When the moon last night smiled into my eyes
Feelings dormant did from inner deep arise
Floating adrift in the glimmering ocean
Moments mesmerized loosing their motion

Tall green aparrelledd brooding trees
Opened up their arms in the whispering breeze
The silver clad ambience wiped my sleep
My legs danced down the sleeping hills steep

My dreamy eyes locked with the blinking stars
Emeralds scattered beckoning from afar
Leaves bent down fondling my cheeks
Sweet abundance of mirth was at its peak

Inside this dream world beauty abound
Arcane esoteric silence sight and sound
Wandering through the woods in a moonlit night
What a joy never known with nature unite.

©️Birendu Kr Sinha




Dear head,
The winner of the country’s bread
I am a seed of Africa; a denounced street child
The manifestation of my vanguard’s greed

Blessed with the beauty of Nature
Where rests the beauty of Africa?

Dear Minister,
Her beauty is sacred to be wrapped in extortion
Why threaten her with your gross corruption?
The chronic disease; reciprocal to generation

I wonder if your seat is clean
For no man seated leaves a record clean!

Dear retinue,
When is the resurrection of Africa due?
Keep the toil of our forefathers a divine clue
The wrong steps by the leaders must warn you

Oh my motherland, you never can be accursed!
Patriotic black child, heal Africa; heal the world!

Copyright Aboagye Joseph © 2019

HUNTER – By Emeghara Collins



Silently, the
hunter hid…

Then go on and
positioned his gun…

Like a sniper
he held his breath…

And aimed so hard
with drop of blood…

Sadly, the bird
became a vulture…

And vultures, are
not might for bread…

But now, an
eagle is perching…

Go on and spill
your bullet o hunter…

Come, let
me show you…

That bird, is
perching good…

Go on and
reach the trigger?

Let your rifle
speak o hunter…

To shoot a bird is
to build for the poor…

To shoot at
that bird…

Is to support
a dying child…

That bird you so
search, is positioned…

Hit your target
o hunter…

To hit a target is to
become compassionate…

To pull your bullet is
to become affectionate…

That bird is
perch right…

Stop aiming, for
you’ve aimed enough…

Let your bullet
speak o hunter…

To drum your gun
is to leave a footprint…

In the school we must
build for the poor child…

Your gun has
slept enough…

Let it sound so loud
for that child unborn…

To know that
you lived your time…

it’s true…


All copyrights reserved
Emeghara Collins
For Every child
May 2nd

The Glory Of Madness – By J.C Bertrand

The glory of madness


The glory of madness
The building frame, all
About gathering every
Pixel, skillfully spreading fire
Programmable images
Vulnerable, heavy thunder
Disordered dance, o, birds
The flames escalating
Gazed at the mountains
The valleys, only tears
In clouds night sky, the stars
Wondering about tomorrow
Will the sun, the rain, the river
The flowers, the essence of life
Blowing kisses like butterflies
Will I sing and dance with glee
Homo-sapiens steps, treacherous
The gestures, senseless wind
Unholy faces, o, humankind
Will the wind be at the festival
Luminous stars craving to dance

Jean C Bertrand




Knowledge is a seed…
Place upon the table of life…
How it is perceived is totally based upon the individual, as it is a root, that will be implanted into the deepest parts of the celebral cortex & will manifest itself into a life that may or may not be feed or grow into a great notion…

Yet… The beautiful thing about the seed of knowledge is, seeds are everywhere & already within ourselves!!!
Some are born prevalent with this skill, some are predominant & powerful with thoughts that were concocted by themselves, therefore living within a self pathological paradox…

This seed is a very powerful key to life & prosperity, how wars are started as the same time peace is waged…
Great & grand designs of & in life are constructed…

All from the ground up…
From a spark of thoughts & ideas…
Into a flare of self impulse & temptations…
Lies the truth light of it own reality & how it will be manifested into what it may…
Within a flash of a nanosecond & quick flash of light…Births this seed called knowledge.

written by Timothy Payton

A Poem By The Incomparable NANCY NDEKE


Within, is the full and fall of all nights and days in the passage of seasons,

The highs and lows interspersed with grief and grace of the ravages of rushing rains,

The joys and laughter on cover page’s of the book of living daily,

Each moon glow and sun dial finely leaving an invisible imprint upon a visit,

A million hours lacing the heart with diverse songs of varied tempos and tones,

A rocky patch and a wet slope each with its stamp to led,

Seasons reside within us and to see history of a soul look beyond the dress and smile,

The eye cannot be trained to lie like a flower cannot be trained to be ugly,

Let’s walk the seasons with less grudge and more gratitude for seasons are fleeting breeze on our collective breaths,

For ours is the now tomorrow is a dream never very sure.

Nancy Ndeke.
@ April 2019.

ACCEPTANCE – By Ian Wilcox



I said that had found love
You inquired if with you
I said I’d run two Marathons
You replied a step will do

I am so different from what you’d seen
You laughed and did agree
Then replied with smile wide
That’s why you chose me

The person stood in front of other
Some views did disagree
Rather than making it an issue
An acceptance they did see

The people were so sick of fighting
Too many dear ones lost
Pushing the elected government
To weigh up the real cost

The number cruncher chewed their pencil
Fingers tapping keys
‘Loss leaders’ the solution
For some Book to please

I said to you that I’d move there
Rather than you coming here
For you had too much to lose
With Family you hold dear

We are now in a challenge
One which we will beat
I am coming back to you
Even if by my own feet

Ian Wilcox

BATHSHEBA = By Kichime Elisha Philibus



From a bathe of uncleanness
to purity,
Like a mermaid made
To a libidinous lure;

she caught a court
From a roof top prying
of drunken sin,
And dazed was David
a melted gel.

He cunned her court
And hit the Hittite
In a feigned trap
of an engrossed despotism.

A Psalmist’s putrid ploy
And a Sheba’s culpable loyalty
lulled a lullaby!
For,a foreordained obeisance
is obeyed
To pave a pathway
For a designated destiny
To carve its course
as it was written!

She gave birth to Absalom;
An epitome of beauty.
She gave birth to Solomon;
An epitome of wisdom
And a genealogy of prophesy
For a redemption
to salvation.


I’M WINNING – By Timothy Payton



You thought you had me didn’t you!!??
All too yourselves…
Thought you were going to take me…
Like my oldest brother & so many???

Yet it’s funny how the tables turned…
Through all the hell & pain I’ve earned…
Is because of you, but allow me to say…
I allowed YOU all to hop behind the wheel & play;

You see demons… your nothing to me!!!
I see all along, that YOU needed me!!!
I’ve learnt & learning about your ways,
How you take & give misery for days;

I would say F*** you demons!!!
But that’s the kinda of energy you love!!!
You’ve been doing it for years to me!!!
Now it’s Time to take back so deservingly!!!

This isn’t a poem, more like a letter of riddance,
Of getting rid of & taking back for a difference,
You can do it too!!! but what do you want to do???
it’s a matter of willpower, not what you can prove!!!

Study your demons, learn your triggers,
look into the pros & cons & how they figure…
Become the person you want to be…
Demons make you lose…
Now it’s Time for winning!!!

written by Timothy Payton

Diana’s March poem: you left me behind — Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo

Originally posted on Myths of the Mirror: pixabay image from Natan Vance you left me behind by D. Wallace Peach ? you left me behind because I was born in the barrio in a shack by flooded rivers in the dusty winds of drought didn’t speak your tongue or worship your god the one who…

via Diana’s March poem: you left me behind — Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo

IF I BE – By Desmond Ajayi Samuel


If I Be

If I be a Deejay
I shall for thy sake begot beautiful collections of music
Booming tirelessly on replay
And with thy clapping feet,confusion shall be set to the jury!

If I be a Teacher
Thou shall be my favourite student
Whose script I shall not make down, thus, prefer
And thy mistakes, I shall help correct!

If I be a chef
Thou shall eat from the raw source of love
While you sit on that armless Paris cushion listening to the piano’s treble clef
Thine German wine shall be pure as dove!

If I be a Tailor
Thine garment shall be the town’s talk!
As it’s tips paddle the air like a sailor
With thine lovely show of majestic walk!

And if I be a river
I shall flow endlessly into thy heart
Bringing to thee the beauty of nature
Which shall irrigate thine desert!

©Desmond Ajayi Samuel

When The Ship Comes In – By Ron Anderson



When the Ship Comes In

When the ship comes in, he said
The future will be of metaphors without ballast
In a ship weighted with promises of no return
The sea tells lies in the minds of the jellyfish
And exposes their tentacles to the sun
But the lies melt to slush and are washed away
High tide at noon brings their skeletons to the shore
Where their remains are eaten
By the sharks of promises

King Neptune laughs at the treasures of pirates
Swashbucklers who avoided the gallows
Only to walk the plank
Where they were persuaded overboard
By the tips of cutthroat’s swords
At their backs
Cutting into their drunken flesh

Marauders’ ankled in chains
Retire to the king’s dungeons
A costly reminder of the king
Who is a thief in the night
Stealing the bed-warmer’s virginity
With promises of wealth and glory

He’s impotent before he’s spent
She’s no wench
And she’s not done
She locks the chastity belt around her waist
Until her prince of princes arrives
To claim her from the pirate’s ship
And charms his way into her

She remains barren
Her promised child cries to be conceived
His ship has not come in
His sterile seed lies wasted on the fertile field
She looks outward to the ship on the horizon
Its erected mast grows larger in the moonlight
At the image of her lying in the dock of the bay
Her prince clears his eyes
And walks the plank to her galleon window

He awakens her to the sound of a click
And delivers horizontal refreshments at 2:00 am
She is chaste no more
And seeded for growth

The prince of ships sails into the yonder seas
With mother and child singing into the wind
In her diary, she writes a promise
Come true
Of her ship coming in

Copyright to Ron W. Anderson – March 2019

SWEET CHERUB – By Leisa Hirvonen

Sweet Cherub


Invisible rays of spirit light,
rain down on, the innocent one
Dressed all in white , that was woven in heaven
By two hands that were skillful and strong.
Raising her palms…to catch raindrops from heaven
Now her hands do glisten and gleam.
Standing so calm, in a hush of his presence,
The waves of his love make her beam.
So still and so silent, she enters his outpour,
There’s no place that she’d rather be.
Then softly she sings in the tongue of the angels
As a sweet fragrant offering.
Be still and know, that he is God,
Open up like a flower to the sun.
Do fill up your lamp, so to see in the darkness
And thank him for all he has done.

LMH 3/23/19



My heart weeps in sorrow
For all that you’ve been through
Like my own country
Foreign invaders robbed us too
Of gold, goods and dignity.
History is done and can’t be undone
Let’s look forward for renewed enthusiasm
With the power of our choice and will
We shall with our effort be best to win
The fight for life and dignity.
Let poetry be an instrument
To safeguard our kind hearts and wise mind
Where are the men the fortress of the land
who will defend
Wish they won’t undress the women
Rather with loving care
Clothe them in respect
never leave them to be abused,
misused and overused
We women are subjects
to be cherished and loved
Not objects to be sipped of nectar,
abused and thrown
and burned as refuse.
Poetry! Oh Poetry!
May your voice be overheard!
In the four corners of the earth
Save us our women, mothvers and children
For future generation!
© felizruiz.11.12.2017


Dear Slay – By Edwin Olu Bestman Jr

Dear Slay Queen,



I write this letter not to derail your dreams but to instill some levels of discipline. As I write, my heart is heavy-loaded because your body has become a habitat of mechanical sex.

I write this letter inorder to beat your conscience, and install some senses into your cell membrane. As I write, my hands are shivering because the society has turned into a half-naked place.

You wear too much makeup. Nails, eyelashes, eyebrows, and boobs are fake. Why don’t you add some worth to yourself? Has life rushed you OR Have you rushed life?

You put on Brazilian wigs, wear Chinese shoes and perfumes. This is only because you want to look like an extraordinary designer. Why are you starving your dreams? You’ve thrown your future into a furnace.

I write inorder to save your life and put you on the right path. Your job is to always shopping, take vacations, go clubbing, sex as always, and hustling to make a dollar is not registered in your own mind.

Your legs were made beautifully by God but it has turned into a bicycle to be twisted at anytime by its owner. Every man uses his own quadratic formula to know your roots. Shame on you!

Your eyes were made to see and propagate God’s words but you’ve turned it into a “SEARCH ENGINE”. It is being used to look for something you’ve not lost. This is very much pathetic, and I hope heaven forgives you.

Your body was structured beautifully by God but you’ve turned it into a home of John, Peter, Paul, Hassan, Pusha, Melvin, Othello, Lee, Owen, Tim and Varkumah all because of materials worth.

When will you realize your worth?
When will you close your legs to all creeping insects?
When will you examine yourself properly?

Oh! Slay queen.
I write to inform you to desist from such habit; I want to explain life situations. Never use your precious body for money-making.

If Ferrari has worth;
If Bugatti has worth;
If Maybach has worth;
If Lamborghini has worth;
What about you? Don’t you have worth?

© Edwin Olu Bestman Jr
A poet, philanthropist and a civil engineer

By : Edwin Olu Bestman Jr.🙌🏿🧠🇱🇷

World Poetry Day Poem By Philibus K.Elisha





She is a furnace
Singeing my soul
With the serenading chirps
Of a Nightingale’s sonorous souls’;

She burns like a glowing flame
In the night’s soothing silence
Churning chords of harmony
On the harp of my hilarious heart.

Her tingling strings beat
A blazing furnace
Melting me to a molten mass
Of her sizzling warmth;

She is a fiery furnace
Burning me hurtlessly..amourously
Enamouring me in an entrapped enclave
Of the enveloping enclose that she is.

Entranced is this euphoria
In the only eldorado
Of her eloping Eden
As spelled so sweetly sizzling;

Calming my fever-heated whole
In the only womb
Of her warm furnace
Of love…

So sweet is her singeing serenade
Sifting softly from the silky singe
Of this night’s sizzling solitude
Of her embodied symphony.

A chord-cocooning comfort
Clipping me in the clandestine closet
Of her cherishing crib
So courtingly tolerable;

That I’d rather remain
In the only sweet home
Of a love’s furnace
So sweetly bearable…