Ahmad Al-Khatat writes

Death Ash

(A poem to Guatemala victims of the volcano)

I can not forget her watery eyes

When a Guatemalan woman was

About to cry feeling miserable

Like the melting fire on the edge

Of volcano on a sunday morning

Lower middle class families

Faced death ash and not his

Funeral as if sunday prayers

Were not presented to God

therefore, the devil won again

Uncooked food untouched

Was on the broken table

No joys nor beauty but the

Fragrance of dead souls

Of young to old ages

Toys were abandoned

No more kids laughters

Blue skies were odd

As if the sun burst

The clouds into flames

 

The birds call names, the

Rivers seek barefoots, the

seeds ask the dry leaves

For a few drops of water

From the cut branches

A few survived the volcano

They felt as they were in a

Different village and not their

Own and cried for finding only

Ashes and not recognizing them

 Fuego Volcano -- neritron

Dave Norris shoots

Chiang Mai Flower Festival

 

Anahit Arustamyan writes

THE RED POPPIES AND THE MAD WIND

Red poppies! Look at me with your ruby eyes! The sheet under your feet is a stretched emerald. My fair tales are being told by your scarlet tongues. Are your lips being washed by the reddest wine? The pearls seem to have melted in your silky hearts.Were the pearls your hopes in the faded buds? Red poppies! This wind is homeless blowing in your yard. Red poppies! This wind is mad. It has lost its love. The red wine poured all over your cheeks may haunt your smile.The wind has a dry throat so it will cough and cough.

--ConsistentHypocrite

Joy V. Sheridan writes

The Soldier Prince

My heart went out to the soldier prince –
How could anyone not love and cherish him?
For he has known sorrow to the zenith degree.

The wicked arrow of fate robbed him
Of who was too precious to lose,
But in his mother’s eyes, beautiful as they were
Was the conviction that
She would be ever near
To her younger son, the dear.

In remotest dominion,
The prince sought to leave his mark
Through ice, snow, sleet and rain –
He beat back the caustic acidity of wind
From pole to pole,
To savannah and jungle
And ploughed a caring way
In his heart, in his mind.

The memory and knowledge
Of the physical absent one –
One who had vowed
To be permanently close
Was in his dealing
With near-lost tribes.

Though the heat was soaring,
The mosquitoes and thick shroud
He sought his way in his mind.

There were two tours of duty
And the sad aftermath
Of military death and injury –
Long live the brave – who, in uniform or out
Protect our verdant lands!

Long live those who, in peril,
Receive such terrible physical
Moral and psychological injuries!

But our prince would not let
The sun go down too easily

Invicta games into play
And with custodians of valour consumed
With a drink, shared in solace,
Past knowledge –
And to a toast with a comrade
The soldier prince quaffed his fill
And watched the day fit dawn
In a silent hymn
Of praise and relief

--  Hagen Hopkins