The River

I

As drones a bee with sultry hum
When all the world with heat lies dumb,
Thou dronest through the drowsèd lea,
To lose thyself and find the sea.

As fares the soul that threads the gloom
Toward an unseen goal of doom,
Thou farest forth all witlessly,
To lose thyself and find the sea.

II

My soul is such a stream as thou,
Lapsing along it heeds not how;
In one thing only unlike thee,-
Losing itself, it finds no sea.

Albeit I know a day shall come

[...] Read more

poem by William Watson
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Choice

Drone nights where poetry suckles sanity
A refuge for neuro transmitters
Pathways away from Borg circles
Some of us are small against our malice

The dainty yellow flowers
Dreams beyond the black and white
No guilt between your Paris thighs
Self confidence with its endless maze

Who am I except another pirate
Ships that rob your anti depressants
We are skeletons of resistance
Your love must choose who is true

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Party

In search of peace
he burnt down his books,
living precariously,
as colors were shifting.

After the disengagement
there was anger and chaos.
In the swirl of mudslides
the mountains stood erect & high.

Caste, color and creed
on coffee table,
for a birthday party of democracy.
A drone fell on the crowd.

The maniac depression divides
the butterflies into pathless lies.
The grass was blue
and sky was red.

poem by Satish Verma
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Slowly Toward The Sky

My body aches from end to end-
Where is she going,
I suppose from elementary to high school
Is her end:
As she pledges allegiance to the flag
Every morning—
In her equalized standards—what will
She go home thinking:
What has she learned—is this the Harlem
Renaissance—
Is this her last amen?
And if this is just an echo of the final
School bus she takes to school,
Then she will think nothing of
That echo—
Even as if she were an alligator who learned
To cry,
The foxes creeping slowly toward the
Vineyards,
The airplanes creeping slowly toward the sky.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Hummingbird

Hummingbird! keep on humming your wings,
With lavender feathered wings hover in wind.
Nectar of sweet petals sweeten your hymn,
Just in half syllables, is your chirping chime.
On a tree near brook, sitting in the serenity
You sigh for your mate, one who is celebrity.
You see his show of swoop before resonating
affirmation of acceptance for your mating.
Our contract is for this spring and not forever
I know little creature this is what you whisper.
In architected nest two pretty pearls are laid;
In three months, have to become hummingbird.

Mate of mankind, you are the love teacher.
Perhaps they gave idea of the helicopter.

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Aeroplane and Its Shadow

An hour before noon
Southward bound
Aircraft in landing mode
I look out the window
Lo behold
Tree tops and buildings
And the green meadows
A moving shadow
Follows my flight
A few hundred miles
An hour I move
Speed of the shadow
Matches my speed.

No light, no shadow
Nor an eclipse
Life without shadow's
Life without light
Light, object, shadow
An intimate link.

[...] Read more

poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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Ashes And Debt...

they dress for the slaughter,
in thousand dollar suits.
faceless and colorless,
spinning webs of deceit.
with tongues made of plastic,
bony fingers on buttons.
drunk on the rush,
worshipping neon gods.
pick your next president,
sell your job in a blink.
foreclose your grandfather,
kill your son in a war.
the american pinnacle,
with eyes steeled by drones.
they drink blood for breakfast,
and oil for dessert.
manipulating classes,
the propaganda of fear.
prejudice and patriotism,
it's all over quick!

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Visual Snow

My sight fills with television static.
I disconnect as my vision impairs.
The blue field debris becomes erratic.
Faint, shaking particles stipple the air.
They grow heavier as my breathing thins,
And my bones melt, osmosing through my skin.
I feel my muscles slowly liquefy.
Sweat bathes my brow. I sink to petrify
Where I stand—where the sound has panned away.
I hear a muffled chorus hum beside me.
A high-pitched tone drones almost endlessly.
My thoughts as they were scramble and decay.
I'm disoriented, and my loss grows
Beneath falling mounds of visual snow.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Philosophers Stone

Out on the highways and the by-ways all alone
Im still searching for, searching for my home
Up in the morning, up in the morning out on the road
And my head is aching and my hands are cold
And Im looking for the silver lining, silver lining in the clouds
And Im searching for and
Im searching for the philosophers stone
And its a hard road, its a hard road daddy-o
When my job is turning lead into gold
He was born in the back street, born in the back street jelly roll
Im on the road again and Im searching for
The philosophers stone
Can you hear that engine
Woe can you hear that engine drone
Well Im on the road again and Im searching for
Searching for the philosophers stone
Up in the morning, up in the morning
When the streets are white with snow
Its a hard road, its a hard road daddy-o
Up in the morning, up in the morning

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hardsores

I don't know what you want
You and your silly stomp
You shave your malformed head
And wish that you were dead
And every single time
you blow your silly mind
With model airplane glue
I don't know who you are
I don't see any prose
You go and get a trick
Then get a pimply dick
And every time you wait
You have to masturbate
Oh

song performed by Goo Goo Dolls
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The Blackbird Metaphor

the Beatles had it
as the struggle for freedom of the blacks
that blackbird singing in the dark
wanting to be free

the Americans
had that blackbird swirling in Vietnam
that chopper that saved lives
that war that caused them humiliation
in the world's opinion
that lie of Nixon

Steven Wallace had eight ways of seeing
that blackbird
Noah sent that blackbird
that did not come back since it was happy
picking on the rotten flesh
of the remains of the dead
the ninth way
of seeing

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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They Spoke To Me Of God....

they spoke to me of god,
and small things burning on piles of leaves.
while cast aside nests lay weeping,
in silent tribute to forgotten paths.
empty cages with doors flung open,
cigarette butts on temple floors.
footprints from nowhere to nothing,
canned thoughts on dusty shelves.

it's easy to say peace will come,
not so easy to take the arms.
while crippled poets walk past burning huts,
and aircraft carriers meditate on troubled waters.
children's faces drift through dreamless sleep,
bodies gathered by passing squirrels.
yes, they spoke to me of god...
as if they really knew!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Like Airplanes Up In The Sky

Come to me through the angles of lost
Science,
Of how the pleasant men used to have to
Look at the earth:
Now there are no unicorns,
And all of the counties are taking down the
Highest swings—it has something to do with
Human relations
And the ways toward which the children
Have disappeared—
But somewhere in my house right now
Lies an echo of your memory that looks
Very much like you—
I almost didn't have the time to
Graduate high school,
But the skulls are becoming further and
Further unburied—
And the angels are beginning to look again
Like airplanes up in the sky.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Men today

In modern days, men use backdoor methods,
To make their trek to stardom easier;
I wonder if worry takes on the Birds,
To make their lies, in a trice, cosier.

The faster you travel, more the danger!
Both men and machine can't withstand great speed;
The bullet wrecks more havoc than dagger;
On Earth, to certain laws, Man must pay heed.

Man may have broken the sound-barrier;
And may travel even faster than light;
He could have built an Aircraft-carrier,
But ought to know the limits of his might.
All things and man's senses have a limit;
The urge to break them, man must inhibit.

poem by John Celes
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Who Is Rich?

I strive to be rich,
to travel on the roads,
of the capital cities,
in Sedan or limousine.

I work hard to be rich,
to find a lot in Beverly hills,
to buy an aircraft and
a hover to fly and float.

I work day and half night,
to be rich to others sight,
to smoke a cigar of an inch,
and a few girls to pinch.

scanty girls of Los vegas,
dress up, for a living,
trendy sad faced Indians,
walk alone for a living.

[...] Read more

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Poet wishing, watching, waiting

My life’s ludicrous lust.
A poignant perplexed poet, pondering.
Outside drones descend to dull him.
His envious egocentric eyes resting empty.
His fearful façade forever facing,
A woeful world which watches his wasting,
Only to see his exterior disintegrating,
The crumbling and scatterings of his dreams emptying,
Turning to fragments all to be wasted,
Turning to dust free of his lust.
Never to live.
Never to trust.
Never being seen.
No shining beam.
My life’s ludicrous lust.
Inside it blossoms, how I wish I could trust.
To follow my lust, all I need is trust.

poem by Paul Latham
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An Adventure

what would i choose for
this adventure?
a boat ride? a cruise?
a jet plane for instant arrivals?
what will i do there anyway
except to loaf
and take a view of the parks
and paths

on my feet for an adventure
please do not think
about death

we have so much of it already
on daily doses

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In The Parking Lot

Another viewing's slowness: it looks as if the dead
Are on television,
And she is waking up, dressing in fireworks that will
Persimmon off her body in a two for one sale—
From the heavenly depths of
Miami—
She will look up into a sea of airplanes—and spin outside of
The tent,
And next to the trucks and the supermarkets and
The fast food chains:
And all of that traffic—long fuse rapping around her
For a moment she is delighted—object of holidays—
Red and brown queen as amble as a deer wearing silver
Sparklers—
A spectacle in the parking lot at the end of the day.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Breathing and Enduring

This engine drones on in its tedious unimaginable mission
Its fire is breath and glucose, lit and blazing like billions
Of tallow candles.
I am able to locate these places of fire and water
But where is my seat.
My throne is porcelain seated atop a wax crown
And yet I strain to find the place I dwell
My question does not echo and the voice which
Throws stones at shadows
Has no place amidst this burning place
When this voice is silenced by a mystery of unrepentant cline
Of unrelenting arms which wheel across a face
I will then greet my echo of breathing and enduring

poem by George Murdock
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The Seven Seas

Spindling ablutions,
The catastrophe of the weathers above the ways
Out in the make-believe of an ultimately beautiful day:
The frenzy of kites stolen away from
Little boys,
Who know so few words as never as yet to have
Surrendered to the loquacious avenues that birth the
Fraternity of sea horses:
Poppy seeds in the air, making an illusionary breakfast,
Cantankerously up from their low birth,
Gossiping their tranquilities over the low flying airplanes,
And their majesties:
Demigods who float on the breeze, in a woebegone
And yet innumerable sisterhood all over the seven seas.

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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