?
Mon cœur sanguinolent de voir tes peuples disloquées
Jadis unis par ta force, ton union, ta grandeur
De complots en conspirations
De mutineries en guerres fratricides
J'ai mal pour toi pour eux pour nous
J'ai mal pour toi pour eux pour nous
Je contemple leur œuvre destructrice
Ils ont semé le chaos
T'oublier c'est te trahir une seconde fois
Et cela je ne le puis pas même contrainte à mourir
T'oublier papa c'est tuer en toi le Héros révolutionnaire que tu fus
Qu'ils ont tenté tant de fois de tuer, annihiler, obérer, effacer
T'oublier papa c'est trahir le serment fait à tes compagnons d'armes pour que vivent les idéaux de liberté, fraternité, solidarité, justice et de Paix pour lesquels tu t'es battu jusqu'au bout inéxorablement
Jamais je ne te trahirai ni toi ni le serment que tu a fait à ta patrie
Ô toi le Glorieux et à tous ceux qui se sont sacrifiés
Kerkeb Testa, Nova
Kerkeb Testa, Nova (Algérie/France) Nova Kerkeb Testa est née à Alger et a débuté l'écriture à l'âge de 7 ans, âge durant lequel elle écrit ses premières poésies. Elle a participé à des publications de documentaires à caractère économique. Elle est également co-auteure et comédienne d'une mini-série humoristique.
Elle a publié In souffrances tues aux Éditions Edilivre à Paris en 2015.
White Birds and Epsilons
The white birds silhouette the sky once more
each Spring a reassuring Nimbin return,
soaring to and from their secret cave
deep below the sacred rocks.
The philosophers no longer stir
the old graves serene,
troubled searching souls are now at peace
every searing question silenced
drowned out by the silent roar of smart phones.
The dumbed-down shuffle forth
heads bowed in techno-obedience
texting within a solipsistic nightmare,
techno-bondage with invisible constraints
from which there is no possible escape.
Huxley’s Epsilons shuffle in single file
each connected to mind-control-central.
Dame Gorgon Google the keeper of all information
has become the dominatrix of perception,
the whore of spiritual disintegration.
New shiny micro-towers litter the verdant hills
terrifying the old guard with invisible rays,
enraging even wise old Nyimbunji. (1)
Thousands upon thousands of Epsilons drifting,
shuffling past the peeling painted facades,
none shift their gaze from the smart phone screen.
Oblivious to the blueness of the pure sky dome above,
Oblivious to the wise white birds soaring,
Oblivious to the answers they carry.
(1) – Nyimbunji in Bundjalung - “little spirit man with great supernatural powers, he is powerful, wise, generous and kind.”
Harle, Rob (Australia) Rob Harle is a writer, poet, artist and reviewer. His work is published in journals, anthologies, online, and in books. He is on the editorial board of a number of international art and literary journals.
Once there was a secret relation
between the words
"Love" and "Tears".
But now both of them
are their most distant neighbours.
Roni Adhikari was born in 1977 in Bangladesh.
He is a Bengali poet and writer.
D'OÙ ÇA VIENT ?
C'est le vent qui souffle
là où il veut
il souffle des silences
parmi les bruits
il souffle à travers
les jours de pluie
toujours il souffle
sur les peines
comme sur les joies
dans la tourmente
comme dans la paix
sans relâche il souffle
des mots d'amour
échoués sur l'horizon
Trois-Rivières, Qc, Canada
Bertrand, Huguette (Canada) Née au Québec, Canada, Huguette Bertrand a publié 33 ouvrages de poésie dont six (6) ouvrages en collaboration avec des artistes en art visuel et photographie. De nombreux textes ont également paru dans des revues au Québec, en Belgique, en France, aux U.S.A, au Pays de Galles et en Roumanie, de même dans des revues en ligne. Certains poèmes ont été traduits en arabe, en italien, en roumain et en coréen. www.espacepoetique.com https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huguette_Bertrand
qu'on se taise
et qu'on jette nos mots
au mélange congruent
leurre aux poissons
sages, nos mots
le geste des vagues
dans le calme inespéré
Podnar, Elis (Canada) Photographe et écrivaine, Elis Podnar est née en Roumanie en 1973. Depuis 2002 elle habite à Toronto, Canada. Elle écrit des poèmes surtout en français, anglais et roumain. Sa photographie s’inspire de la nature ou de l’espace citadin, en cherchant à enrichir le sens des formes et de la lumière. http://quodmanet.blogspot.com/ https://www.facebook.com/elis.podnar
THE ENDANGERED TIGER
Cradled in the warmth of the foliage,
Amidst the flickering shadows of dusk,
lies the majestic creation of God;
so dauntless, so intrepid and old.
The dazzling yellow streaks of the sun,
scorch his skin with its imprint so bold.
The pale midnight sky lends its
colour to the rest of him like black garlands.
Its lethal incisors like the stalactites,
combined with the force of its legs hind,
catch its prey with a certainty,
that is already predestined.
Its eyes can breathe terror
into a frozen icicle,
smooth as a blade of grass.
The fierce steady gaze,
leaves the heart pulsating.
What a flawless handiwork of the Almighty!
Stealthily, it is hunted down
for its fur by merciless poachers,
What an ignominious plight!
What an appalling sight!
Dharni, Vandita (India) Vandita Liddle Dharni is from a family of eminent educationists. She has a doctorate degree in Literature. She has published Quintessential Outpourings, oct. 2016, and has written several articles that have been published in various national and international journals. https://www.facebook.com/candydharni/
The Summit Of Mount Everest
A land of snowy clouds
Your silence limned
Like a remote mountain village
In my memory…
A thousand fables sleeping
Till now… a maiden foggy blue
Cascading grey forests
From where she came.
Somewhere the insurmountable…
Burnt white. Arcane white.
The ocean of heights
Weltering about… around her.
The absolute magnitude
The light span of
Million million light years
Born here with her.
Frozen, cohered like little
Buds of an orange tree
Efflorescing in white death
After sudden coming of a winter.
In its veins
Life flows parallel as ever
As ever it is…
A deathless stream.
Mahajan, Niladri (India) Niladri Mahajan is an award winning poet and a computational biologist, lives in Kolkata, India with his mother. He is also a painter and musician with a strong inclination towards cinema and photography. In his past time he practices as a counseling psychologist. https://www.facebook.com/adiffusedroom/
Snapshots of Mumbai
Across the vehicle-driven street
this working Friday, before mid-day
the dull and grey high-rise of glass
and concrete, the stucco façade dotted
with red and yellow and brown stains.
On the parallel sixth-floor, kept the histories
Of a middle-class Indian family:
a potted palm, few flower plants
while, on another adjacent, a tricycle, few empty pans,
old toys, plastic bags, thermocol sheets
crowding that narrow space,
almost gasping for breath
and above the domestic clutter,
the urban laundry to dry up
on the clothes-lines, as a trophy---
inner wear, maxi- gowns and a towel.
All the tinted window-glasses
secure and shuttered up, denying
the playful March wind entry into
the dark interiors.
The only intruders, outside
from the smoggy skies, having free run of the pricey property---
the pigeons landing on the awnings
with heavy thuds, constant hip-hop by red feet. The metallic sounds drowning
in the combo of the staccato barks of strays and mad horns
Atop the Terebinth Tree
The blackbird sat
atop the terebinth tree
a full afternoon moon
its song as sweet
as the cherries
on the tree beneath it
The next day its body lay
at the foot of the terebinth
hadn’t even touched it
a song its last breath
© 5.2017 Helen Bar-Lev
Helen Bar-Lev was born in New York in 1942. She holds a B.A. in Anthropology, has lived in Israel for 46 years and has had over 90 exhibitions of her landscape paintings, 34 of which were one-woman shows. Her poems and artwork have appeared in numerous online and print anthologies. Six poetry collections, all illustrated by Helen. She is the Amy Kitchener senior poet laureate. Helen was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2013 and is the recipient of the Homer European Medal for Poetry and Art. Helen is Assistant to the President of Voices Israel. She lives in Metulla, Israel. www.helenbarlev.com
La Rosa del Deserto
Il vento del deserto è il sospiro bianco
Le passeggiate eterne nel sogno
Il canto del deserto è la sete del cuore
con tutta l’anima tesso i versi
cerco la risposta fra le stelle
un fascio di luce che mi avvolge
un pensiero per te che fiorisce alla fine del viaggio
La rosa del deserto
Member of the Florentine poetry association “Sguardo e Sogno”.
Life chose to open its mouth
And its heart
To offer to me, a bit of its mystery!
Life walked over to me
In the guise of a being of light
And placed, in my hands
A book, which is believed
To contain that for which thirsts my soul!
Life then went back to its routine self
Revolving on its own uncertainty
And bidding me to tread on my path!
Now, though, I open the book of life
And swallow in its words, in many gulps!
Yet, I found no answer to my quests
I got no enlightening on that which troubled my soul!
Fed up and dejected
I chose to no more walk my path
Why, I would sit, there, on a mountain side
And play, on the guitar of my heart
Sad and melancholic tunes!
Why, as I played, I heard the winds whisper to me
The whisperings were then echoed on the mountain’s cliffs
Pray, life opened up itself, they said
And you were marveled by what lay inside of it!
Similarly, seek inside yourself
You shall find answers!
Why, I realized then, that my existence does be
Because of a consciousness, impregnated in me
I chose to water it with the words of the book of life
For, only by following its pulls, shall I find meaning to my quests!
Gangabissoon, Anoucheka (Mauritius) Anoucheka Gangabissoon is a Primary School Educator in Mauritius. She writes poetry and short stories as hobby. She considers writing to be more than a passion as she wants to live forever through her words throughout the ages. http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/best/26605/anoucheka_gangabissoon https://cosmofunnel.com/poems/moon-10894
O cute kitten!
Your manila envelope-coloured coat
is velvet soft, unique,
As your innocent blue eyes meet mine
and your small paws rest on my hand,
instantly I can feel the intensity
of some light divine
You and I –
both parts of Creation,
Cut from the same unifying thread,
by the same artist, immortal hand
surely, we have some deep connection
O cute kitten!
My soul does feel, knows
that you and I
have distinct roles, functions
but yet we are meant to live
in perfect harmony on Planet Earth
and sing the song of equilibrium
O Cute kitten!
I promise you
never will I hurt you,
never will I ignore you,
I will always protect you.
Radhakeesoon, Vatsala (Mauritius) Vatsala Radhakeesoon is a published Mauritian author/poet. She writes poems and short stories for adults and children. Her works mainly center on emotional issues, social facts, historical facts, spiritual quest and childhood innocence. http://www.facebook.com/Vatsala.D.Radhakeesoon
L’aube et l’écho talisman
L’aube sera-t-elle permanente au Paradis ?
Là, l’imaginer avec le ruisseau, tels qu’ils ont existé sur terre.
Pendant ce temps, un goéland triste
est en pleine confidence avec elle.
Pendant que le poète pose la main sur elle.
J’aime imaginer une montagne transparente
au lever du jour.
Dans une contrée sauvage,
où l’obscurité est vieillotte,
le fardeau de la vérité
est trop lourd sur ses épaules.
il en sait alors plus long sur la vérité,
sur la mienne, que diable !
Je me souviendrais toujours
de mes conversations intimes avec lui.
Tiens, cet écho étranger, métèque,
est sans papiers.
Parfois, pour l’atteindre
il faut des échafaudages en règle.
Il a aussi ses lourds préjugés.
Il lui arrive parfois de dire bonjour
à de gentils bergers.
Et même de sentir le cumin.
Don Quichotte allait à la conquête militaire des moulins à vent,
et ce poète fantasque va à la conquête de fous échos.
Benjelloun, Abdelmajid (Maroc) Abdelmajid Benjelloun est né le 17 novembre 1944, à Fès (Maroc), il est Professeur d’Université à la retraite. Il est l’auteur de plus de 200 livres dans les domaines de la poésie, de l’aphorisme poétique, du roman, de l’histoire et de l’essai, dont notamment Mama ; L’éternité ne penche que du côté de l’amour… et Rûmi ou une saveur à sauver du savoir. Est peintre. ex-Président du Centre marocain de Pen International-Londres de 2009 à 2013.
The days are the victims of fate
As euphoria of the “Change” we loved much
Is laid to the cemetery of the nation’s hope
Hanging on the neck of the engulfing silence…
And this silence is the panting of the market women
Gasping for life under the smiling sun,
But only to watch the dancing foots
And the echoing voices of the dead market.
This silence is the drowning tears of Work-Ass
Whose rights are right in their naked eyes
Buried in the ground of deceit and lies
And only to live in borrowed breath – breads.
The silence is the weeping of little children
Craving for happiness in the public streets
Blackened with dust of their daily toil for peanut
But are being rejected to dance to songs of penury
This silence is the agonizing agony of the aged parents
Whose fruits were plunged away unripe
Into the deadly desert of drowning destiny
Left to ponder in the desert of doubts…
This silence is SILENCE
The songs of mocking birds
S – Success
I – In
L – Life
E – Emerged
N – Not with
C – Changes a day; so
E – Endure.
And this silence is a war
In-between Life and Death….
© Copyright Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon
TGO – 2016.
Olajuwon, Timileyin Gabriel (Nigeria) Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon is a Nigerian, a poet and a literary critic. He is an international multi-award winner. Most of his works have been featured in series of international anthologies and journals. He is the brain behind Muse for World Peace Anthology (an anthology of contemporary poets propagating peace), and a published author with his first book entitled Call for retreat, 2013
시간을 잃기 위하여
그 때 그들은 얼마나 순진했던가.
잃어 버린 시간을 찾아
기억의 숲을 헤매고
머무르고 싶었던 순간을
백지 위에 펜으로 잡아 매던
이제 똑똑한 우리들은
시간을 잃기에 바쁘다.
빨리 빨리 먹고
빨리 빨리 쓰고
빨리 빨리 시간이
살아 있는 것들은
빨리 빨리 살고
죽어 가는 것들은
빨리 빨리 죽고
모든 것들은 빨리 빨리
우리 뒤에 남는 것은
검은 타이어가 벗겨지며 그어 놓은
무서운 속도의 자국들.
(2013년 6월 15일)
How innocent they were
wandering in the forest of memory
in search of times lost;
tying down moments
on paper with a pen . . .
Now we, who are too smart,
can hardly wait a moment
to lose time
as quickly as we possibly can.
Eat fast and faster still,
spend fast and faster still,
we cannot wait for time to go
All those living live fast
all those dying die fast
and all should be pushed off
the cliffs of oblivion
fast and faster still.
What remains after us
are the black skid marks
of tires peeled against
the walls of the freeway--
signs of terrifying speed.
June 15, 2013
Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards
(Translation by the author)
Richards, Kyung-Nyun (U.S.A./ S-Korea) Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards is a poet, essayist, and award-winning translator of Korean literature. Bilingual and biliterate in both Korean and English, she writes in both languages. Her publications include four volumes of translations and two collections of original poems
[Original poem in Korean]
이보다 더 높은 것은
이보다 더 넓은 것은
이보다 더 높고
이보다 더 넓은 것은
당신 마음속에 있는 빛뿐.
빛이 빛나지 않으면 빛이 아니다.
이 세상을 비추고도
남을 만한 큰 사랑의 빛.
THE LIGHT OF LOVE
High is the sky.
Could there be anything
Wide is the sea.
Could there be anything
That which is higher
and that which is wider
is the light in your heart.
Light is not light if it fails to illumine.
The light of great love is vast
enough to illumine the world and more.
(Translation by Eunhwa Choe)
Cho, Yoon-Ho (U..S.A./S-Korea) Yoon-Ho Cho is a poet and publisher/editor of Korean Expatriate Literature.
His publications include two books of poems in English/Korean bilingual form.
The Love of An Apple Tree and The River Empties Its Heart.
He has received many honors including the Literary Award from the Korean-American Poets Association in 2012.
The pressure is always tamed under the guidance of the buoyancy
From the moment of being thrown
Like the knight who is good at riding
Willfully flying in the air without the slightest care
My figure seems extremely weak
I'm bowing up the body
Tenacious to greet strong winds
Still so I soar
The fold line and the bamboo frame are staggered
The body is blown up
Like a frog Inhale desperately
I'm totally addicted to classical romanticism
Flying over the head of the crowd
Absorbed a bunch of screaming sounds
Even without knowing the purpose of
Even if you do not know when to land
Still so I boarded high
With a little regret
Forget to take the blessings of the children
As my figure constantly swirled in decline
I tried to avoid the butterfly around the flowers
Before the dews on the grass soaked my wings
There will always be a pair of small hands
Come to catch my falling body
When the laughter again filled the entire valley
That the wind is bound to
Blow me high and high again
About the author
Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai(蔡澤民博士) was born in Taiwan(Republic of China), in 1957. He specializes in singing the poetry of nature. He is an associate professor in the university and has carried out a number of educational studies about the development of writing materials in his country.
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.
Scott Thomas Outlar
Outlar, Scott Thomas (U.S.A. ) Scott Thomas Outlar has published A Black Wave Cometh, Dink Press, 2015 and Songs of A Dissident, Transcendent Zero Press, 2015. A full length poetry collection Happy Hour Hallelujah is forthcoming in 2016 through Creative Talents Unleashed. He has had more than 700 poems published in over 160 print and/or online literary venues, along with dozens of essays, articles, and short stories. https://17numa.wordpress.com/
I want to learn to live before I die
To glimpse the light that makes my vision clear
To see the truth that lies within the lie.
I freely put the questions ‘how?’ and ‘why?’
And seek the face unknown in darkest fear.
I want to learn to live before I die.
The days and years stream swiftly swiftly by
In shimmering illusions cherished dear
Despite the truth that lies within the lie.
I found my hand in yours, so you and I
Gave each our vows, impassioned, young, sincere.
I want to learn to live before I die.
The teachers teach, the prophets prophesy
But miss the mystic rhythms of the sphere
Nor see the truth that lies within the lie;
Pure-hearted self; I sense a higher cry
To never leave the far yet love the near.
I want to learn to live before I die
To see the truth that lies within the lie.
~ Harley White
White, Harley (Spain/ U.S.A.) Harley White is a born word-lover and has written works dealing in fairy tales, musical theater, many genres of poetry, and awakenings, as well as a book titled The Autobiography of a Granada Cat – As told to Harley White. For many years, she has been a follower of the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin and its practice of Nam Myoho Renge Kyo.
Oh, Mistress Dickinson, why not peonies?
[Emily Dickinson in italics]
washed by sun showers faith
at the start
pretty rain from those sweet eaves
opened by the wind
buried and recovered longing
pray gather me, anemone
the ground flooded
bent and broken
in her garden
but not found in her verse
in her poems
abound, bud, bloom, and burst
but not this one … perhaps,
not with a club, the Heart is broken
Neal Whitman lives in Pacific Grove, California, with his wife, Elaine, where his poetry and her photography are inspired by walking on the Monterey Bay recreation trail. Neal attended college at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst (Class of 1969), where he often walked by the Dickinson home, The Homestead, then in private hands. Now it is a historic museum that welcomes visitors from all over the world.