Etiqueta: poetry
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latinos! latinos
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The Rose by Ajmira Khatun
The red rose,Behold, my eyes,Radiant, rejuvenating, rekindling,Such is its essence. All at once,Thrips, silent destroyersSuck all nutrientsuntil it fades. Now, this rose,Bereaved, barren, bereft,A shadow of itself,Has lost everything. And this exhausted rose,Suddenly, carried awayBy the haunting wind. Copyright © 2025 Ajmira KhatunAll Rights Reserved Ajmira Khatun, a poet from Birbhum, West Bengal, pursued…
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Sleepless by Myrtle Thomas
somewhere between daydreamsand the shadow of nightor rising as the sun and moonlife comes in shapes and colorsthe rainbows of my thoughtswhere time is terrible to pleasebattling with the pulse of my heart. I can’t say how often I thirstor hunger for the shade of nightfallwhile I mourn in the…
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«The Rain» by Shailja Sharma
There used to be a wallwith a hook that anchoredmy belongings. Some wet memorieshave pickled over the years.It’s raining, and my feet arerunning to the backyard tosave grandmother’s pickle jars.I know it’s too late, but I continue tostand in prickly raindrops. Mywounds are wet, and I am shivering.I am crying…
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«In a Pickle» by Carl Bettis
In the dream my therapist, with my permission,pours me a vodka tonicspiked with a roofie and hypnotizes me.When I come back to myself,my friends are there,but the therapist is gone.What did I say? They heard it,but won’t tell, but are concerned.They want to take me to get a reuben,because I…
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Exile by Bartholomew Barker
The sun is just the brightest starand ice freezes hard as prison stonein distant orbits out past Neptune—that’s where I’ll go in exile. I wrote letters to bored politicians,marched in protests holding pithy signs.I consumed less, preaching to the choirbut failed to convince the congregation. So banish me to some distant rockwithout…
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WE CROUCH LIKE DUMB MIRACLES AT THE EDGE WAITING FOR FLIGHT by Clive Donovan
The pond is frozen over with ice stars. When I look them up on my new iPhone 16, fleece pajamas for the grandkids pop up instead. It’s nearly Christmas, stick season. Small dark birds I can’t identify forage near the stone wall and the footprints in crusty snow left when…
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Tourists by Joanne Durham
All month we float in a Matisse painting,no matter a thousand miles from his easel,on the balcony of our apartment in Sesimbra watching the promenade of womenwith linked elbows and kids jumpingon the wooden wall that tames the ocean’s reach. A decade after our first visit, we sipPortuguese wine, a bottle never…
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«Why do Lonely Old Ladies Talk to Themselves?» by Ann Christine Tabaka
Leaves float down one by onecarpeting the forest floor.I can’t remember where I put my thoughtsas inspiration falters. There is no one here to talk toso I converse with the sky,asking why everything has changed. Why does the warbler have to leave?Why does it have to be so cold?Where has…
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«Drowning Girl» by Jorge López Llorente
After Roy Lichtenstein A typical gasp.The reverb of a dampened cry, perhaps justa whisper to the blank sky unseen above:I’d rather sink… With hair colored Klein bluish;with hushed open lips not finished yet, folded inruby origami, closed off from the ocean’sexpanse; with closed eyes, nervous fingers.An unfelt wreckage,an «I don’t…
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BIRTH by Andromachi Benekou
On the small island Earth,thousands of young storksgo to sea; they arrive running.With evening sky,our home destination,they flutter a nest, they do!On the small island Earth, a child arriveson God’s path.He lets out his first cry,joy of anticipation.He shines like a white carnation.We all set up a dancein our own…
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Uprooted by Dr Santosh Bakaya
I saw a man hunched, fingers bunched, and eyes scrunched, frantically hunting for his lost home. Where were his roots? Had he tumbled into anonymity? He looked ruefully at his muddy boots, his heart aching, recalling the notes of the love- ditty he used to sing with his beloved under…
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«his poems» by John Yamrus
his poems alwaystried to tacklethe “big issues”… Death,Life, Love, Good, Evil… all theusual stuffthat needs to bespelled with a capital letter. his onlyother goal in lifewas to one day be The Village Idiot. the poems tried hard,but never quitehit the mark. but, afterhe married Betty,she told him (every day of…
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«First Loves» by Phil Repko
First loves: they burnedand seared a markthat tingleswhen the weather turns –The greyer clouds,foreboding cold,or even steamy roundsof heatmight make me scratcha distant, misty itch. So now, dressed in my dotage,with my better lovesin permanent attendancethrough the best and worstof seasons,I’m glad my fingernailscan tend that scar –with sweet dismissal,as…
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I think I’m in love with the guy at Dunkin by Melissa Lemay
I think I’m in love with the guy at Dunkin’. I mean, I think I could be. He knows me by name, he knows how I like my latte. Whenever I pull upto the drive thru my heart skips a beatif he’s there. I feel my cheeks…
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Dancing with Mother by Yongbo Ma
She places my feet on top of her feet in plastic sandalsI am small, looking up at herwe both laugh, spin round and roundunaware that the music has long ceased.I see tiny beads of sweat glistening on her noseher cool skirt lightly brushes against my nosewith each turn, I grow…
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