Just Listen, Don’t Solve | A Poem by G.S. Katz

She’s frustrated by the situation
Being a guy I want to solve the problem
But I know she just wants me to listen
And not offer suggestions

After some conversation
I ask if I’m helping
She says no
And I slink away to take a nap

Men have trouble just listening
We are hard wired to solve and move on
She suggested taking a walk
I bought us lattes, she chose the flavor

Compromise is easy
When we agree to disagree
Problem not solved
But everyone’s happy, sorta

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Disorder | A Poem by Alistair Muir

Disorder of the mind it seems –
Promotes such pain – engenders screams –
The hapless and the witless fall –
Beneath the sound – the endless call
And chatter of the voices there –
Brought forth are thoughts of deep despair;
No peace is found within the head –
The overwhelming fear and dread
Cause angst and stress – anxiety –
No sleep to rescue – set one free –
And so one yearns for sleep profound –
Where sanctuary is wrested – found;
A moments rest yet come the day –
Return the voices and dismay.

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A Drop of Life | A Poem by Naduni

One semester of literary theories
Another of critical theories
That failed to change
Life, world and the unjust rule…

The Sunni hates the Shi’a
The Buddhist robe is
Haram for both of them
No Halal! Shout the Buddhists…
Lower castes contaminate the Brahmin women’s virgin blood
A Berawaya is not the match for a Govigama lady
Is it?

The poor are the earliest
To the polling booth
They vote for the frauds
The story-tellers
The gamblers, the rapists
Whose decree lets doctors rape impoverished women
Coming to state hospitals
To get a cough syrup
Free of charge

The elitist’s young daughter
Clad in a form fitting
Dress, tik-toks on the marble floor
Like a lazy clock
Idling till her boyfriend’s Prado comes
To pick her up and go to Kandalama
Where they spend the night
With a gang of friends
Who declares in her sweet, melodious voice
‘I hate politics, it ruins the peace of mind!
Why should people talk about such serious things?
I have sunny attitude towards my life!’
She who doesn’t know her inebriated body
Is the bed for the gang of boys in the deluxe room

But not Lechchami, who has taken
The responsibility of her life to her own hands
At nineteen years
She works in the tea estate
Perpetually looking
For a young bus conductor
Or an attendant in a hospital to come her way
To run away and start the life
Her mother started twenty years ago

At the elections
All of them run and vote
For a democracy they can’t digest
For an ‘equality’ they cannot comprehend
Forever waiting for one ruler or the other
To miraculously change their fate
Which the rulers themselves internalised
So shrewdly that they didn’t even sense

I sit to my table
A warm coffee in my hand
With a bar of an imported chocolate
To type my assignment on how to do a
Marxist analysis
To re-write for the thousandth time
A theory, previous undergraduates
Wrote in assignments and semester-end papers
While the poorer students
Quote and scream lines from Das Capital
In front of the university
But none of us had or have the time to change the world
We are too busy with studies and efforts to build a future
Seen as successful by the world which you wanted to change…

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My Darling Egg | A Poem by J.D. DeHart

How you glow and promise
something beneath the shell,
you the glimpse,
half-whisper, only a syllable
uttered from across space.
When the surface begins
to give way,
maybe I can be human
I was once supposed to be,
maybe my arms can be a fire,
my tiny rhymes a song,
my scent a reassuring source.

Visit J.D. at http://jddehart.blogspot.com.

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A Banquet in Autumn | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

In the wind
a butterfly clings

to a marigold while
a bee hovers.

A hummingbird stops
then darts away.

The garden is still
a banquet in autumn.

Visit Donal at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

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How Many Tear Drops? | A Poem by Naduni

How many long nights
Have perished on the single bed
In the lonely room
Sleepless and pensive
Listening to the harsh
Beat of the rain
Unable to bear the cold
How many tears have been shed
Draining the white pillow
On the old bed
How many years have been spent
Walking alone the lonely path
Without a hand, without a shoulder
To hold and lean, and
Whisper the secrets long hidden
From the world
With greying hair and
An aching back
With clouded eyes and
Weakening limbs
I am still sitting on my doorstep
Till you come
The prince who will marry me
According to the family astrologer

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Jumper | A Poem by G.S. Katz

A jumper was on the 6th floor
Of a building down the street from me
Crowds gathered, cops, EMS, the whole 9 yards
But here’s the deal
This is New York City
If you’re gonna mess up traffic
With your dramatic maybe death
We want a body on the sidewalk
Because in this town
If you threaten and punk out
You’re just a wuss

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