Mon coeur a mal,


Que de larmes insipides de douleur contenues

Que de haine que de guerre que de luttes intestines

Que de violence que de diatribes que de traîtrises

Dans cette contrée qui fut le grenier de Rome

Dans cette contrée de preux chevaliers

Savamment juchés sur leur selles: ils galopaient les cheveux au vent, libres!

Des vignes à perte de vue

Du blé à profusion

Des cimes enneigées touchant les cieux

Ô toi pays des preux chevaliers

Jadis grenier de Rome....

Je te pleure de mes larmes pourpres

Du sang de ceux qui on tout sacrifié pour toi

Qu'es tu devenu?

Mon cœur sanguinolent de voir tes peuples disloquées

Jadis unis par ta force, ton union, ta grandeur

De complots en conspirations

De mutineries en guerres fratricides

J'ai mal pour toi pour eux pour nous

J'ai mal pour toi pour eux pour nous

Je contemple leur œuvre destructrice

Ils ont semé le chaos

T'oublier c'est te trahir une seconde fois

Et cela je ne le puis pas même contrainte à mourir

T'oublier papa c'est tuer en toi le Héros révolutionnaire que tu fus

Qu'ils ont tenté tant de fois de tuer, annihiler, obérer, effacer

T'oublier papa c'est trahir le serment fait à tes compagnons d'armes pour que vivent les idéaux de liberté, fraternité, solidarité, justice et de Paix pour lesquels tu t'es battu jusqu'au bout inéxorablement

Jamais je ne te trahirai ni toi ni le serment que tu a fait à ta patrie

Ô toi le Glorieux et à tous ceux qui se sont sacrifiés 


 Kerkeb Testa, Nova 




Kerkeb Testa, Nova (Algérie/France) Nova Kerkeb Testa est née à Alger et a débuté l'écriture à l'âge de 7 ans, âge durant lequel elle écrit ses premières poésies. Elle a participé à des publications de documentaires à caractère économique. Elle est également co-auteure et comédienne d'une mini-série humoristique.


Elle a publié In souffrances tues aux Éditions Edilivre à Paris en 2015.




White Birds and Epsilons


The white birds silhouette the sky once more

each Spring a reassuring Nimbin return,

soaring to and from their secret cave

deep below the sacred rocks.


The philosophers no longer stir

the old graves serene,

troubled searching souls are now at peace

every searing question silenced

drowned out by the silent roar of smart phones.


The dumbed-down shuffle forth

heads bowed in techno-obedience

texting within a solipsistic nightmare,

techno-bondage with invisible constraints

from which there is no possible escape.


Huxley’s Epsilons shuffle in single file

each connected to mind-control-central.

Dame Gorgon Google the keeper of all information

has become the dominatrix of perception,

the whore of spiritual disintegration.


New shiny micro-towers litter the verdant hills

terrifying the old guard with invisible rays,

enraging even wise old Nyimbunji. (1)

Thousands upon thousands of Epsilons drifting,

shuffling past the peeling painted facades,

none shift their gaze from the smart phone screen.

Oblivious to the blueness of the pure sky dome above,

Oblivious to the wise white birds soaring,

Oblivious to the answers they carry.



(1) – Nyimbunji in Bundjalung - “little spirit man with great supernatural powers, he is powerful, wise, generous and kind.”


Rob Harle



Harle, Rob (Australia) Rob Harle is a writer, poet, artist and reviewer. His work is published in journals, anthologies, online, and in books. He is on the editorial board of a number of international art and literary journals. 



Once there was a secret relation

between the words

"Love" and "Tears".

But now both of them

are their most distant neighbours.





Roni Adhikari was born in 1977 in Bangladesh.

He is a Bengali poet and writer.




C'est le vent qui souffle

là où il veut

il souffle des silences

parmi les bruits

et l'indigence

il souffle à travers

les jours de pluie

et l'abondance


toujours il souffle

sur les peines

comme sur les joies

dans la tourmente

comme dans la paix


sans relâche il souffle

des mots d'amour

échoués sur l'horizon




* * * *


Huguette Bertrand


Trois-Rivières,  Qc, Canada


Bertrand, Huguette (Canada) Née au Québec, Canada, Huguette Bertrand a publié 33 ouvrages de poésie dont six (6) ouvrages en collaboration avec des artistes en art visuel et photographie. De nombreux textes ont également paru dans des revues au Québec, en Belgique, en France, aux U.S.A, au Pays de Galles et en Roumanie, de même dans des revues en ligne. Certains poèmes ont été traduits en arabe, en italien,  en roumain et en coréen.



qu'on se taise
et qu'on jette nos mots 
au mélange congruent
des mers

leurre aux poissons
sages, nos mots
le geste des vagues
dans le calme inespéré 
des tempêtes 





Podnar, Elis (Canada) Photographe et écrivaine, Elis Podnar est née en Roumanie en 1973. Depuis 2002 elle habite à Toronto, Canada. Elle écrit des poèmes surtout en français, anglais et roumain. Sa photographie s’inspire de la nature ou de l’espace citadin, en cherchant à enrichir le sens des formes et de la lumière. 




Cradled in the warmth of the foliage,

Amidst the flickering shadows of dusk,

lies the majestic creation of God;

so dauntless, so intrepid and old.

The dazzling yellow streaks of the sun,

scorch his skin with its imprint so bold.

The pale midnight sky lends its

colour to the rest of him like black garlands.



Its lethal incisors like the stalactites,

combined with the force of its legs hind,

catch its prey with a certainty,

that is already predestined.

Its eyes can breathe terror

into a frozen icicle,

smooth as a blade of grass.

The fierce steady gaze,

leaves the heart pulsating.

What a flawless handiwork of the Almighty!

Stealthily, it is hunted down

for its fur by merciless poachers,

What an ignominious plight!


What an appalling sight!




 Dharni, Vandita (India) Vandita Liddle Dharni is from a family of eminent educationists. She has a doctorate degree in Literature. She has published Quintessential Outpourings, oct. 2016, and has written several articles that have been published in various national and international journals.





The Summit Of Mount Everest



A land of snowy clouds

Your silence limned

Like a remote mountain village

In my memory…

A thousand fables sleeping

Till now… a maiden foggy blue

Cascading grey forests

From where she came.

Somewhere the insurmountable…

Subsumed. Peripheryless…

Burnt white. Arcane white.

The ocean of heights

Weltering about… around her.

The absolute magnitude

The light span of

Million million light years

Born here with her.

Frozen, cohered like little

Buds of an orange tree

Efflorescing in white death

After sudden coming of a winter.


In its veins

Life flows parallel as ever

As ever it is…


A deathless stream.


Niladri Mahajan


Mahajan, Niladri (India) Niladri Mahajan is an award winning poet and a computational biologist, lives in Kolkata, India with his mother. He is also a painter and musician with a strong inclination towards cinema and photography. In his past time he practices as a counseling psychologist. 




Snapshots of Mumbai


Across the vehicle-driven street

this working Friday, before mid-day

the dull and grey high-rise of glass

and concrete, the stucco façade dotted

with red and yellow and brown stains.


On the parallel sixth-floor, kept the histories

Of a middle-class Indian family:

a potted palm, few flower plants

while, on another adjacent, a tricycle, few empty pans,

old toys, plastic bags, thermocol sheets

crowding that narrow space,

almost gasping for breath

and above the domestic clutter,

the urban laundry to dry up

on the clothes-lines, as a trophy---

inner wear, maxi- gowns and a towel.


All the tinted window-glasses

secure and shuttered up, denying

the playful March wind entry into

the dark interiors.


The only intruders, outside

from the smoggy skies, having free run of the pricey property---

the pigeons landing on the awnings

with heavy thuds, constant hip-hop by red feet. The metallic sounds drowning

in the combo of the staccato barks of strays and mad horns


of a megacity, creating dissonance of high-decibels,

everyone, in a tearing hurry

to reach somewhere, some  place…to belong.


---Sunil Sharma


Sharma, Sunil (India) Mumbai-based, Sunil Sharma is a widely-published Indian writer with 14 books published. He is a recipient of the UKbased Destiny Poets’ inaugural poet of the year award 2012. 




Atop the Terebinth Tree


The blackbird sat

atop the terebinth tree

a full afternoon moon

as backdrop

its song as sweet

as the cherries

on the tree beneath it


The next day its body lay

at the foot of the terebinth

perfectly black

the cats

hadn’t even touched it


Lucky bird

a song its last breath

unaware, unafraid

of death



© 5.2017 Helen Bar-Lev


Helen Bar-Lev was born in New York in 1942. She holds a B.A. in Anthropology, has lived in Israel for 46 years and has had over 90 exhibitions of her landscape paintings, 34 of which were one-woman shows.  Her poems and artwork have appeared in numerous online and print anthologies.  Six poetry collections, all illustrated by Helen.  She is the Amy Kitchener senior poet laureate.  Helen was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2013 and is the recipient of the Homer European Medal for Poetry and Art.  Helen is Assistant to the President of Voices Israel. She lives in MetullaIsrael  



La Rosa del Deserto















Il vento del deserto è il sospiro bianco

Le passeggiate eterne nel sogno

Il canto del deserto è la sete del cuore

con tutta l’anima tesso i versi

cerco la risposta fra le stelle

un fascio di luce che mi avvolge

un pensiero per te che fiorisce alla fine del viaggio

La rosa del deserto


Junko Mukai


Japanese painter/watercolorist.


Member of the Florentine poetry association “Sguardo e Sogno”.


Poem  -  Seek inside


Life chose to open its mouth

And its heart

To offer to me, a bit of its mystery!

Life walked over to me

In the guise of a being of light

And placed, in my hands

A book, which is believed

To contain that for which thirsts my soul!

Life then went back to its routine self

Revolving on its own uncertainty

And bidding me to tread on my path!

Now, though, I open the book of life

And swallow in its words, in many gulps!

Yet, I found no answer to my quests

I got no enlightening on that which troubled my soul!

Fed up and dejected

I chose to no more walk my path

Why, I would sit, there, on a mountain side

And play, on the guitar of my heart

Sad and melancholic tunes!

Why, as I played, I heard the winds whisper to me

The whisperings were then echoed on the mountain’s cliffs

Pray, life opened up itself, they said

And you were marveled by what lay inside of it!

Similarly, seek inside yourself

You shall find answers!

Why, I realized then, that my existence does be

Because of a consciousness, impregnated in me

I chose to water it with the words of the book of life


For, only by following its pulls, shall I find meaning to my quests!


Anoucheka Gangabissoon


Gangabissoon, Anoucheka (Mauritius) Anoucheka Gangabissoon is a Primary School Educator in Mauritius. She writes poetry and short stories as hobby. She considers writing to be more than a passion as she wants to live forever through her words throughout the ages. 



O cute kitten!
Your manila envelope-coloured coat
is velvet soft, unique,
As your innocent blue eyes meet mine
and your small paws rest on my hand,
instantly I can feel  the intensity
of some light divine

You and I –
both parts of Creation,
Cut from the same unifying thread,
Sculpted, molded
by the same artist, immortal hand
surely, we have some deep connection


O cute kitten!
My soul does feel, knows
that you and I
have distinct roles, functions
but yet we are meant to live
in perfect harmony on Planet Earth
and sing the song of equilibrium

O Cute kitten!
I promise you
never will I hurt you,
never will I ignore you,
I will always protect you.

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Radhakeesoon, Vatsala (Mauritius) Vatsala Radhakeesoon is a published Mauritian author/poet. She writes poems and short stories for adults and children. Her works mainly center on emotional issues, social facts, historical facts, spiritual quest and childhood innocence. 


L’aube et l’écho talisman


L’aube sera-t-elle permanente au Paradis ?

Là, l’imaginer avec le ruisseau, tels qu’ils ont existé sur terre.

Pendant ce temps, un goéland triste

est en pleine confidence avec elle.

Pendant que le poète pose la main sur elle.

J’aime imaginer une montagne transparente

au lever du jour.

Dans une contrée sauvage,

où l’obscurité est vieillotte,

le fardeau de la vérité

est trop lourd sur ses épaules.

il en sait alors plus long sur la vérité,

sur la mienne, que diable !

Je me souviendrais toujours

de mes conversations intimes avec lui.

Tiens, cet écho étranger, métèque,

est sans papiers.

Parfois, pour l’atteindre

il faut des échafaudages en règle.

Il a aussi ses lourds préjugés.

Il lui arrive parfois de dire bonjour

à de gentils bergers.

Et même de sentir le cumin.

Don Quichotte allait à la conquête militaire des moulins à vent,

et ce poète fantasque va à  la conquête de fous échos.


Benjelloun Abdelmajid 


 Benjelloun, Abdelmajid (Maroc) Abdelmajid Benjelloun est né le 17 novembre 1944, à Fès (Maroc), il est Professeur d’Université à la retraite. Il est l’auteur de plus de 200 livres dans les domaines de la poésie, de l’aphorisme poétique, du roman, de l’histoire et de l’essai, dont notamment Mama ; L’éternité ne penche que du côté de l’amour… et Rûmi ou une saveur à sauver du savoir. Est peintre. ex-Président du Centre marocain de Pen International-Londres de 2009 à 2013.






The days are the victims of fate

As euphoria of the “Change” we loved much

Is laid to the cemetery of the nation’s hope

Hanging on the neck of the engulfing silence…


And this silence is the panting of the market women

Gasping for life under the smiling sun,

But only to watch the dancing foots

And the echoing voices of the dead market.


This silence is the drowning tears of Work-Ass

Whose rights are right in their naked eyes

Buried in the ground of deceit and lies

And only to live in borrowed breath – breads.


The silence is the weeping of little children

Craving for happiness in the public streets

Blackened with dust of their daily toil for peanut

But are being rejected to dance to songs of penury


This silence is the agonizing agony of the aged parents

Whose fruits were plunged away unripe

Into the deadly desert of drowning destiny

Left to ponder in the desert of doubts…


This silence is SILENCE

The songs of mocking birds


S – Success

I – In

L – Life

E – Emerged

N – Not with

C – Changes a day; so

E – Endure.


And this silence is a war

In-between Life and Death….


© Copyright Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon


TGO – 2016.


Olajuwon, Timileyin Gabriel (Nigeria) Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon is a Nigerian, a poet and a literary critic. He is an international multi-award winner. Most of his works have been featured in series of international anthologies and journals. He is the brain behind Muse for World Peace Anthology (an anthology of contemporary poets propagating peace), and a published author with his first book entitled Call for retreat, 2013








시간을 잃기 위하여            



그 때 그들은 얼마나 순진했던가.

잃어 버린 시간을 찾아

기억의 숲을 헤매고

머무르고 싶었던 순간을

백지 위에 펜으로 잡아 매던



이제 똑똑한 우리들은

시간을 잃기에 바쁘다.


빨리 빨리 먹고

빨리 빨리 쓰고

빨리 빨리 시간이

가기를 기다린다.


살아 있는 것들은

빨리 빨리 살고

죽어 가는 것들은

빨리 빨리 죽고

모든 것들은 빨리 빨리

망각의 벼랑으로

신속히 내몰아,


우리 뒤에 남는 것은

고속도로 위에

검은 타이어가 벗겨지며 그어 놓은

무서운 속도의 자국들.


(2013 6 15)






How innocent they were

wandering in the forest of memory

in search of times lost;

tying down moments   

on paper with a pen . . .


Now we, who are too smart,

can hardly wait a moment

to lose time

as quickly as we possibly can.


Eat fast and faster still,

spend fast and faster still,

we cannot wait for time to go

fast enough.


All those living live fast

all those dying die fast

and all should be pushed off

the cliffs of oblivion

fast and faster still.


What remains after us

are the black skid marks

of tires peeled against

the walls of the freeway--

signs of terrifying speed.



June 15, 2013

 Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards


(Translation by the author)


Richards, Kyung-Nyun (U.S.A./ S-Korea) Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards is a poet, essayist, and award-winning translator of Korean literature. Bilingual and biliterate in both Korean and English, she writes in both languages. Her publications include four volumes of translations and two collections of original poems

 [Original poem in Korean]



사랑의 빛




하늘은 높다.

이보다  높은 것은



바다는 넓다.

이보다  넓은 것은



이보다  높고

이보다  넓은 것은

당신 마음속에 있는 빛뿐.


빛이 빛나지 않으면 빛이 아니다.

 세상을 비추고도

남을 만한  사랑의 .





[English translation]





High is the sky.

Could there be anything



Wide is the sea.

Could there be anything



That which is higher

and that which is wider

is the light in your heart.


Light is not light if it fails to illumine.

The light of great love is vast

enough to illumine the world and more.





(Translation by Eunhwa Choe)


      Yoon-Ho Cho


Cho, Yoon-Ho (U..S.A./S-Korea) Yoon-Ho Cho is a poet and publisher/editor of Korean Expatriate Literature.


His publications include two books of poems in English/Korean bilingual form.


The Love of An Apple Tree and The River Empties Its Heart.


He has received many honors including the Literary Award from the Korean-American Poets Association in 2012. 










































Paper plane


Disruptive airflow

The pressure is always tamed under the guidance of the buoyancy

From the moment of being thrown

Like the knight who is good at riding

Willfully flying in the air without the slightest care

Pale face

My figure seems extremely weak

I'm bowing up the body

Tenacious to greet strong winds

Still so I soar


The fold line and the bamboo frame are staggered

The body is blown up

Like a frog Inhale desperately

I'm totally addicted to classical romanticism


Flying over the head of the crowd

Absorbed a bunch of screaming sounds

Even without knowing the purpose of

Even if you do not know when to land

Still so I boarded high


With a little regret

Forget to take the blessings of the children

As my figure constantly swirled in decline

I tried to avoid the butterfly around the flowers

Before the dews on the grass soaked my wings

There will always be a pair of small hands

Come to catch my falling body

When the laughter again filled the entire valley

That the wind is bound to

Blow me high and high again


About the author



Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai(蔡澤民博士) was born in Taiwan(Republic of China), in 1957. He specializes in singing the poetry of nature. He is an associate professor in the university and has carried out a number of educational studies about the development of writing materials in his country.


Transcending Definitions



Art is not an institution…

it is an inner fire

born out of those

whose eyes pierce deeply

into hidden burning beauty.


Art is not a class taught by Academia…

it is a holy vibration

pulsing through the veins

of those who sense the truth

of this world’s perfect purity.


Art is not a transaction…

it is a soulful expression

that has no choice

but to be released

as a reflection of the Source.


Art is not a sales pitch…

it is an intense emotion

coupled with a vision

of crystalline transcendence

that ruptures open new dimensions.


Art is not yet ready for the grave…

it is a raging protest

against the mortal flesh

that sings the sweetest melody

about overcoming life’s suffering.


 Scott Thomas Outlar


Outlar, Scott Thomas (U.S.A. ) Scott Thomas Outlar has published A Black Wave Cometh, Dink Press, 2015 and Songs of A Dissident, Transcendent Zero Press, 2015. A full length poetry collection Happy Hour Hallelujah is forthcoming in 2016 through Creative Talents Unleashed. He has had more than 700 poems published in over 160 print and/or online literary venues, along with dozens of essays, articles, and short stories.





  I want to learn to live before I die

To glimpse the light that makes my vision clear

To see the truth that lies within the lie.


  I freely put the questions ‘how?’ and ‘why?’

And seek the face unknown in darkest fear.

I want to learn to live before I die.


  The days and years stream swiftly swiftly by

In shimmering illusions cherished dear

Despite the truth that lies within the lie.


  I found my hand in yours, so you and I

Gave each our vows, impassioned, young, sincere.

I want to learn to live before I die.


  The teachers teach, the prophets prophesy

But miss the mystic rhythms of the sphere

Nor see the truth that lies within the lie;


  Pure-hearted self; I sense a higher cry

To never leave the far yet love the near.

I want to learn to live before I die

To see the truth that lies within the lie.




~ Harley White


 White, Harley (Spain/ U.S.A.) Harley White is a born word-lover and has written works dealing in fairy tales, musical theater, many genres of poetry, and awakenings, as well as a book titled The Autobiography of a Granada Cat – As told to Harley White. For many years, she has been a follower of the Buddhism of Nichiren Daishonin and its practice of Nam Myoho Renge Kyo.




Oh, Mistress Dickinson, why not peonies?

[Emily Dickinson in italics] 


living simply


washed by sun showers faith

at the start

pretty rain from those sweet eaves 


opened by the wind 


buried and recovered longing 

to please 

pray gather me, anemone 


the ground flooded 


bent and broken  

in her garden

but not found in her verse 


in her poems


abound, bud, bloom, and burst

but not this one … perhaps,


not with a club, the Heart is broken


Neal Whitman 


Neal Whitman lives in Pacific Grove, California, with his wife, Elaine, where his poetry and her photography are inspired by walking on the Monterey Bay recreation trail. Neal attended college at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst (Class of 1969), where he often walked by the Dickinson home, The Homestead, then in private hands. Now it is a historic museum that welcomes visitors from all over the world.