PPP Ezine: PoetrypoeticspleasureEzine Volume 4; Issue 5; May 2020




Poet of the Month: Glory Sasikala

I remember by Gary Lawrence Ingram

Carpe Diem by Ermelinda Makkimane

your clear water is a hydro night shape to sear the steak by J. D. Nelson

Love Metamorphosed by Tabassum Tahmina Shagufta Hussein

Poem for a Woman who Dances When There is No Music by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Small Prayers by Connor Orrico

Am I by Ahmad Al-Khatat

Eyes by Alexis Ogunmokun

Holy Spur by Anupama Bhattacharya

Class Photo by Brian Rihlmann

One Single Kiss by Fethi Sassi




 Poet of the Month: Glory Sasikala




I must go



The seconds hand ticks

Each heartbeat.


Each heartbeat

A hope.


Each hope

A prayer.



Each prayer

A promise.


Each promise

A raindrop.


Each raindrop

A prism.


Each prism

The colors of my dreams.


Each dream

My smile.


Each smile

A knowledge.




That some day

It will all fall into place.


But for now

I must go.






Let me in…



Let me into the realm of your thoughts

Beyond the spoken

And the felt

Till I merge into the magnitude of your silence.


Let me into the coolness of your touch

A thousand births and deaths

Being baptized again and again

Till my name is lost in yours.


Let me into your songs of triumph

And your dirges of sorrow

Looking at the world from a cliff

Till I laugh and cry only with you.


Let me into the beat of your heart

Your breath, your warmth

Your proof of a life lived

Till my river of thoughts flow into your ocean.

Let me in on that spark in your being

That exists in no-man’s land

That ignites a spark in mine

Let me into your soul…








Are we?


not that i want answers

to a relationship

that seems to flex

to meet our erratic selves

so moody and unpredictable

so based on imperfection

but our sidelong glances ask

are we the ones?

are we cosy bed and pillows ad sheets?

are we cuddle, kiss, curl and sleep?

will you wipe the dishes while i wash

roll out the dough while i flip?

peeping over shoulders quadrupled vision

is it our laughter that will break the silence

of a dark night, startling the owl

and drawing stars closer?

i did not let the outside world in

did you?

i can walk away, can you?

at will, i ask you –

will we be the ones –

our fingers barely touching

a relationship on a shoestring budget

of superficial small talk

barely skimming the surface…

how far must we go before we know

we’re forever?






Glory Sasikala is a poet and writer currently residing in Chennai, Tamilnadu, India. She is the Editor and Publisher of the Monthly Online Prose and Poetry magazine, ‘GloMag’ and is the administrator of the group of the same name on Facebook. She is a language editor and quality analyst by profession.


I remember by Gary Lawrence Ingram



I remember the days when running around care free never needing anyone no one but me


So simple never feeling I needed anyone ,but now as time has gone by those days of playful thinking have gone


Before I picked up my first bible I never knew it was wrong in Gods eyes to go out with a lot women sinning


Now ,I look back at everything I missed out on like love and a companion joined at hand by the words of God


No wonder most every young man and woman thinks that they are ten foot tall and bullet proof ,they think they have plenty of time to get life right


I just want to say stop looking at life that way one day you’ll find yourself old and looking back wishing things would have been different


Find that special one and adore it ,him or her


Take long walks in the park and go fishing but always pray together before you eat now that’s living


Cast away all your childish ways and become responsible without worries and save for rainy days


Remember others needs and care for them as you teach by being living examples


The simple part is thinking about it ,the hard part is being about it




Gary Lawrence Ingram is an Oklahoma based writer. His paperback book “Shadows of the Past” is available at amazon.com. Gary has recently been published in The Secret Life of Poets Magazine, at youtube.com, and in the anthology Dandelion in a Vase of Roses. His newest book, One Thousand Love Poems is the latest flow of words from this poet.

Carpe Diem by Ermelinda Makkimane


The nightly orb simply stares at me

Through the glass window pane.


Beauty in borrowed feathers,

I mutter, disdainful.


No, carpe diem, she says,

Seize beauty from wherever you get it. 






Ermelinda Makkimane loves thinking poetry. Sometimes she writes down those words. Her work has been chosen for digital publication by Lucky Jefferson and the Other Worldly Women Press. She currently lives and works from her village in Divar, Goa. 



your clear water is a hydro night shape to sear the steak by J. D. Nelson



work was a better pumpkin

was that a reynolds fish


why is there a world in the sink

the miracle of sawdust


we shine thru the wall together

the saint of the bees


the best answer in the world book encyclopedia

would you like the moon to stare more


stereo police feature not in the milk

as long as there is a sink to spit in


J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words and sound in his subterranean laboratory. More than 1,500 of his poems have appeared in many small press publications, in print and online. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Visit www.MadVerse.comfor more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.







Love Metamorphosed by Tabassum Tahmina Shagufta Hussein


In what name shall I call you? 

Your gaze has made me intoxicated. 

Your eyes colour melt into blue rays, circle to a blue moon. 

I am allured by your eyes. 

Now I am like the drunk wind, 

I look at you without fear and shame. 

Let the people say whatever they want to. 

Your eyes have hypnotised me, 

I couldn’t escape the sight of you, 

I am lost and I am at a loss. 

Your eyes are watching me. 

I can’t escape. 

Do you know I have entrapped myself into you? 

I don’t know if you have so much love in your heart. 

Tell me, you love me. 

Let the critics say whatever they like. 

Love has Metamorphosed me into a bewildered love.




Tabassum Tahmina Shagufta Hussein is an aesthete from Dhaka, Bangladesh & MA holder in British&American Literature.Now a Free-lance writer. She writes weekly column for Different Truths Publications, India  featuring humanitarian to diverse issues. She is a regular contributor to Our Daily Times, Bangladesh. Her poems appeared in literary magazines.  She loves travelling and participates in recitals She seeks beauty from the blade of grass to twinkling stars. She Aestheticism and humanism  are the essence of her existence.She is the International Fellow 2020 of International Human Rights Arts Festival.  She can be reached at tts.hussein@gmail.com







Poem for a Woman who Dances When There is No Music by Ryan Quinn Flanagan


The surprise is in the way you never stop

letting yourself come to things.


Sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Clapping along.

Ignoring noise complaints like chatterboxes 

from the cosmos.


And later leaning over the lip of the tub.

Scrawling this poem for a woman who dances

when there is no music.


Both my feet asleep

and much of the known world too.


Half a pack of chewing gum seated

on the back of a sweating summer toilet.


The way the hard light levels glorious accusations.

And many cords to nowhere, where does anything go?


This room has been with me

since hoteliers started handing

out extra towels.


The smell of alcoholics on my breath

like confusing a service elevator              

for a streetwalker brought indoors.




Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, PPP Ezine, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.




Small Prayers by Connor Orrico


sleep, sleep,
please take me,
life, life,
please make me,
dreams, dreams,
please keep me,
love, love,
please reap me



Connor Orrico is a medical student with interests in global health, mental health, and how we make meaning from the stories we share with each other, themes which were recently explored in his publications in Headline Poetry & Press, Detritus, and Dreich Magazine.





Am I by Ahmad Al-Khatat



Weak am I, 
no longer am I the knight of a stranger’s dark dream
sad am I,
with a thirsty spirit seeking for a bloody river

lost am I,
I cannot find a way to heal my wounds during the day
drunk am I, 
running away from people’s hateful judgments

sick am I,
waiting on the bullet to end my miserable hope
fool am I,
for believing in tears, and ignoring the mouths of lies

who am I,
today I am miserable for writing on the city walls 
who will I be,
nothing but a drunk writer in a forgotten cemetery




Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally and has poems translated into several languages. He has been nominated for Best of the Net 2018. He is the author of The Bleeding Heart Poet, Love On The War’s Frontline, Gas Chamber, Wounds from Iraq, Roofs of Dreams, and The Grey Revolution. He lives in Montreal, Canada..




Eyes by Alexis Ogunmokun



I temporary or permanently
Blur your eyesight
I am simile to describe eye sight
In the dark
You can’t see clearly and completely
You have to rely on a seeing eye dog
As your eyes
I heightened your hearing, taste, smell and touch
Who am I?




Alexis Ogunmokun resides in Bloomington-Normal, Illinois. She works at Hy-Vee. She writes poetry and short fiction. She is an introvert with a dream to publish her poems. She has one brother and one sister. She loves to live life to the fullest.




Holy Spur by Anupama Bhattacharya



My morning awakes to a holy spur

Leaving behind the smells of petrol

As my faith rides me home

Far away from the madding crowd.


Through the  pane I gaze and wonder

Cocooned in childhood nostalgia:

Vitality of the plains. Pondering on
the secrets of simple living
so much do I miss to capture.
En route my station.


Yet I come back every time

Waving past the beckoning paddy fields

And Kans grass like fairy’s wings.

To my vapmire’s lair.

To the taste of urban malls.


Could Eve and Adam settle in Eden

after tasting the forbidden fruit?

How could I?


With an M.A in English literature Anupama Bhattacharya is a teacher by profession. Her poems have found place in platforms like The Time of India, Ceasurae Literary Magazine and Ethos Literary Magazine. She calls herself an aspiring poet because she thinks there’s always so much to learn. Many other Kolkata based little magazines like The Beacon Kolkata have also published her work. With specialization inkathak and Rabindranritya she tries to find immanence in dance as well. An ardent lover of music, literature and poetry she believes in healing the world with words and rhythm. She can be contacted at anu14bhatta@gmail.com.

Class Photo by Brian Rihlmann

I look at that class photo, Kindergarten
and wonder what is left
of those faces and bodies and souls
as we, now nearing mid life
are awakened by harsh alarm bells
on the east or west coast
or somewhere in between
and we swarm out into the streets, 
down into subway tunnels or onto buses
or hop in our cars and brave freeway madness,
faces now lined and wrinkled
like clocks and dollar bills.
I wonder if anything at all is left,
or if there’s anything sacred
in this routine. It’s hard to see, but
I still look for it, as I weave
among cars on the freeway, 70 plus, 
toward someplace I’d rather not be.



Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi autobiographical, confessional free verse. Folk poetry…for folks. He has been published in The Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press, Alien Buddha Zine, Synchronized Chaos, Madness Muse Press and The American Journal Of Poetry.




One Single Kiss by Fethi Sassi



I still lick my fingers every morning,

I play with my neighbors in front of the next door girl.

I hesitate a thousand times…

How can I sink my fingers in her hand?

And kiss the moon dangling on her braids?

She keeps looking at my hand, wet by the sand.


 Is it enough for one kiss to determine the moon’s orbit in her hair?

This moon can’t lure me.

I was always biting my poem

When I wrote about a girl who lost her kiss on the sand…





Fethi Sassi is a writer of prose poetry and short poems and haiku ; translator of all his poems to English . A member in the Tunisian Writers’ Union ; and in the Literature club at the cultural center of Sousse . 1- first book entitled “A Seed of Love” was published in 2010. 2- ) I dream …. and I sign on birds the last words ) in 2013 . 3- ” A sky for a strange bird “ first edition in Egypt in 2016. Second edition in September 2018 in Tunisia . 4- published in Egypt in march 2017(As lonely rose ..one a chair)- Poetic book in 2018 Egypt ( I used to hang my face behind the door).