PPP Ezine: Poetrypoeticspleasure Ezine. Volume 6; Issue 3; March 2022

Poet of the Month: Noelle Kukenas

The Unrealized Dreams of the Night by Edward Lee

Earth Poems by Shola Balogun

Wicked Resuscitation by Thomas M. McDade

Someone loved me once by David Estringel

A Quiet Place to Think By Mark Kodama

From Beginnibg to End Liao by Daniel de Culla

Adoption by Ahmad Al-Khatat

Elephant and Castle Underground Station by Eadbhard McGowan

My Heart Beats For You…. by Eric Golden

Poet of the Month: Noelle Kukenas

Still I Believe

The door slams shut

Opportunities denied

No (fill in the blank) Allowed

Still I Believe.

The money has run out

No way to provide

The cupboards are bare

Still I Believe.

The pain is too great

My strength is diminished

Memories are blurred

Still I Believe.

There’s nothing left

Even the ashes drift away

Leaving only scarred earth

Still I Believe.

The final call sounds

I’m taken away

Never to return

But – Still I Believe.

The Kingdom

This makes no sense

trapped inside an unexpected and unexplained mess

created from what madness?

what illness?

or sheer indifference?

The Caustic Queen

perched upon a throne

grins like a Cheshire Cat

watching the struggle with evil glee

greedily consuming the entire kingdom.

The Kingdom?!

Once an admirable work of financial art, prudence, and discipline

shining in splendid glory

an example to emulate

carefully crafted and created with intention to care for others.

Now a burned-out shell of its former self

an unrecognizable wasteland

littered with broken promises

sucking the life out of the remnants of prior greatness.

Starving children dig through the ruins

searching for any scraps or crumbs

of the future once promised them.

While the One who-should-have-gone-first

feasts upon the riches of others

tossing aside the bones

to be scattered

among the chaos.

Noelle Kukenas began writing around the age of nine and continues to this day. She enjoyed working in several career fields, many which allowed her to contribute as a technical writer in some capacity. Her published works include a short story in Scraps To Scribes and poetry in Sisterhood 4: We Are Women. Recently retired from the nonprofit sector, Noelle enjoys spending her free time traveling with her husband, creating havoc with her grandchildren, and enjoying the California sunshine!

The Unrealized Dreams of the Night by Edward Lee  

In the centre of the night

there was a crescent of light

which was not the moon

nor some distant and dying star;

something was about to begin,

something previously unknown,

with no one

to witness

in these hours when time

exists outside of existence,

only lazily destined to hear, after,

its echo as it faded from sound

into a crescent of light,

the remains of possibilities

and wishes unmade.

Edward Lee’s poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths Knoll.  His debut poetry collection “Playing PoohsticksOnHa’Penny Bridge” was published in 2010. He is currently working towards a second collection.

He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Lewis Milne, Orson Carroll, Blinded Architect, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.

His blog/website can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.com.  

Earth Poems by Shola Balogun

Wine for your thoughts.

Raft of corn seeds,

Whispers in the attic,

The locked eyes in the helve,

The treading of the sole of the foot

In the winepress. You heard tell

That trampling tongues

Birth Belial roots

In the dark pool of rushes?

Child, meddle not with the shadows.

Stones tasted wine in time past.

Shola Balogun, poet,playwright and filmmaker has been featured as a guest writer and contributor,especially in the areas of poetry, post colonial studies and dramatic criticism to various magazines,anthologies and journals. He studied Theatre Arts at the University of Ibadan. Balogun lives in Lagos,Nigeria.

Wicked Resuscitation by Thomas M. McDade 

I knew a woman

who lived in an old

apartment complex.

Once when we stopped

at her place after partying

she snapped

the light on and it was

as if we’d interrupted a

cockroach Mardi Gras

and I didn’t pick that

event out of the blue—

it was precisely that

time of the year.

My friend didn’t panic,

said those insects

were preferable to mice.

The bugs quickly scattered

and I wished they’d remained

a minute or so longer

to deep freeze in my mind:

a paper was soon due

on Kafka’s Metamorphosis.

I planned to argue

metaphor vs. reality.

Visiting next,

after the monthly

pesticide application.

I picked up five victims

expired in a kitchen corner

closed a fist around them

as if administering some sort

of wicked resuscitation.

Closing my eyes, I imagined

Kafka high on something

better than pesticide doing the same

telling his partying friends

just watch my burdens

someday turn me into one.

Thomas M. McDade is a 73 year-old resident of Fredericksburg, VA. He is a graduate of Fairfield University, Fairfield, CT. McDade is twice a U.S. Navy Veteran.

Someone loved me once by David Estringel


Buoyant hustle emerging from smokey  fields,
It is his voice that sings me to peace.
Capacious affection  breathing down my neck
Like sun rays warming my skin.
I have been the metaphor of destruction
And he, the metaphor of revival. 
Feral detest bubbling within the cauldron of my chest
But overridden by his sweet summer scent.
Someone loved me once;
He loved me enough to make me love myself.

David Estringel is an avid reader, poet, and writer of fiction, creative non-fiction, & essays. His work has been accepted and/or published by Specter Magazine, Literary Juice, Foliate Oak Magazine,Terror House Magazine, Expat Press, 50 Haikus, littledeathlit, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Route 7 Review, Setu Bilingual Journal, Paper Trains Literary Journal, The Elixir Magazine, Soft Cartel,Harbinger Asylum, Briars Lit, Open Arts Forum, Cajun Mutt Press, Former People Journal, The Ugly Writers, Writ in Dust, Cephalopress, Twist in Time, Merak Magazine, Salt Water Soul, Cherry House Press, Subterranean Blue Poetry, Printed Words, Sunflower Sutras, Tulip Tree Publishing, Salt, PPP Ezine, Digging through the Fat, Haiku Journal, and The Good Men Project. He is currently a Contributing Editor (fiction) at Red Fez, Lead Editor/columnist at The Good Men Project, and an editor/writer at The Elixir Magazine. David can be found on Twitter (@The_Booky_Man) and his website at http://davidaestringel.com.

A Quiet Place to Think By Mark Kodama

I need a quiet place to think,

A shaded spot beneath the pomegranate tree,

Isolated from man and beast,

A platonic spring from which to drink,

Stillwaters for reflection

On all of life’s imperfections

In an ugly and chaotic world

Full of beautiful contradictions.

I need a quiet place to think,

A safe harbor to hear my inner voice

Whispering its truths to me

In all the colors of the rainbow.

A spot in the shade to meditate,

For ideas to gestate.  A place

For the butterfly to nourish itself,

Before taking winged flight.

Mark Kodama is a trial attorney and former newspaper reporter who lives in Washington, D.C.    His short stories and poems have been published in anthologies, newspapers, journals, magazines and on-line blogs.

From Beginnibg to End Liao by Daniel de Culla

From beginning to end

is explained absolutely everything worth knowing

about absolutely nothing.

Why not’?

We felt that the Beginning is a true leaf

of the inmortal literature

as a side of bacon changing the pig

discovering the best way to keep its legend alive

encouragingmytology

and the controversy about it:

Sun wil have its tide spreading over our maps

Moon remembering us we were gone

and we still sing everything waiting

for birth, death

inside this den of us.

Spring, Summer, Autum, Winter

coming with feelings of love, radiance

quiet and delight

As ever.

Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet, and photographer. He’s member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, Friends of The Blake Society, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He participated in many Festivals of Poetry, and Theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Genève .He has exposed in many galleries from Madrid, Burgos, London, and Amsterdam. He is moving between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos; e-mail: gallotricolor@yahoo.com

Adoption by Ahmad Al-Khatat

When I was a teenager
I donated to a little orphan
since then I made a vow that 
I would adopt her, and marry her

Days go by and nights come 
I learned how to hurt myself 
by doing bad habits that will 
guide me to die below the bridge

I lost count of my harmful cuts 
I lost all the joyful memories and 
moments from weeping beneath 
the lights of the miserable bar

My mother thought that I was well,
As my smile hid the tears that 
damaged my physical therapist 
within minutes after hearing me

I lost many chances and luck
until I met a broken heart,
she cried when she knew that I 
found what was missing of me

I found her 
between all of my poetry
between all of my cigarette smoke 
I tried to lose her
as I saw my shadow following her

Ann you didn’t adopted a regular girl
you have definitely raised one angel
that showed me life with colours
From your love and care for my princess

the grief inside of me has smiled when
your daughter kissed my salty lips and 
wiped my tears, hopefully she will
close my eyes after my smiling face rests

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, and Roofs of Dreams all of which are available from Amazon. He lives in Montreal, Canada.

Elephant and Castle Underground Station by Eadbhard McGowan

Waiting in the dark, we dream of light;

deep, underground, we hear detonations,

vibrations of bombing causing fright,

impact of loads dropped on a town.

What awaits us outside is unknown,

when we inch to daylight with we desire:

a day darkened by smoke

or a night glowing with fire?

Grasped by fear and helplessness,

by air raids and trembling walls,

recognising nightmare’s relentlessness

in the horror of today’s sundown

when night falls like a gown

and sirens sound the all-clear,

in these days of war and fear,

in shelters with neighbours and strangers.

Wherever we look into dark future’s night,

far from the here and now, flickering light,

far from home, hoping, and hearing

the word without knowing its meaning.

Did we see warnings looming up?

Signs on the wall, in Belshazzar’s hall?

Did we anticipate tyrants, invasion, depravity?

Victims, the dead, the bombs on Coventry?

Sons of the land clothe themselves with death,

arm themselves to kill their own kind

in the places of horror, up and down the land.

Dream weavers weave a wreath,

money counters count and pay in kind;

armourers forge, steel unsheathed;

soldiers kill; leave thousands bereaved:

we are all led like puppets on a string.

In the city of lost angels,

a masked man sharpens his black scythe,

saddles his mighty horse

for the very last fight.

Burn, Phoenix, that your ashes bear fruit,

keep your heart’s blood, Pelican, to feed us.

Grim Reaper has his harvest time.

We hear graveyard bells chime.

Almost filled is the hour-counting shadow glass;

nearly faded, are pottery shards with your name,

the Tree of Life, standing pale in the rain;

wilted, the rosebush that lived your love,

windblown breath that carries your words,

naked, featherless- lonely peace dove.

Go where you have never been before,

where yet so many wait.

Eduard Schmidt-Zorner is an artist and a translator and writer of poetry, crime novels and short stories. He writes haibun, tanka, haiku and poetry in four languages: English, French, Spanish and German and holds workshops on Japanese and Chinese style poetry and prose. Member of four writer groups in Ireland and lives in County Kerry, Ireland, for more than 25 years and is a proud Irish citizen, born in Germany. Published in 60 anthologies, literary journals and broadsheets in UK, Ireland, Canada and USA. Writes also under his pen name: Eadbhard McGowan 

My Heart Beats For You…. by Eric Golden

Let me touch your beautiful soul

Don’t you know I need someone to hold

To fill me up until I overflow

Brimming with happiness & never wanna let it go

You walk thru my door bringing in rays of sunshine behind you

Your presence is soothing & relaxing & yes this is true

You have handfuls of peacefulness & you come over with a heart full of content

The moment you walk thru the door I’m hoping the opposite way you will have never ever went

A smile full of beauty, a soft gentle touch to warm the heart

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, this wasn’t how it was supposed to start

But now it is & were trapped in each others ideas of what could be

We want to take it to the next level, to see what it is it should be

So what feels like years, has only been days

I can’t help myself cuz u got me feelin like I’m in a daze

& what feels like days feels like years

I’m ready to let you in, so please help me walk thru these fears

I told you that you’re at the top of my list, so there’s no one else above you

& it’s getting to the point where I want to tell you _ ____ ___

& our souls braid together in order to become one

& when we make love it’s like the rising of the sun

I gotta make sure the timing is correct

Don’t want to let you down, truly out of respect

But I’m willing to take a chance & risk it all for the thought of us

It’s going to take a lot of respect, honesty, love, & trust

Soft touches that make us blush

Take your time so we don’t have to rush

But now it’s time for you to go & I’m not sure when I will see you again,

But the more were together the more I like you for more than just a friend

If I get the chance I’m gonna keep you all to myself

I’m willing to let my guard down but please be careful nursing my heart back to health

I need you to support me in my goals & dreams

I need you to never leave

I need your nurturing touch

You see, I need you so much

Our hearts best in tandem

We both breathe in unison

I’m hoping that when my phone goes off that it will be you again

So never despair My love because I will be your hero

Even when we’re apart I promise I’m still here though

Your voice sounds so at ease

Like on a bright sunny day w the wind blowing thru the trees

It soothes me, comforts me, & heals me

I want to love the real you & you to love the real me

So let us not get lost or caught up in doing the wrong thing

Because if we allow love to flow, then happiness it will bring

______, my heart beats for you…..

Eric was born in Omaha, Nebraska. He graduated from Boys Town high school and went on to get a degree in Social Work. He married at 19 but later got divorced and has raised two children alone. His love for music and arts has led him to his writing. Much of his poetry and writings come from experiences and love of life. He often adds humor to enlighten and has been writing for over 20 years.

 

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