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Squash in Blossom

How lush, how loose, the uninhibited squash is.
If ever hearts (and these immoderate leaves
Are vegetable hearts) were worn on sleeves,
The squash's are. In green the squash vine gushes.

The flowers are cornucopias of summer,
Briefly exuberant and cheaply golden.
And if they make a show of being hidden,
Are open promiscuously to every comer.

Let the squash be what it was doomed to be
By the old Gardener with the shrewd green thumb.
Let it expand and sprawl, defenceless, dumb.
But let me be the fiber-disciplined tree

Whose leaf (with something to say in wind) is small,
Reduced to the ingenuity of a green splinter
Sharp to defy or fraternize with winter,
Or if not that, prepared in fall to fall.

poem by Robert Francis
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Fountain of truth

I know of a soigne lady,
To me my maiden,
Priceless in her penchant frail,
Thus praise thy courtly hail,
To her forehead thus gaze my truth,
For I grain and yet, her empire still fruit's,
And then again sprawl,
My lady, our enamors we bear and nay,
That time may crawl On your lithe i pray,
To dear to thy heart and win,
Before the world halt's at spin,
This affinity thus hath we bound,
For I lust and again found,
In your presence still,
Whence I gawk into thy finespun eyes of steel,
I see enchantment of nailing hooks,
Fastening to my wings of serrated crooks,
To love you ten times,
And to your adulation all that multiples,
My svelte,

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poem by Folayemi Akande
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Galaxies Are Lampooning

Blossomed human acumen
Brokered what? A broken Earth!
Caveman became a craving man
To Creator’s regret

Tied tight rights around mien
Carved out lines between man and man
Made canons and framed bastions
Yet felt not safe; built deadly weapons! !

Running away galaxies lampoon
“Free cruisers we are in the endless Empyrean!
No fetters to stop free fly in our infinite vistas
And no bounds to our celestial caravan!
No need to take passports and visas
And no rules of emigration”

“With love-Ambrosia God made us all
We sip it all along; sparkle and sprawl
Basking ever, in its eternal elation!

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poem by Sathya Narayana
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My Country, My State...

inside
money and power
change equations
with the ease of a
seasoned skater

outside
some hundred billion
hands raise to an
empty sky in utter
helplessness, undifinable

inside
power gets moved on
an antique chess board
in intrigue and advantage

outside
cheap lives move
on the rusted chess board

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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Glass of Absinthe

No use pleading anymore at the dawn,
The waved-off world gone disastrous with time.

Decisions are uncomfortable
In this atmosphere. Valves drain, raise ballad—

Measures pound to flaked light, sun astride
Iron lace of railing on Royal Street—

Scrolled into oak leaves, acorns, sad long horns
In day shadows—urinal, late coffee.

They are restorations of ruined night,
But no beacon in our silver hours.

A life shaped by digressions: Linger long
Enough, and death itself loses the way to us.

She seems drunk but is not, her white skirt striped
With black from a fall on wet cobblestones.

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poem by Ernest Hilbert
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Because You are Precious more than my Life

From the beauty of Rose,
Which always entice sweet Lovers,
I always try to explore,
Your soul which dwell
Everytime inside my heart.
Of that sweetness that
Beauty of Rose,
Often failed to give
To adorable Lovers,
Is just intaken by me,
By your presence with smiling visage,
And, When you sprawl with
Your head on ma' Lap,
It felt that I am lost in,
Joy of Paradise.
And, when you squabble with me,
Your angry visage looks very awesome,
And after this,
Your amusement on the same,
Relax me same as when fire,

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poem by Indrajeet Mishra
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The Sense Of Your Bidding

The sense of your bidding is unclear:
to pray, to curse, is it, to fight
you bid me, inscrutable genius?
The spring slackens, niggard, meager,
and Benozzo Gozzoli's courier
dozes in the drowsy thickets.

Hills are dark with honeyed cloud.
Look: I do not touch lithe strings.
Your gaze, prophetically flying,
is clenched, gushes no winged streams,
and beckons by no May road, trying
to outstrip Hermes in his flight.

Hobbled horses do not neigh,
Aging warriors sprawl in disarray...
Hold your palms open wide!
Risen spring is bright,
but groves of darkness are not given
to leap for joy having leapt from dreams.

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poem by Mikhail Alekseevich Kuzmin
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Mother Cat Spreads her Love

animals are animals
they have brain not
large enough to guide
them through propriety
which even then sometimes
can be assets to melt
all our hearts for them

here at my feet, below
a malay eating store
the warmest motherhood
laid sprawled, exemplified

a cat her fore and hind
limbs pointing different
heavens, leaves an abodmen
space large enough to
spread all her affections,
protection, and love

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Those That Merely Wait And Unmoved

walking, just walking, sometimes just this
no thoughts, no decisions, just plain walking

you see the light of the day
striking on the trees and plains and the daffodils

you are not part of it, you are just walking it
you are met by the wind from the mountain

you are not talking you are not interested about
what this wind these trees these daffodils are bringing you

you do not show any interest at all about some leaves falling
the light spreads and sprawls on the grass and sand and pebbles

you are not dazzled you are not completely covered by light
you are just walking, stepping into God's own creation

spectator, just plain walking in, not involved, not commenting
just plain watching, those that crawl and sprawl, those that stay and leave

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Rain Tolls

And the rain sounded like hail,
From the rooftops - a galvanized frailty
To whom does the rain toll?

The marred corners are baying prudently,
And soon the thunder would crash like the foliage,
For whom does the rain fall?

Then all the people who basked underneath the rain,
From puddles, the images hang loose from the terrain,
To whom does the murk of the wind call?

The cold monsoon blusters,
And the trees sprawl to their forefathers,
Tell me underneath the pouring savagery, for whom does the wind stall?

A chasm waiting to be filled,
By the zenith that scampers throughout the fields,
I am bludgeoned by the wind as it scrolls

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poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr
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