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I AM (I write)

I write of love, of hate, of anguish
But not of what is
..who is Anita Crystal Rose Khelawan
Anita named after the sultry sensation Anita Baker
Crystal... a nomenclature given by my father
An appellation used solely by my grandmother
Rose..so delicate the best of its kind
And like that flower it reflects my frame of mind
A rose does not bare just one color
The rose's semblance emulates a description of my character
I am a red rose - courageous & respectful
I am a black rose - mysterious &
I am a yellow and white rose - gracious & joyful
But i am 'Crystal Rose'
Khelawan a surname that's frozen in time
Khelawan I am lead to believe it's a fabricated name
It represents a new start relinquishing anger and pain..rejecting everything inhumane

Gaping at this picture the only time I've smiled was when I was a child
Times changed and this upward curving of the corners of the mouth is no longer my style

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poem by Anita Khelawan
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?'Who Is ACRK

I write of love, of hate, of anguish
But not of wat is
..who is Anita Crystal Rose Khelawan
Anita named after the soultry sensation Anita Baker
Crystal... a nomenclature given by my father
An appellation used soley by my grandmother
Rose..so delicate the best of its kind
And like that flower it reflects my frame of mind
A rose does not bare just one colour
The rose's semblance emulates a description of my character
I am a red rose - courageous & respectful
I am a black rose - mysterious & occasionally borrow trouble
I am a yellow and white rose - graceous & joyful
But i am 'Crystal Rose'
Khelawan a surname that's frozen in time
Khelawan I am lead to believe it's a fabricated name
It represents a new start relinquishing anger and pain..rejecting everything inhumane

Gaping at this picture the only time I've smiled was when I was a child
Times changed and this upward curving of the corners of the mouth is no longer my style

[...] Read more

poem by Anita Khelawan
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Dreaming's Art

He could see
that she loved him;

no, more like Idol Worship.

'You' she said
'are the Man of my Dreams
my Prince Charming.

Everything you touch
turns to gold
including me.

I laid down my heart for you
hand pressed my soul for you,
danced round your Maypole
like a young girl in spring.

You populated my every dream;
you in my eyes-

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Homerun

HOMERUN
From dark to light – one cry.
cot, tot, fine whine, youth tries
to rise, outshine, – strength vies
to test itself far, nigh,
will ever improvise,
wings spread ahead would fly
beyond the common sty.

Ends, means, some justify
as tools to fool, win prize
refusing to downsize
goals which new goals supply,
to grow, while enterprise
won’t sit, knit idly by
would flow to know, apply.

See sun at zenith high
where fair sweep cloudless skies,
fragility belies.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Another Election Rolls Around In the Good Old U.S.A.

Another election year coming around, politicians again are
Practicing their smile
They want our vote they’ll promise us the world will be at our
Command
Yes, they’ll shake our hands, pat our backs, and truly walk the Additional mile
Their opponent they say is no damn good, only they can truly Understand

Speeches delivered with so much commitment, they really have
Us all under their spell
They have us believing they are the one; they certainly wouldn’t
Kiss my baby and lie with those, same tender lips.
Cheering them on waving frantically they bring back the sound
Of the old liberty bell
O.K. they’ve won me over, calm down now relax - I’ve got to come
To grips

Election Day has arrived I’m the first one at the poles, this one I
Trust and without hesitation I cast my vote
Driving to work, I sing a tune and offer a prayer my man will come through as the winner
After my day’s work is through at home, the local news declares

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poem by Dave Tanguay
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I Don't Want To Embroider This Straitjacket Of Killer Bees

I don't want to embroider this straitjacket of killer bees
with threads of blood, honey and toxin. I can't stand
the agony, but I don't want to lie nostalgically
about what's happening to me as it is everyone
to dull the pain with the delusional sugars
of an artificial paradise where all the stars are tinfoil.
Sooner succumb with integrity, than subsist
in the shadow of a lie that buffs the experience
as if churning coke in a hive of angry wildflowers.

Half mad with pain I've become so accustomed to,
enculturated by out of the corner of my third eye
as if this were a state of affairs normal as oxygen
for everything that lives, and everything, even the rocks
I've been pushing up this hill since I was born
like Sisyphus to build a pyramid out of an avalanche
of meteoric cornerstones that keep getting away from me
like the quicksand and mercury that have tainted my sacred pools,
I don't want to lose my marbles in this game of Russian roulette.
I don't want to give up like gravity on any habitable planet

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poem by Patrick White
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Four Against the Shapeless Wind

for Selin

1

You may find me thundering in a hut
on the small of the mountain reading
poems to curious goats. They listen
patiently before eating the paper
upon which they are written.

I have now resorted, denying loneliness
(thus the always hovering goats) ,
to arguing with the sad priest twice
a week over bad sherry transported
over the mountain. The pass's old Rock
comments on the shape and weight of
each bottle carefully wrapped in soft
flannel curved the shape of the way
upon which unsteady travelers depart
and return. From such a journey it

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poem by Warren Falcon
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A dialog with the sea

I wrote her a poem upon the surf sand
But came the scudding waves and washed it all away
Again I wrote my verse the next day on the strand
But came the proud tide and made my pain its prey.

Mighty sea that sway up and down and breath by ancient shore
Along which the lady of my love, perchance when she
Walks by your pebbled brink you may bring to her more
Of the lines you have stolen virulently from me

Colossus vast sea what if your deep sapphire stream should be
A mirror of my pain and pangs where she can read
The thousands of thoughts you have betrayed from me
As wild and tempestuous as your inner powerful streams treat

Ah now the mirror of my love forlorn heart
Your waves and currents are sweeping dark and strong
Such as my feelings are along every part
Constant and persistent as you are such are my passions long

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poem by Isaac Ziv
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He and She

At this night where the year leaps and delves
A superfluous hurdle it was for He and She
As they lay in the bed of grass endlessly
Brushed by different weathers,
Of different shades, even different skies
Weaving a supple ball of yarn
From photographs and tumbled words
Embedded among the lurid constellation of stars

He, a penetrable glass resonating
The howling shrills of the wrinkling
Of the looming pillars when they trample,
Soused his head in a delusion-soiree
Ashen as the moon's tawny smears
Hidden in its harlequin beam
Similar to the one he enamels
The sooty façade of his fathoms

He, had wandered haplessly astray
In a highway succumb by oblivion

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poem by Norman Santos
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Treading The Choreography Of The Water

Underneath the cessation of the strident choreography
Of the waters that we treaded - now flat and asleep -
We harked the last note of the sparrow's garrulous song
And the initiation of the soughing of the swarthy leaves
That resembled the stropping of the daunted tongue
That we kept like keys to our clandestine doors
And unsheathed like knives that rose with alacrity
We mused and basked in this decade of vexing silence
Listening to the same stillness and interpolating architectures
But solving different equations with different visions
And as we speak through the grinding pebbles under our feet
We only harry the penultimate flare of the apprehensive dusk
So we can succumb into our individual darkness,
So we can bleed and revel in different places;
Because we can only be faithful with our infidelities
And this savageness that we deny and slept with
Burns out the hapless and sedentary peace that remained.

The clarity that scintillates with the luminaries
Are sundered preventing the eruption of the radiance

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poem by Norman Santos
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