WAR WORDS

By: myTh the Poet

Arm The Arsenal

If my pen is mightier than the sword
Then I shall be a mighty creature in folklore.
Serving hoards from moors,
Disarming them without chain-metal and gore.

***

Chain Reaction

I tread in the vacant and remote.
I’ll descend through the depths of hell,
Patient yet betrothed.
Given a reason to compel.
Proverbial, I’m not the sacrificial
Lamb or goat.
Paddling in the moat, nervously peddling.
Hoping the creatures won’t swallow me whole.
Wallow and gloat, calm at the surface
But purposely churning steadily.
Like a Memphis duck, stuck in a shooting gallery
No rubber duds, when adversity wishes to scuffle it with me.
It is what it is, if the ends justify the means.
Then I’m ready with certainty.
I rather die trying, enduring incredibly.
Than retire, allowing what I desire –
Slip by, with regret
Embedded in memory.

***

The Mushroom Cloud
A featured presentation, the main event.
Essays on a philosophy, contradicting in nature.
You say you support me, but you wish for me to wait more.
Now the time has come: progress has finally come!
Your stake – go for it with a calculated equation
Be weary of your travels toward destination
That seems cowardly and evasive.
Persuasive, inherently my poetry can’t be invasive
Capturing mind, body and soul
Like this is a pipe dream and I should resort to packing skoal.
It’s no illusion or delusion
Prose flows through me, like it’s a transfusion.

***

The Aftermath

Live by the gun
Die by the bullet
Which figure’s ring finger rests on the trigger, eager to pull it.
Living by the scimitar’s blade
Dangling overhead, over the neck
Flipping spades like it’s a charade,
Russian Roulette.
I scrape the razor’s edge
Shave the narrow ledge.
Digging as a far as any drill can dredge.
Tip-toe the serrated haemorrhage
The frontier you fear
Trembling to be the pioneer.
The biggest figure is the one who can outlast.
Circumstances’ contingency plans.
It’s not a gauntlet or a massacre.
You can’t flaunt it like macabre.
A man unleashes his vaunted monster
To thwart phobia from stepping off the pier.
Peering from inward toward out,
A man versus himself, the ultimate profound bout.
Entrenched in the ground, with a posture stout.
Tremors and fright, will not be the surrender and plight
If I perish, may it be I challenged these harriers tonight!

***

The Fallout

Poetry flows free like water from a faucet,
You cannot order nor force it.
If so, these tenants erode caustic.
The ability comes naturally
No predetermined prerequisite required
Harness your heart, soul, energy and effort perspired.

***

TIME

By: Amanda Hein

 

Thousands and thousands of books.
Hundreds and hundreds of stories.
Centuries, decades and years,
Cities, maps and streets.
Mothers and children,
Dates and graves.
Names, ink,
Time.

Time.
Ink, screens,
Graves and photos.
Children and television,
Streets, satellites, and google.
Years, minutes and ancestry.com.
Hundreds and hundreds of timelines.
Thousands and thousands of data.

THE BLINDEST FLAME

By: Lorenzo Curti

 

The blindest flame
of a gaze
slowly ransacks through the grey
buildings

some children mimic the trembling shadows
of the street lamps – switched on right before the sunset –
laughing and bringing talismans

in their hands

the edges of the day
bend around the corners
of the grey palaces
and there’s a quiver that forces us
to sing and to stamp our feet upon the ground

a quiver that makes us mutate our skin
like snakes

the asphalt’s noise is the mirror
of the raindrops
and a ferocious humankind
without time and evergreen
is the drizzling laceration
the cut
that spreads from electricity’s cracks

you can bring me all the gifts you want
but they’ll be thorns
on the threshold between my body and yours
and I’ll always be in that instant before
on my knees along the Thames
with deformed flesh as in a Bacon painting

– eventually empty

OUTSIDER

Poem + Photo By: LaAerial

in a corner

out of sight

eyes wide open

fear of flight

she holds her breath

and waits in vain

for someone else

to know her name

all seems lost

as time suspends

until she hears

a voice within

act this moment

wait no longer

what you’ve been through

made you stronger

you’re a nova

built to shine

don’t dim your light

don’t hide behind

fears of your mother,

your sister nor your brother

inaction is your only doom

so be as bright as the moon

take charge of the night

you may feel out of place

but all is well

all is right

***

A proud foodie, LaAerial, is also a poet, singer/songwriter, and a wellLaAerial rounded creative with experience in film/video production, editing, and audio production. Coming all the way from the U.S.A., she has traveled extensively with a keen interest in seeing even more of the world and engaging in all forms of art, in particular, screenwriting, acting, and photography. aglorifiedvagabond.tumblr.com

FREE DIVING

By: Gillian Horsley

 

Marionettes of shadow and light
from which a single string hangs;
a rope that guides my tactile sight,
hunger for adventure pangs.

Another world on Earth
in blurry tech-ni-colour;
my underwater birth,
light fades, colour becomes duller.

A crux to rely on vision,
a species designed with precision;
more natural than most kin will know.
Weightless in this alien time zone.

My heart, beats, slow
breath abated.
For eternity,
I’d happily waited.

A silver-blue blanket above
the sky is open, the sea transparent.
I am found, I am in love,
Meditation complete and apparent.

Gasping strong with a clear mind
pressure restored, recovery brief.
That other world left behind,
eyes open in disbelief.

HELLISH DELIGHT

By: Hammama Issa

 

Every morning after breakfast you always savoured your coffee,

One cup was all you needed to see you through the day,

‘You shouldn’t be out alone,’ I heard,

A dark, murky lake outstretched before me – still and lifeless,

The faint cigarette smell that lingered on your clothes,

Faint boomerang scars littered my pale arms,

Large trees stood hunched over in defiance,

You held my hands through the busy market streets,

As darkness loomed closer and the night grew older,

That throaty laugh and toothless smile,

Numbness stalks up the trail of my spine,

Eighty years young with a twelve-year-old mind,

A faint chuckle echoes throughout yet I know I’m alone,

Al Jazeera in the background ‘Subhan’Allah ála dunya’,

Bitter tears drowning my face,

Homemade lamb tagine and flatbread was your favourite,

I’m close to the end.

‘Let me see your smile,’ you say,

A pungent, ripe vinegar smell surrounds,

Lost in the moment –

Curling up in a nearby space I waited.

SOCIAL BEINGS

By: Sagal Haji

 

They say that humans are social beings

But I can’t seem to conceptualise

The way we have to socialise

Vain talk and vapidity

Are thrust upon us

As if it isn’t toxic

To our hearts

Our minds

Searching for authenticity

In world filled with dishonesty

 

 

I feel out of place

 

 

I feel alien

Like a lion in the ocean

I look to the clones around me

Engaging in idle talk

Superficiality breeds

Into a collective consciousness

That is London

A city filled with dreams and hopes

That can only satisfy

Shallow beings

Social beings

THE MAN BENEATH THE BRIDGE

By: Abbie Dunn

 

There is a man who lives beneath a grey, decaying bridge.

Of all the days I passed beneath this bridge, always in a rush,

I had not once thought to take notice of him.

Until one day, when the man beneath the bridge was gone.

 

I recall walking at my usual impatient pace,

Fumbling around in my bag for my Oyster Card,

I noticed the stained duvet that had sheltered him was now abandoned,

His bag containing all that he owned in the world, forgotten.

 

There was suddenly a void,

An indescribable emptiness that filled the dank space beneath that bridge.

My thoughts became clouded with concern,

Every day I hoped for his return, unable to distract myself from thoughts of him.

 

There was a man who lived beneath a grey and decaying bridge.

Isolated and forgotten by our ignorant and fast paced society.

As though it were an effigy, his belongings still lie in a heap,

Reminding us that this was his refuge, the place where he was not so out of place.

WOMAN OF DUST

By Yasmin Rahim

Gathering along the sill
At dusk
Collecting
Like fibres of dust
Falling, floating silently
My figure wrapped
In a blanket
Of dust
My being comes and goes
Swells and disperses
Swept away, by a soft blow
Like dust
The city is roaring
Outside my window
Yet I am here
Aggravating dust
Silent,
Like the arrival of dusk
I am made of
Dust