Art Tolentino (ArtDax)

Greek Maiden

I saw a Greek maiden who set my heart aflame
A beautiful Greek maiden, I never knew her name
Through her portrait I saw a smile and eyes that gleam
Oh I hope I won’t offend, if I pursue her in my dream

When I look at her picture my mind starts to fly
Towards Mt. Olympus, above a cloudless sky
Towards Meteora, the pillars of Parthenon
Towards Stomio beach, the cloister of Komnenion

When I look at her picture I hear a mellow voice
As from someone who loves to worship and rejoice
As from a poem that speaks of the birds and bees
As from love songs of Beyonce and Alicia Keyes

Oh lovely Greek maiden, what I feel words can’t explain
Kingdoms may rise and fall, your beauty shall remain
Lucky is that guy who will end up as your groom
But you will always be mine in the darkness of my room

Raymond Alan Reid

Already Departed

In the cold room we stepped
Into the smell of warmed polish
Well rubbed into the grain
It was just as before
Maturity did not grow new
Eyes or smother truth with
The trades material magic
The silent music that creeped
Out of the walls blended like magic
Those sensible open-curtains
That always draws attention from
Saddened pity to empty dullness
Swallowing lumps that pierce
Tears at the thought
Of entering the next room
While gripping ones own fists
Until white with surrounding
Tear-shaped red marks
How the moments of being
Alone with nothing less
Than two bodies without company
Is it love, respect, pity
Or just extreme curiosity
That draws us here?

Felino Soriano

According To Darkness, Silence Dons A Halo

The spinning enjoyment
of dusk's communal culture,
whose language of content
spreads its contagious
through the winding metaphorical
maze of regard for existence,
the triangular connection
of movements,
spaced between
etching fragrant gifts toward a purpose
of its own meaningful motive.

As in the movements
of monarch butterflies,
their orange wings with
adorning black-white ornamental
displays of
transferable sections of moving,
circular light.
to dawn's open mouth,
darkness in the safe idiom hides below
the highest halo,
golden hanging light
not yet born before the pushing of
the orange slant,
its genesis causes separation,
shedding myriad of variant
colors to escape into
mesmerizing mannerisms.

Gerry Mattia

Yuppie Dragons And Paper Mountains

Climb mountains!
Slay Dragons!
That's what I did
When I was a kid
Now it's too much
All this grownup stuff
Business-like murder
under the guise of merger
Micro-second chattel battles
waged on computer panels
Flash before my eyes
In a plate glass high-rise

Now all my mountains are made of paper, and
all my dragons wear ties

Bernard Alain

Quiet Tower On The Hill

a bronze
in a susurrus

stone giants
sleep beneath
mossy patina
copper clad

I can
of autumn

crisp as


Alexander Chang

That Beauty

The world boasts an ever changing face of garden
Plants fall in and fall out of favours
Set trends come and diminished fashions forgotten
Preferences confuse taste with choices of colours

Like an ever altering cinemascope
In this mindscape of flux
Some mysterious favourites remain a thin hope
An instant release attracts keen emotion influx

Amidst the numerous stars, moon may stand aloof
To dwarf the crown Queen of roses’ simmering fun
But when evening primrose invites for hard proof
I dream only the daughter of light with fragrance of sun

That beauty conquers with confidence and insight
That beauty also makes night an easy delight

Thom Woodruff (World Poet)

Some Things More Important Than Poetry

Life,and people-work and family
Commitments made to be honored-
Witnessing at the passing of others
Periods of necessary silences
Times when all poems blow away
Times when one must be lost -
in a crowd or alone/on Internet or phone
Times when to shop is of utmost importance!
Whole lives when nothing particularly happens!
Gaps between-travelling.Growing into rituals-Reading,listening,absorbing
Every participle participant particle
Every authenticated distancing mechanism
Poetry must wait
at the intersection of thoughts and feelings
and feed upon the scraps again.

Lisl Steiner

Why did I love
and now hate
Always looking back
at old snapshots,
deja vu,
Alter hut.
no more
the big strugle
is there,
always standing
in front of
soon-to-be-shot so-called heroes
one is caught
in a ring, not unlike
Which most of
the press is
more and more
becoming back to
Stanley and Livingston
when it took
2 months
for the news
to filter
out of Africa.

Jan Theuninck


late at night
a mist
fills the valley.
without knowing
it suffocates
like a dark power.
on the fields
our dead bodies
and under the grass
a brown soil

© Ekphrastic poetry (poem + painting) by Jan Theuninck

Nilanshu Kumar Agarwal

Memory Is Being Blurred

Memory is being blurred.
Images are getting dim.
I shall forget everything oneday.
I don't want to.
New life has so many challenges.
Daily new adventures.
Daily new behavioural patterns.
The present putting the glorious past behind.
Bad coin drives the good coin out of use.
New patterns,new associates.
Responsibility destroying emotion.
I am weeping.
I want to come back.
But how?
I can't. I can't. I can't.