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the globe in my pocket

by on Oct 12, 2015

i shall squeeze the globe
tuck it into my pocket

then
like a child
with coins and pebbles
stuffed in the left of his shorts
i shall rub africa against the americas
asia and antarctica and australia

with a rope picked in europe
i shall bind the stones and pebbles
into one whole lump

and when i am done
i shall pull it out
out of my pocket again

and zip it up, the lump
with a glowing holy kiss

 

—
Ehizogie Iyeomoan​ is a Nigerian boy who loves to write poems in lower case letters. His ‘beaded words’ have appeared in many literary journals, anthologies; both print and electronic. His debut poetry collection, Flames of the Forest was published in April 2015 and is available on Amazon. Follow him on Twitter @fulanibuoy.

Sweet Tea

by on Aug 21, 2015

They gave me sweet tea when I was mad,
stirred slowly, steaming hot, handed over
with a clink of spoon on the edge of the
cup, as if to signal, the time had come,

when comfort would be offered, and a
moment of liquid grace, could be taken
down, into the depths of frozen self, as
if, that heat could melt the hardened ice

of fear, so long built up, layer upon layer,
over the years; a crevasse of such great
immensity, that a light dropped, would
disappear from sight, in an instant, long

before it ever reached the bottom, if
indeed, there was a point where it all
ended, and from where an echo would
resound, up, up, up through weeping

cliffs, to signify that there was an end,
and, that sometime, it would all dissolve
into itself, disappearing, deliquescing,
because now the demons had been

consumed and I could once more,
drink deep of tea and of sweetness.

 

—
Roslyn Ross was born in Adelaide, South Australia and has lived around Australia and the world. A journalist/editor by profession, she began writing creatively in her forties and has completed five novels and one work of non-fiction based on her four years in Angola during the civil war. She is currently writing a non-fiction book tracing her Greek great-grandfather, a biography of her mother, and a book on spirituality as well as a sixth novel.

I Planted a Lemon Tree in My Mouth

by on Aug 20, 2015

I dreamed in yellow,
summer blooming behind my teeth
like a thatch of dandelions sprawled
in a pastured field.

I dreamed of sweetness,
a sugary sip, dip of tongue
like a hummingbird, fluttering
from bee balm to cat mint.

Instead, I grew dense, sour words,
too-green lemons still sucking
in their dimpled cheeks. Neither bird,
nor you, came for a taste.

 

—
Tonya Sauer is a geriatric nurse. This year, she has been selected to attend the Kenyon Review Writer’s Workshop. She lives and works in Elgin, Illinois with her husband and their four awesome cats.

red rover

by on Aug 19, 2015

I dare you to

remember the blue
grass our bare
feet that kid
cooler than we’d
ever be parked
in his trans
am still

waiting on
waiting on
the thunder

remember
those sec-
onds stolen
between
the street
lights and
time it’s time
to go it’s
time

to go home

I
dare
you
I
dare
you

send tommy
right over

 

—
Angie Werren lives (and writes) in a tiny house in Ohio. Sometimes she takes pictures of things in the yard.

wilma suddenly

by on Aug 18, 2015

laughs
the knife in her hand
heavy with the memory of
meat

once there was water
once there was sun
she remembers

life
is diving down wanting
to drown but the body betrays
it bursts through forcing you
to unwillingly

breathe

 

—
Angie Werren lives (and writes) in a tiny house in Ohio. Sometimes she takes pictures of things in the yard.

Lines on a Postcard

by on Aug 13, 2015

There is never room enough
For a script so large with
Wanting it can’t collapse
Its cursive waves into the
Reverse of a beach. The margins
Overrun with riptides, scribbled
Conchs or scallops. Jellyfish umbrellas
Sail over consonants struggling to surface.
A delicate hand is required. A heart
That hemorrhages wishes
For your presence.

 

—
Joan Colby has 16 books including Selected Poems, The Wingback Chair, Ah Clio, Properties of Matter and others. She has published in journals such as Poetry, Atlanta Review, etc. and won many awards. Her latest book Ribcage won the 2015 Kithara Book Prize. Her website is joancolby.com

Sanyi

by , on Aug 12, 2015

Sanyi

Na tara hankali
a inuwan muryan ki
Ko zan gane
abun da ya sa
Muryan ki ya fi muryan iskan
damuna sanyi da dadi
A ko yaushe da ya sauka
A cikin zuciya na
Ya na gina aljana
Ko ya aka watsa mun wuta
Ba ya kona ni
Saboda son ki ya daura mun
Zanin ruwan sanyi

—Saddiq Dzukogi

 

Sanyi (translation)

I explore the shadow
of your voice, sift its
shade for meaning
that I might discover
how it is that it surpasses
the cool, sweet voice
of rainy season’s breeze,
how it descends, sinks
into the heart, and there
creates a paradise, a safe
oasis, where sparks that fly
cannot ignite us, fires
cannot consume us, because
your affection cools
and quenches, wraps us in
its protection, cloaks us
in fine fabric drenched
with cool, sweet water.

—trans., Laura M Kaminski

///

Notes on translation:
This is the first poem by another poet that I have translated from Hausa to English; prior to this, I have only translated my own. It was a struggle at first to find the way to carry the sense of relief and renewal that “sanyi” — “cold” — conveys in Hausa, because in English the idea of a person or heart being “cool” or “cold” implies something else entirely, an aloofness rather than refreshment. I hadn’t given much thought to how a word might differ so between tropical and temperate climates before engaging with this poem.

I was able to find my way when it finally occurred to me to double-translate “aljana” — to translate the word as “paradise” and then add the additional phrase “a safe oasis” to bring the remaining connotations along into the translated version. I then went back through and added phrases in a few other places to pick up the rest of the implied meaning that the direct word-for-word translation left behind, until I felt the sense of the poem was as complete in the English as in the original.

When I sent the translation to Saddiq, his response was: you captured even the dew on the grass of this poem. I hope so; a poem this beautiful should not be stripped of its dew — it must be brought in its entirety, or not at all.

 

—
Saddiq Dzukogi is a Nigerian poet and the author of three poetry collections in English. He is also Poetry Editor for the online journal Expound. This is the first poem he wrote in Hausa, and he will be writing more.

Laura M Kaminski grew up in Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives in rural Missouri. She is an Associate Editor at Right Hand Pointing. More about her poetry is available at The Ark of Identity.

Unmusically

by on Aug 11, 2015

You ask me
to write about
you – a sonnet
or two;

I ask you
to encore me
alive – a bard
anew;

You say: I
soul you, seal
us – a lyrical
duel.

I offer you
a note, syncing
apiece – melody
mute.

You take me
tuned, to key
a story – frayed
loops.

 

—
Sheikha A. is the author of a short poetry collection titled Spaced (Hammer and Anvil Books, 2013), available on Kindle. Her poems have been published in numerous zines/anthologies, the track of which is kept on her blog Write Me, Saudade. She edits poetry for eFiction India.

Lime Light

by on Aug 10, 2015

Lime Light

 

Lime be your light,
bright citrus bite,
sans sallow,
sans shallow,
deep echo hush.
Light hissing and molten,
bliss to an albatross wing,
and sky kissed spring
on a rejoice for green.

 

—
Marilyn ‘Misky’ Braendeholm lives in the UK surrounded by flowers, grapevines, bubbling pots of sourdough starter, and always keeps dog biscuits in her pocket for her blind Springer Spaniel. She never buys clothing without pockets.