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from swerve of shaw to bend of bray

(On March 15th 20118, I was two days away from the delirium of sepsis (i was gone for a week) and I wrote this poem.The sort of premonition you don’t need, or want!)

“In the name of Annah the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!”

― James Joyce, Finnegans Wake*

catch my death, damp

it’s an English disease

travelling from heat to cold

the melody’s the same

runs, rills through culture, religion, sexual orientation,


mealy-mouthed middle-stump moaning means nothing to me.

people volunteer to eat shit,, eat, shit, they do,

just like that, they’re that stupid,

put a gun in his hands

whatta yer got?

a funny hat

no smiles, no men o’pause, just the bare necessities::

freeze, knees, groan, be, alone

I say these words into this barely-mystic air

that is always, and forever, everywhere.

we see through this bare air and miss everything.

Like in one of Solz’s gulags, it’s a European thing,

every songbird says,

get the wrong signs, get so quickly out of line,

a triangle appears, an equation

-b + or — sq root of b2–4ac/2b

 just one way to pray.

a guilt for my best friend

world without end,

keep him warm, in his grave.

nothing stops this inclement shivering inside

by all means, there’s worse to come,

sans teeth, sans fun, sans everything.

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Its amazing how much power there is in just a moment
I betrayed my body, mind and soul
And I crumbled, suffocated for days
My spirit asked to be laid to rest
My entire being shook and held me accountable
It was a temporary moment of insanity that almost killed me
I’ve been healing from being both the perpetrator and victim
My mind is in a complete flux
Everything collapsing in and out
Like building blocks crumbling, folding
Damaging and grinding while simultaneously

Healing itself

I’ve Shut down in construction of a protective
Trying to keep me together and alive.
My mind and body shall be held captive and protected
Banished from the self-serving need of feeding itself
it was a temporary moment of insanity that almost killed me
And i’m sorry lump… collectively

Disclaimer: property of Fanelesibonge Nicholus Sibisi, Do not duplicate in any form without consent from the author

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Poetry of poet Zahid: Prose Poetry ♦Practice♦

Prose Poetry-Practice 

    Mohammad Zahid Hossain


The name of the fall from humble sentence is practice

Swearing to build a simple tendency is the practice

To handle the gin with courage

Sumeru – parallel to the crossing of the Cumero

The intention is to practice the name of Bihar …

One of the Zephon’s symphony cuts

Breaks the function of the mark

Exit to the extreme

And what can be named without the practice …

So to be accustomed one life falls short yet.

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Lie of life | Walid Abdallah

Wisdom of life, nothing can last
Mostly love that fades so fast

Nothing can remain as it was
Specially love without any cause

We have hearts that cause pain
Without reason or explain

As life is just a big lie
We always look for someone to hurt and defy

People can’t live without someone to cheat
Searching for someone to defeat

Hearts know nothing but how to wound
Only know how to break a bond

In cold blood, people always do
Using pure emotions and through

They are like wolves in masks of sheep
Having no real feelings, but so bad, so cheap

To live among people, you must be cunning
Make truth and kindness mean nothing

You should always suppose bad faith
Love and feelings have no place

To live among people you must valiantly act
Make betrayal your only fact

Life isn’t an easy game
Lie is its real name

When you find someone to feel for
Finding this one feels for another much more

The one you want, you will never get
The one you want, have to leave and forget

The one you want loves another
The one you want have to forsake altogether

The one you don’t want needs your adore
The one you don’t want shows their love much more

To be lost in life- a wonder land
A moor of pains that you can’t understand

Make reason first, feelings demolish
Reason remains, feelings perish

Always attack not to defend
Make your interest a means and an end

The life we live is a life of tricks
Just follow what your reasons picks

Make emotions the last thing you to think
Into dark sea make them sink

With or without love, live the same
Make your happiness the first claim

Love only who your love deserves
Your heart, her love, preserves

Always look at the bright side
Be always happy, make it your pride

Always think with your mind
And nothing but joy you will find

Don’t ever love, but be loved
Always be the one to be hugged

To love never yield
But for love always build

Love will always exist
But always pick up the best

Don’t wait to be loved forever
Days change hearts altogether

With love mountains hug the sky
With love we tear and cry

With love dews on flowers dwell
With love we destroy and kill

With love birds make a concert of tones
With love we have hearts made out of stones

With love, trees in the wind dance
With love we betray in the first chance

With love waters in rivers and streams flow
With love with hatred our hearts blow

Why from nature we don’t learn
Instead of slaying feelings and burn

Why of love we are always afraid
Why from love our hearts fade

Why don’t we make a love treaty?
Accompanied with adore and pity

Nature is full of contradictions
It is full of restrictions

People are good or bad
People are happy or sad

In order to reach its light
Darkness we have to fight

Happiness is not what we always take
We might meet true love or fake

Life is a mixture of black and white
Between good and evil everlasting fight

To meet what is true
Be away from what evil winds blow

If you want to be free
From contradictions never flee

Life is too short to waste in blame
Love and be loved, make it your aim

Being happy or sad it is the same
Make love your real name

More at

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Alun Robert | The Poetry Village

Springtime At Love Lane Allotment

allotment over-loved
verdants through ochres
weeds across paths
deciduous uncoppiced
leaves deep in dank borders
blossom with fragrance
fresh buds screaming spring
above last year’s residue
over-ripe, unpicked
flight of the honey bee, swallows
everything in sight, on site
a legacy of last legumes
of broad beans, haricots
of cabbage and caulie
sprouting from the warmth
arriving in late spring
blistering sheds unpreserved
tales flailing through doors
unhinged by those ancients
supping leaf builders
from oddments of porcelain
two sugars, full-fat milk
a tradition out there
with natter, much chatter
community gardening
mankind at peace
with nature en frolic
two miles from the sea
two light years from traffic chaos
of downtown Rye roads

A Scot of Irish ancestry, Alun Robert is a prolific creator of lyrical free verse achieving success in poetry competitions. His work has been published in British, Irish and American literary magazines, anthologies, ekphrastic responses and the web. He was September 2019 Featured Writer for the Federation of Writers Scotland.



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A Pretty Kettle of Fish – A Pretty Kettle of Poetry

I’m impossible
Wanting the implausible.
Is it me or is it you?
My fishing boat on blue.

I’m unshakeable:
My resolve unfathomable.
Why can’t I sleep?
My heart wrecked down deep.

While hearing the siren
Bait underworld men
Old boys in cafes
Think out their days.

I’m so impregnable
But indefensible.
When will it ever finish?
A pretty kettle of fish.

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Friday the thirteenth #poem #poetry – Short Prose

don’t wait for me
please find another lover
I’m riding camels with the Bedouins
I’ll enter Alexandria by morning
the day Mark Anthony committed suicide

don’t wait for me
please find another lover
I’m in the Île de la Cité on Friday the thirteenth
the Friday which forever will be feared
the smell of burning flesh is choking me
the Knights Templar are shedding tears

don’t write to me
until I’ll write to you again
lonely sunsets murmur in brown fumes
and in the night before His resurrection
like Mary Magdalene
I’m looking for a tomb

please read my Spillwords Author of the Year (2019) interview here 
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M)

image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]

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My poem “Resurrection Party” published by Voicemail Poems – always open for submissions – Trish Hopkinson

I’m so excited to have another poem published by one of favorites–Voicemail Poems! My poem “Resurrection Party” is included in their Winter 2020 issue, along with some really great recordings by several other poets, including Ariel Francisco, Usman Hameedi, Sarah Matthes, and more.

Resurrection Party” is a poem of recovery. It’s important to me that this personal poem is out in the world. Special thanks to Tinderbox who originally published it in 2017. Many of you know that in 2015 my son (21 at the time) was in a horrible accident in which he was hit on his bicycle by someone in a pickup truck in downtown Salt Lake City. He nearly lost his life. Recovery was difficult, but he made it through and I’m grateful every day that he is still the same amazing, creative person he was before the accident. His personality definitely comes out in this poem.

You can also still listen to past issues, including the one with my poem “Waiting Around” from 2015.

“Voicemail Poems is an online magazine and podcast that highlights the intimate and raw voices of new and established writers of all styles. Poets submit to the magazine by reading their work to a voicemail box. Our favorites are picked seasonally and published on our website ( and our Soundcloud ( We also publish a specially-hosted podcast episode after each issue.”

Click here for submission guidelines.

DEADLINE: Open year-round, rolling issues


FORMAT: online & Soundcloud audio

SUBMISSION METHOD: Call in and record

FORMS: poems


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