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Sonnet- Sonnet Needs Rhymes

Can you a Sonnet write without its rhyme?
Now people want the modern verse that's free;
As ideas get stuck and cramped with time,
A Sonnet's like leafless branches of tree!

A Sonnet's great for men who rhyme too well;
Its beauty lives in metre, rhythm, rhyme;
Yet, it can never run into 'pel-mel';
The sonneteer can write in any clime.

Why abhor rhymes and not a Sonnet write?
Each genre has its rules to comply with;
Why sleep all day and stay awake all night?
Rhyme-play is done by Kindergarden kith!

Why ridicule something you can't do well,
Much things are done by practice, Sonnets tell.

poem by John Celes
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Green Signal

I cannot stop her pallets of love
And to me she is like a beautiful dove
I will be a man without her as a man without vim
Infuse into her breath to either float or swim
No more sleeping pills no more time to kill
Love works wonder have everything to fulfill
To vainly glorify or not is not the case
To mould the fate of frolicsome race
And to speak the genre of truth as it is
Because the heart meets where the breath is
No one knows engagement as substantial need
Signing the oath as you count the bead
Sowing the seeds in the veritable bed of smug
Letting punch-and-Judy-show to harvest like a sparkplug

poem by Hafiz Qasim
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And Yet It Is A Gentle Art

(Parody is a genre frowned upon by your professors
of literature... And yet it is a gentle art-
'The Point of View' in May _Scribner's_.)

A sweet disorder in the verse
That never looks behind
Shall profit not who steals my purse,
Let joy be unconfined!

How vainly men themselves amaze!
The stars began to blink,
An art that there were few to praise,
Nor any dropp to drink.

O sleep, it is a blessed thing
Which I must ne'er enjoy!
There never was a fairer spring
Than when I was a boy.

One fond embrace and then we part!

[...] Read more

poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Chronic Wait

When a full moon was taking a bath
by the serene lake, you moved about in
abandoned identity, your sides flaring up.

A slate gray nubion cloud was tossed
around by a tall tree. Hotstepping you despaired
to prevent a stillbirth of a genre

in genocide of anonymous flora viberating
in cyberscape of ominus sentences. The
exhibitionist was taking over the podium. Petit mal

brings the heels down of worshippers anointing
a pair of sandals. Someone goes a non-linear
fashion, denies the holocaust and howling.

Hospice was needed for non-believers in any
case. A continuum of exurbs intercedes in the
slaughter of bovine names.

poem by Satish Verma
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Stage Props

Arts undergraduates crawl multi-purposely
through library mouldy mountainous mounds
prescribed listing litter lingers read supplementary
plastered educational material theory bounds.

Degrees chance declarations insight book bound
folded focused individualistic thrown paper darts
crash flies adrift on previously argued genre opinions
conveying contemporary redundant captured hearts.

Capped comedy completes constraint covered courses
readied for routine survival ritualistic graduation lines
quietly quiver finals finale studying scenting expectants
exemplar exhibition congraduatory radius exclamations.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Memoir

Something never turns back -
Time is that genre so prime;
getting past often so fast,
makes all run after the vast
meandering path of life
full of bustles, full of strife.

Todays or tomorrows just live
a short while, so fast and active,
memories overcasting minds,
find time so short lasting.
Just last year you went past
a shocking loss still lambastes.

Diving in the divine ocean,
for gems of your all sweet passions,
your memoir is written in tears -
as a companion to adhere
to my sand dune of hot blast
like planets deeming to last.

[...] Read more

poem by Gautam Sen
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Books I Read

I was once asked
what sort of books I read.
To be honest
I never gave it much thought.
I read all sorts of books
from crime fiction to poetry,
by many assorted authors.
I read literary classics
and some not so classic at all.
If they asked me
who my favourite author is,
again I’d be in confusion there too.
However a few of the names
that spring to mind are,
F Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck,
Ernest Hemmingway, James Herriot,
Agatha Christie, Edgar Wallace
and surprisingly enough Mickey Spillane.
I have no favourite author
of any particular genre

[...] Read more

poem by David Harris
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Love

Love everything and love the love you love
Love is a word an incomparable anticipation
love is a mockery having wings to fly
Love is decorum of truth the legacy of attention
Love is not concocted story or a piece of bun
Love is what you are what you do whole nook of function
Let this love never stop in its infinite motion
Love is beauty for eternal one's and ailment for an alien
Love is sombre of truth and desire nonetheless mitigation
Love is so on and so forth love is being and becoming
Love is genre of onerous charm and sea's combustion
Love is holistic it is winsome will of norm
Love is bird's chirping love a clandestine click of commotion

poem by Hafiz Qasim
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An uncreative medicine

no hope
no friend
no family
no home
no nativity
no nationality
no fame
no name
no future
no points
no market
no identity
no possessions still a tree without roots
no relationship still a tree without roots
no anarchism still a tree without roots
no hiearchy still a tree without roots
no country still a tree without roots
no colours still a tree without roots
no degrees still a tree without roots
no certificates

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poem by Nyein Way
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The Poetics Of The 21st Century In The Thriving Zone

This process of genre differentiation on particular poetics and universal poetics should go on as a practical and feasible zone of possible poetics in a probable calculations as this is the age when the particulars and universality really engage and meet.If not, it is just generalization of things in specific situation, which ca nnot catch the whole picture of hermeneutic zone, which can fall back on modernist's tradition of selfish dictatorial practice(so -called contemporary poetics, not having thorough analysis of art history, contemporary theories and current findings on high literature and low literature even in the prestigious academic instituitions in the western and european worlds.

poem by Nyein Way
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