1.       Canada

2.       China

3.       Croatia

4.       India

5.       Mauritius

6.       Montenegro

7.       New Zealand

8.       North Macedonia

9.       Oman

10.   Pakistan

11.   Poland

12.   Serbia

13.   Tajikistan

14.   USA

15   Vietnam

 

 

D'HIER À DEMAIN

 

A cause d'une lente noirceur

imprégnée sur vos corps assoupis

j'ai dû veiller au bord de la page

surveillant un peuple d'images qui louvoyait

entre les mots et les cachots

là où le rouge ronge le noir

barbouille les mémoires

d'instants inédits

 

quel étrange bonheur

lorsque hier une pluie de paroles déferlait

sur vos silences d'autrefois

dilatant les muscles de vos consciences rugueuses

jusqu'aux frontières de vos souvenirs

 

imaginez demain

quand il faudra balayer les feuilles mortes

et les cendres des promeneurs en allés

vous chercherez ensuite les mots d'argile

à peindre sur la liberté de l'autre

incitant la flamme de vos bras nus

à reprendre le poème entamé la veille

 

 

Huguette Bertrand (Canada)

 

 

Huguette Bertrand est une poète et éditrice Canadienne. Elle a publié 39 ouvrages de poésie dont plusieurs ouvrages en collaboration avec des artistes. Ses poèmes ont paru dans des revues et des anthologies internationales imprimées et en ligne, traduits en plusieurs langues.

 

Xu Chunfang

 

[中国]徐春芳

战争叙事学

 

此刻，天空开始默哀

铁鸟在集结，在用死亡狠啄：

鲜血，伤口，仇恨的目光

——那些撒旦的战利品

 

蝙蝠侠的铁拳，能对抗谁？

蜘蛛侠的超能力，能赢得什么？

 

我祈祷枪口上长出花朵

我祈祷原野里吹满春风

江山用铁骑和眼泪打出草稿

脚下的枯骨，说着征服的幸福

 

站在地狱门口，但丁说，

铁链绝对不是爱的项链

炮火绝对不是人间的烟火

 

 

 

[China] Xu Chunfang

A War Narrative

 

At this moment, the sky is mourning

Where the iron birds gather and afflict the earth with deadly pecks:

There is blood, wound and looks of woe

--the spoils of war that go to Satan.

 

Who is the knuckled fist of the Batman pummeling?

What is the Spider-man harvesting with his super natural prowess?

 

I pray that lovely flowers were spat from the muzzle of gun

I pray spring wind kissed all the fields under the sun

Tears and iron hooves had drafted all nations’ landscape

Where the dry bones underfoot silently testify the “blessings” of conquests

 

By the Gate of Inferno, Dante once uttered his sagacious words--

Iron chains would never change into necklace of love

Nor cannon fire be mistaken to cozy cooking smoke of this world

 

 (Translated by Wu Chunxiao)

 

 

作者简介：

徐春芳，中国当代著名诗人。1976年出生于安徽望江县农村。现为中国作家协会、中国诗歌学会会员。已出版诗集《颂歌》《雅歌》《江南》《徐春芳诗选》（中英对照），散文集《风从故乡来》。部分作品被翻译成英语、意大利语、希腊语、阿拉伯语、罗马尼亚语、尼泊尔语、日语、塞尔维亚语、波兰语等多种文字。

 

 

About the author:

 

Xu Chunfang, a famous contemporary Chinese poet, was born in the countryside of Wangjiang County, Anhui Province in 1976. He is member of China Writers Association and the Poetry Institute of China. He has published many poetry anthologies, such as Ode, Elegy, Jiangnan, Selected Poems of XU Chunfang (Chinese and English edition), and prose anthologies Wind from Hometown. Some of his works have been translated into English, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Romanian, Nepalese, Japanese, Serbian, Polish and other languages. 

Wang Qiong Ying

 

A new starting point

 

Back to the beginning

We are all strangers.

You walked by me.

Not a word was left.

I left in a hurry

In the city, in the wilderness, in the desert.

In the hills, in the jungle.

 

Among the reinforced concrete buildings

We keep our distance.

Get along in silence

 

Maybe across the coast.

Maybe across the street.

Maybe it's just a door.

We looked at each other in silence.

Staring at each other in silence.

From here to there.

 

 Wang Qiongying  

 

 Wang Qiongying  has published many long novels, essays and essays on various literary networks. He was an editor of Xinmin Evening News and then turned into a business critic.

 

 

 

 BEFORE THE BOOK

 

 

Before the Book a snake shed its skin

and the tree grew fat. Its crown unhooked

its bra not asking itself how St. Leonard

will react while stretching towards the sun

from the fresco in a forest chapel.

Waters should have been brought in, hoses set up

into the waterfall, before the Book.

The river raised the ravine and all the way to its estuary,

before the Book, she drilled its character.

And the ravine tempered the rash river's locomotion.

But the making of the Book also involved the Mediterranean.

He descended from the Alps into an olive grove.

Even before the Book legs of trees became arthritic

and seemed still more stationary than they are.

Before the Book God switched on the radio at the Adriatic,

and the sea was its loudspeaker.

Before the Book mother's soup in Crikvenica simmers

so nice and quietly that

she doesn't even notice it.

 

 LANA DERKAČ

 

Translated by Volga Vukelja Dawe

 

 

PRIJE KNJIGE 

 

Prije knjige zmija je odložila košuljicu

i drvo se udebljalo. Krošnja je otkopčala

grudnjak ne pitajući se kako će reagirati

sveti Lenart dok se proteže prema suncu

s freske u šumskoj kapelici.

Trebalo je dovući vodu i postaviti šmrkove

u slap, prije knjige.

Rijeka je odgojila klanac i do ušća mu,

prije knjige, bezbroj puta muštrala karakter.

I klanac je brzopletoj rijeci usporavao

motoriku.

No stvaranje knjige uključivalo je i

Mediteran.

Spustilo se s Alpa u maslinik.

Već i prije knjige noge stabala dobile su

artritis pa su se učinile još nepomičnije

nego što jesu.

Prije knjige Bog je na Jadranu uključio

radio, a more je bilo zvučnik.

Prije knjige majci juha tako pristojno

i tiho kipi u Crikvenici da je ona

uopće ne zamjećuje.

 

 

LANA DERKAČ (1969) is a prominent, award-winning writer who published 10 poetry books, 3 books of stories, a book of plays, a book of essays and a novel in Croatia. Also books in Mexico, Belgium, Tunisia, Montenegro, Kosovo. Her work is translated into more than 20 languages. 

 

Dreams

 

Sweeter, fluffier than ambitions

The ones we live by

And slog through 

Our days, and sometimes 

Actually meet at night 

Dreams make our lives colourful!

Keep us buyouant, floating 

Through our tough days!

Sometimes, in tough times 

Dreams turn into night mares!

Like a planchet gone wrong

Like a sport turning into a blood sport! 

Like the betrayal of someone trusted!

All a part of life?

So, how can dreams be made up of 

Just sweet stuff ? But why then

Do we get penalized, if we share our nightmares? 

The cliff pushing us down 

In a dream, might have a 

Slippery rock! 

 

------------Pankhuri Sinha, India

 

 

 

Pankhuri Sinha is a bilingual, Indian poet, writer and translator with ten books published and about five coming soon. She has won many national and international awards and has been translated in over twenty-seven languages of this world. She has worked in various positions like journalist, visiting lecturer, content editor, and free lancer. 

 

Moon’s Dance

 

The moon dances in my oceans

She seeks to find the one my soul loves

She seeks to hold my hand

And place it in his

 

The moon dances so much that my oceans

Are not calm anymore

But thunder with the rhythms of trepidation

As it knows that the moment

Of celestial bliss, as it has been spoken, is near!

 

The moon is gleeful, she plays along with my tides

And sings for me, in whispered notes,

Of songs enouncing the glory of love

As I muse it to be!

 

 

 

French Version - La danse de la lune

 

La lune danse dans mes océans

Elle cherche à trouver celui que mon âme aime

Elle cherche à tenir ma main

Et la placer dans la sienne

 

La lune danse tellement que mes océans

Ne sont plus calmes

Mais tonnent au rythme de l’excitation

Car elle sait que le moment

De la grace céleste, comme on l’a promise, est proche !

 

La lune, heureuse, joue avec mes marées

Et chante pour moi, en chuchotant,

De ces paroles qui énoncent la gloire de l'amour

Tel que je le conçois !

 

Anoucheka Gangabissoon

Mauritius

 

 

Bio: Anoucheka Gangabissoon is a Primary School Teacher in Mauritius.  She writes short stories and poetry as hobby. Her poems have been distinguished at both national and international level.

The Left Drum

Do you know me?
Yes.
Tell me more?
I’ll try.

In my body,
centre of your drum.

How is it?
Too mellow, marshmallow,
Not mermaid-kissing taste –
of course, yours.

Discard!
You yell.

Break  H-E-A-R-T ,
Divorce!

Script liner
on linen
sings new signature –
My own!

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

 

 

Biography

Vatsala Radhakeesoon has been writing poems for 30 years and she is the author of numerous poetry books. She is also an abstract artist and likes to experiment various possibilities that bless Art. Vatsala is a literary translator and currently lives at Rose-Hill, Mauritius.

 

Hug yourself sometimes

 

Hug yourself sometimes because the world certainly won't.

It will dissect your thoughts, hips, eyes, your night-outs and virtues,

they will ask you to justify yourself, to fall

sometimes on your knees, sometimes on all fours,

they will measure the length of your skirt, tongue, hair,

they will resent you if you wear pants too often,

and remind you where you belong

and for whom the bells toll,

they will behead you in public but your head

will grow again as a lizard’s tail,

they will spit on your pride and glory,

They will empty your pocket,

and colour your lips with bright red lipstick

and then point the finger claiming it's too much,

they will play games with your kind, no more no less, they will threaten.

But you will pick yourself up from wrong sketches

of your life, and show that a thousand faces of shame

are not yours.

So hug yourself sometimes, because the world certainly won't.

 

Version in Italian language:

 

Abbracciati ogni tanto

 

Abbracciati ogni tanto, perché il mondo sicuramente non lo farà.

Esaminerà i tuoi pensieri, i fianchi, gli occhi,

le tue uscite e virtù,

chiederà di giustificarsi, di cadere

a volte in ginocchio, a volte a quattro zampe,

misurerà la lunghezza della tua gonna, lingua,

capelli,ti rimprovererà se indossi troppo spesso pantaloni,

ti ricorderà dove e il tuo posto e per chi suona la campana,

ti decapiterà pubblicamente ma la tua testa crescerà di nuovo

come la coda di una lucertola, sputerà sul tuo orgoglio e fama, svuoterà le tue tasche,

colorerà le tue labbra con un rossetto rosso fuoco e poi punterà il dito

sostenendo che è troppo, giocando con il tuo genere, né di meno né di più, minaccerà.

E tu ti rialzi

da schizzi capovolti

della tua stessa vita,

e dimostra che mille facce

di vergogna non sono la tua vergogna.

E abbracciati ogni tanto,

perché il mondo sicuramente non lo farà.

 

 

 

Version in Montenegrin language:

 

Zagrli ponekad sebe

 

Zagrli ponekad sebe jer svijet sigurno neće.

Seciraće tvoje misli, bokove, oči,

tvoje provode i vrline,

tražiće da se pravdaš, da padaš

nekad na koljena, nekad na sve četiri,

mjeriće ti dužinu suknje, jezika, kose,

zamjeriće ti ako prečesto nosiš pantalone,

podsjetiće te gdje ti je mjesto

i za kim zvona zvone,

javno će ti odrubljivati

glavu a ona će nanovo rasti kao

gušterov rep, pljunuće na tvoj ponos

i slavu, isprazniće ti džep,

jarko crvenim karminom prebojaće ti usne

i onda upirati prstom tvrdeći da je to previše,

igraće se s tvojom vrstom, ni manje ni više, prijetiće.

A ti se pokupi iz naopakih skica sopstvenog života,

i pokaži da hiljadu lica srama nijesu tvoja sramota.

I zagrli ponekad sebe, jer svijet sigurno neće.

 

 

Aleksandra Vujisić

Podgorica, Montenegro

 

Short biography:

 

 

Aleksandra Lekić Vujisić (Podgorica, Montenegro) is a professor of English and an award-winning writer of prose and poetry. She is a co-author of more than 50 anthologies, and an author of a poetry book “Bleeding in my letters” (Publishing house Poetikum, Serbia, 2022). 

 

AFTER OUR AUTUMN HARVEST.....

 

“We are all born from the same root, why should we fry each other?”*

-----Cao Zhi (The Romance of the Three Kingdoms)

 

 

Water, vapour, smoke

competing for lightness, rushing ahead of others

 

Autumn’s paint barrels       only show warm colours

pouring into the fields, overcoming harvestless

 

Torture approaching, the thin, tall tower of—Babel

hooked on cornerstones, apparently misplaced and loose

 

At this moment, lit sunflower stalks, bean stalks, corn on the cobs,

A wall between fire and seeds of corn and beans

bursting, steaming, satiated

 

The wood pile is repeated higher and higher,

again and again, the fire with its     deadly heat—

rips through the rugged wall

evaporating all of the water

 

Leaves nothing

but only ashes, vapour, and smoke.… 

 

 Sue Zhu, New Zealand/China

 

Author’s Notes:  * from the Romance of the Three Kingdoms Aabout Cao Zhi’s poem within seven steps, describing brotherly killing, and humanity’s warfare.

 

Sue Zhu, is a New Zealand Chinese poet and artist, WPM (World Poetry Movement) Continental Coordinator, Immigine & Poesia New Zealand 

 

Beauty

 

 

When beauty comes, I'm overwhelmed

For example, when I see a bee sink into the depths of a flower and stay there for a long time

Birds peck the fruit of ramie and ignore my footsteps when I pass by

A cat stops to stare at the first blooming flower

Clouds float one after another, and

The late spring coldness in the midsummer night

 

Oh, what's more, whenever I think of you

Clusters of leaves sprout out on the ginkgo trees, reaching the end of the branches

Mushrooms also spring up in groups, coloring the grass

Water ripples between green mountain's shadows

The wind whistles through pine trees, from far to near, mingled with

the melodious sound of a harp

 

On January 1, 2023

 

Peiying Christine Chen (New Zealand)

Tr. WEI Hongxia

 

 

Peiying Christine Chen,  P.G.D of Business, Bachelor of Educational Communication (B.S.),New Zealand Newspaper [Mandarin Page] columnist, committee member and chief editor of New Zealand Writer Association. 2nd Prize winner & 3rd Prize winner of New Zealand Chinese writers Competition of 2021-2022, 2019-2020. Some poems collected in anthology [Through the Realm of Impermanence](Published in 2022 Sydney, Australia).

 

The Yard 33

 

I have been there, as I was here

Actually I am here

What’s not evident, at first

Is not somewhere there, but here.

 

33 years I have been here

Going to school

Remembering the scattered dreams

From the communism-remains

Now are here.

 

When you are from here

You are safe only.

Starving exhausts

But following and not sleeping

Can make you become zombie

It’s like Stasi said.

Noise and bestiality

In my yard- all these

33 years.

Nothing’s ever changing

Actually anything doesn’t mean a thing. 

 

Igor Pop Trajkov, North Macedonia

 

Igor Pop Trajkov is renowned writer and film director from North Macedonia, multidisciplinary international artist as well. His theoretic, journalistic and social writings are very popular and influential. He participated in such literary contests as Viaggi di versi and Il mio libro. Pop Trajkov won the first place at the Day of The Poetry poetic contest of the literary magazine The Poet (2021) for his poem Unimaginable Spaces; was one of the winners for The Best Christmas Message Contest (2020) organized by American Corner Struga. He was the winner of the best poem contest of Healthy Options Project Skopje, for the Day of the Fight Against the Drugs, with his poem Body Double (2021).

 

 

The words I did summon

Reluctantly, they did come,

Only to frustrate me,

As my synesthetic sentiments

Would not sit taut in words,

Like a bird caught, held 

Cruelly by its feet,

Flaps its wings-

That desperately my feelings

Just wanted to flee,

To remain un-inked, free.

So I freed the words,

The fleeting sentiments 

Along with them flew,

Why force words on a page?

Would that be poetry true?

 

A poem 

Naturally born,

Its a gift too special,

Summoned emotions

And forced words

Just can’t construe.

 

 Amita Sanghavi, Oman 

 

 

 

Amita Sanghavi teaches at Sultan Qaboos University. She likes reading, travelling and all art forms.

 

 

YOUR GREATEST FEAR

(Poem written in Gammo style of poetry)

 

Everything is crazy behind the palace door—

One has to look through lenses beyond greed and fear,

Biases, over confidence, scary misperception.

 

How men became slaves by each unjust leader,

You must knew it if you are an avid reader.

How the maps change after any Intrusion!

 

The crises in history that threaten the monarchy,

The junior currency dealers that lead to anarchy,

Since the attack of Vikings are the cause of inflation.

 

How market depends on psychology and behavior,

How our each decision affects the timely matter,

 

How the world changes from a single false assumption!

 

Naila Hina, Pakistan

        
Naila Hina: Former Engineering University Instructor, an international award-winning author of 100+ multilingual books, a poet from Karachi, Pakistan. Best Writer of the Decade, editor, translator. Literary Captain at Story. Nominated for Nobel Prize for Literature 2022. 

 

 

 

***

Chcesz  miasto bez aut zobaczyć?

Popłyń gondolą, mury zatęchłe i śliskie

igrają światłem przeszyte w turkusowej topieli.

Ze świętym Markiem na spacer

przejdź się po moście Rialto.

Karnawał łodzi zachwyca i smukły tors Campanilli,

Campo Bandiera e Moro, Museo Storico Navale.

Muzykę Twoją słyszę signiore Goldoni,

Ponte dei Sospiri przemierzam w stronę pałacu,

umykam wraz z Casanovą przed śmiercią

jak vaporetto mknącą po sennych kanałach.

Wpisz się na stałe w obrazy zapamiętane od dzisiaj

jak płótna mistrzów: Giorgione

albo wielkiego Tycjana, na wieki lustra wspaniałe.

Uniesiesz ze sobą jak Dickens

wrażliwość na krzywdę ubogich,

powtórzysz za Hamingwayem swe "Pożegnanie z bronią",

glicynie Iwaszkiewicza przeżegnasz dłonią wzniesioną,

odczytasz w chmurach marzenia niby w wodzie odbite,

wstąpisz po nie przez molo.

 

Zbigniew Mirosławski.

 

***

Do you want to see a city without cars?

Sail in a gondola, slippery walls are musty

they play with the light piercing the turquoise abyss.

Go for a walk with Saint Mark, go across the Rialto bridge.

The carnival of many boats delights

and the slender torso of campanilla,

Campo Bandiera e Moro, Museo Storico Navale.

I hear your music signiore Goldoni,

I wander the Ponte dei Sospiri towards the palace,

I escape before death with Casanova

like a vaporetto moving down on sleepy canals.

See yourself of permanently on canvas remembered from today

like masters: Giorgione

or a great Titian, mirrors great for centuries.

You will takes with you like Dickens

sensitivity to the harm of the poor,

you will repeat after Hamingway your "Farewell to weapons",

Iwaszkiewicz's glycine you will make a sign of cross with a raised hand,

you will read your dreams in the clouds, reflected in the water,

You will reach them from the pier.

 

Zbigniew Mirosławski, Poland

 

 

Zbigniew Mirosławski born in Wadowice, in 1958, The Polish Authors' Association Member, poet, lawyer, historian. Gratueted Jagiellonian University. Author of 15 poetry volumes. Rewarded many prizes for his work. His poems are translated into: English, Assamese, Belarusian, Chinese, Hungarian, Russian, Taiwanese, Telugu, Ukrainian, Uzbek, Italian and French. Published inter alia poetries, literary reviews, historical materials and prose in USA, Austria, India, UK, Ukraine, Uzbekistan.

 

 

On the first day of Spring 

 

There was a tree

Whose roots were so strong

And branches so long

That I could easily embrace them

Every time I would approach it 

On the first time of Spring.

 

There was a flower

Whose sent was so mesmerizing

And petals so tender 

That could easily lead me to the Gardens of Eden

Every time I would touch it

On the first day of Spring.

 

There was a girl

With a cute ponytail 

Who still wanders around

Singing a lullaby 

To that beautiful tree

And fragrant flower

On each first day of Spring. 

 

 Ana Stjelja, Serbia

 

 

 

Ana Stjelja (1982, Belgrade):

 

award-winning Serbian poet, writer, translator, journalist, independent scientific researcher and editor. She published more than 30 books of different literary genres. She is the author of numerous research papers and essays on literature, feminism and different cultures. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, the Association of Literary Translators of Serbia, the Association of Journalists of Serbia and the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ).

 

Gazal

 

Espérant voir ton visage, je suis comme un arbre

qui se dessèche.

Étreint par un rêve divin, j’attends l’aube,

je regarde autour de moi et me dessèche.

Bien que l'essence de Dieu soit lointaine, haute et profonde

Je suis tel des rameaux sous les caresses du vent,

je regarde, je regarde tout à l’entour, et me dessèche.

Je crois qu’un jour viendra où les racines sèches

donneront des surgeons.

Partout règne l’espoir, partout la joie de vivre,

alors que je regarde autour de moi et me dessèche,

La patience m'enivre, le bonheur couvre d’or le ciel !

Les nouvelles pousses bruissent et dansent… et moi ,..

 je regarde à l’entour et me dessèche.

 

Abdukakhor Kosim (Абдуаххор Косим)

 

Translator- Athanase Vantchev de Thracy, Paris

 

Kosimov Abdukakhor Sattorovich (pseudonym Abdukakhor Kosim), Republic of Tajikistan, city of Tursunzade. Co-Chairman of the Literary Council of the Eurasian Peoples' Assembly, National Coordinator of the World Poetry Movement - World Without Walls

Poems Abdukakhor Kosim in French.

 

French translation of Athanase Vantchev de Thracy, Paris

 

WOMEN ON A BRIDGE

TOSSING FANS INTO A RIVER

(Edo Period, 1615–1868)

 

Like Li Po

who threw

his newly-inked poems

into the Yangtze,

a group of statuesque

beautifully dressed women,

with their young attendants,

stand by the railings of a bridge

overlooking a river,

readying to toss their

summer-used painted fans

into the swift currents,

commemorating the start of fall,

the water already filled

with discarded fans

floating by like autumn leaves.

 

Perhaps the fans and the poems

will meet somewhere beyond

the Three Gorges where

all hopes and dreams gather.

 

 

—Stanley H. Barkan

 

Stanley H. Barkan (USA), editor-publisher of Cross-Cultural Communications, has published

some 500 titles in 50 different languages. His own work, translated into 31 languages, has

been published in 31 collections.

 

 

Crispy Little Leaf

 

You are just a crispy little thing

hiding out in the cold

dark corners of the deck.

 

Yes, you are just a crispy little thing

among the leaves that are

too brittle to be carried

by the winter wind.

 

Oh, how you dance

here and there, 

as if reborn into a life

you didn’t know you had ‘til now.

 

Ah, how inspiring it is

to watch you dance on the deck

while the brittle stay dormant.

 

Now, O crispy one,   

I marvel as you set off again

for new adventures     

in the dawn of your becoming.   

     

Carolyn Mary Kleefeld

 

Carolyn Mary Kleefeld: Big Sur poet, prose-writer, and visual artist Carolyn Mary Kleefeld has her permanent art and literary archive at the Carolyn Campagna Kleefeld Contemporary Art Museum at California State University, Long Beach. www.carolynmarykleefeld.com, www.alchemyoracle.com

 

Blue Pines

 

 

I consulted my stars

during a dry spell in the plains

 

they told me to lie down in the grass

make a blanket of the leaves

 

told me to build a fire

in the season when the sky grows cold

 

told me age is just a number

until it kills you

 

warm in the bones where the ache melts

 

told me the trees will always love you

but they alone cannot protect from the storm

 

told me that even saints will cheat

when they’re trying to save the soul of a sinner

 

told me clocks of time are just illusions

so add another hour when you’re feeling slow

 

I spoke to my ghosts

in the night with the moon hung low

 

they told me every choice leads to another

but don’t forget to breathe

 

Pini malinconici

(Translation by Mihaela Melnic)

 

 

Ho consultato le mie stelle

durante un periodo di siccità nelle pianure

 

mi hanno detto di sdraiarmi sull'erba

fare una coperta con le foglie

 

mi hanno detto di accendere un fuoco

nella stagione in cui il cielo diventa freddo

 

mi hanno detto che l'età è solo un numero

finché non ti uccide

 

caldo nelle ossa dove il dolore si scioglie

 

mi hanno detto che gli alberi ti ameranno per sempre

ma da soli non possono proteggere dalla tempesta

 

mi hanno detto che anche i santi tradiranno

quando cercheranno di salvare l'anima di un peccatore

 

mi hanno detto che gli orologi del tempo sono solo illusioni

quindi aggiungi un'altra ora quando ti senti lento

 

Ho parlato con i miei fantasmi

nella notte di luna bassa

 

mi hanno detto che ogni scelta porta ad un'altra

ma non dimenticare di respirare

 

 Scott Thomas Outlar

 

 

Scott Thomas Outlar is originally from Atlanta, Georgia. He now lives and writes in Frederick, Maryland. His work has been nominated multiple times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He guest-edited the Hope Anthology of Poetry from CultureCult Press as well as the 2019-2023 Western Voices editions of Setu Mag. Selections of his poetry have been translated and published in 14 languages. More about Outlar's work can be found at 17Numa.com. 

 

 

Travel in My Imagination to Agliè

a fibonacci sequence

 

Villa Museo il Meleto di Guido Gozzano

 

each

step

breathe deep

apple trees

and wisteria

ring the bell, Guido welcomes guests

a living poet

as long as

we read

his 

verse

 

Neal Whitman

Pacific Grove, California

USA

 

 

Neal Whitman lives on the Monterey Peninsula of California, with his wife Elaine. They both find inspiration going to the Monterey Aquarium and attending tbe Monterey Symphony.

 

 

 

 

I.         MT POEM:

Em Mãi Là Một Hoa Hồng 

I Will Always Be A Rose

Author: HONG NGOC CHAU

Ho Chi Minh City, 15 February 2023

1

Em mãi nụ hồng nhung đỏ thắm

Giọt sương e thẹn trên cành hồng

Giọt sương trời đất ban hồng ơn

Nở đón, mong đời tươi đẹp hơn

2

Em mãi hoa hồng luôn diễm tuyệt

Cho đời mật ngọt em hằng mong

Yêu anh say đắm, tình chan chứa

Vẫn chứa niềm tin tràn ngập  lòng

3

Không thể dập vùi trong khổ khó

Mưa dầm nắng giãi khắp nơi nơi

Chân tình em giữ bớt ngày khổ

Tâm vững vàng  ta vượt khó thôi

4

Gai nhọn dũa mài trong cuộc sống

Tinh em quyết định hiến dâng đời

Yêu anh hoàn thiện tỏa hương sắc

Sức sống quyện hòa khắp đất trời

5

Nắng ấm trên sương hồng đỏ thăm

Hoa hồng hãnh diện giữa trăm hoa

Tim em nồng nhiệt tâm luôn sáng

Như nụ hoa hồng chẳng nhạt nhòa

*

HNC@All Rights Reserved.

*

I Will Always Be A Rose

Author: HONG NGOC CHAU

1

Just as I am forever red velvet rose forever

Just as shy dews on a rose branch forever

Just as dew drops of heaven and earth give grace

I welcome and hope life is a more beautiful grace

2

Just as I am always the beautiful roses

Just as for the sweet life, I want roses

I love you passionately, love is flowing

Are you still fulfilled with faith in loving

3

Just as we cannot be buried in our hardship

Just as rain and shine everywhere hardship

My true love never keeps our miserable day

With strong minds,  we will surpass anyway

4

Just as sharp thorns sharpened in life

Just as I'd decided to dedicate my life

I love you to be perfect and full of flavor

Just vitality mixes up the world forever

5

Warm sunshine on the red mist forever

Proud rose among hundreds of flowers

My heart is warm and always bright

Like rosebuds that don't fade all life

*

HNC@All Rights Reserved.

 

 HONG NGOC CHAU (Pen name)

 

 BIOGRAPHY:

 

Her true name is NGUYEN CHAU NGOC DOAN CHINH. Her pseudonym is HONG NGOC CHAU, her Facebook page is NGUYEN CHINH. She is a Master of Educational Administration, a member of the Ho Chi Minh City Writers' Association (Vietnam), and an Honorary Doctorate in Literature and Humanity of the Church and of Prixton University. Admin member of W.U. P (World Union of Poets), GENERAL COUNCIL level World Union of Poets with MEDAL SILVER Investigator (14th medal of World Union of Poets), VISHWA BHARATI Contributor - India (Vishwabharati Research Centre), International Ambassador of the International Council of Writers & Artists, Administrator, moderator, group expert of many literary forums around the world;