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Reflection

Reflection
By: Adam M. Snow

The reflection in this cracked mirror shows only two;
my essence, my soul; it's also true.
My soul is tainted, my essence is numb;
my dreams grew dark, this is what I've become.

My reflection is cracked; I'm out of place;
my heart grows cold, I need your grace.
I'm falling apart; I've lost my way;
what else do you want me to say?

The rippling water's a mist how can that be?
Do I exist to be with thee?
I am cracked and so is my reflection;
these wounds, they show my affection.

Though I am but one in a reflection of two;
trying to find my place anew.

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poem by Adam M. Snow
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La Cloche fêlée (The Cracked Bell)

II est amer et doux, pendant les nuits d'hiver,
D'écouter, près du feu qui palpite et qui fume,
Les souvenirs lointains lentement s'élever
Au bruit des carillons qui chantent dans la brume.

Bienheureuse la cloche au gosier vigoureux
Qui, malgré sa vieillesse, alerte et bien portante,
Jette fidèlement son cri religieux,
Ainsi qu'un vieux soldat qui veille sous la tente!

Moi, mon âme est fêlée, et lorsqu'en ses ennuis
Elle veut de ses chants peupler l'air froid des nuits,
II arrive souvent que sa voix affaiblie

Semble le râle épais d'un blessé qu'on oublie
Au bord d'un lac de sang, sous un grand tas de morts
Et qui meurt, sans bouger, dans d'immenses efforts.

The Flawed Bell

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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A cracked ground

By Ombuge Moses

Mama!
You sleep on a crack ground
Empty is the stomach
Hot is the sun
Nothing to quench the crack
The thirst is killing
Cracked is my throat
Helplessly you lay
You sleep on a crack ground

Baba!
Your cry is echoing
My ears cannot stop
My tears cool my cheeks
My face is running dry
You sleep in a crack ground
Forever never to see you again
Mama has followed you

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poem by Ombuge M Moses
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The Broken Mirror

My life is almost over; that's a fact
Statistically derived but simply true;
I look into the mirror, but it's cracked

And so reflects two, three, or more, that lack
Cohesion. Which one's goal shall I pursue—
My life is almost over; that's a fact—

In time remaining? Luggage largely packed,
Past boxed and crated, little left to do,
I look into the mirror, but it's cracked

And won't be fixed and always did refract
The one before it into at least two.
My life is almost over; that's a fact,

But life cannot be lived in the abstract
And begs for certainties that it once knew:
I look into the mirror, but it's cracked;

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poem by David Berman
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Reflection (rewrite and edit)

Reflection
By: Adam M. Snow

Alone am I this night of flutter,
confusion reigns, so I utter.
The air is that of a clouded dream;
so dark like that of an ordeal gleam.

I wonder where this fancy bestowed me;
in this room, damp as can be.
My vision is blurred from this smoky scene.
I see only a table, that of shallow green.

Heedfully I approach the table with ease,
Seeing afar it covered in bluish frieze.
My vision once blurred now is clearer;
that vanity table shown an olden mirror.

From the vanity table, that mirror I now held
I glanced upon myself, now greatly compelled.

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poem by Adam M. Snow
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My Heart Cracked

you're spreadin lies all over town about the way you brushed me off and put me
down i'm her to say make no mistake my heart cracked but it did not break I
cant deny the hurt was deep the way you slammed that door and walked right out
on me but im telling you get one thing straight my heart cracked but it did not
break shatterd dreams lay every where broken promises are all we share I
finally took all I could take my heart cacked but it did not break well i was
blue but for long cause this brand new love i got has made me strong and I'm
over you and all the ache my heart cracked but it did not break shattered
dreams lay everywhere broken promises are all we share I finally took all I
could take mty heart cracked but it did not break

song performed by Randy Travis
Added by Lucian Velea
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They Live In Division

People of ignorance take no time to learn,
But rush to judgement to incite a fighting done...
Dawn after dawn and after many midnights.
They live in division.
People.

People of ignorance initiate hate.
With a wasting of time to find themselves,
Replaced.
By the acts of Mother Nature.
And the reality of this no one claims is faked.

Then people in this condition expect overnight,
Their self-centered appetites...
To be restored as they would like.
Even when the winds have broken tree limbs.
They live in division.

Even when God wants division to end,
They live in division.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To My Mother

Why
you went
and in this
bitter and cruel world
alone me left
was death so beautı ful and your beloved
did you miss it very much
fed up of us
you used to take us
under your skirt
and protect us from rainy days
from everything harmful
is you grave as cold as ice
why did you made it be dug so large
whom are yı ou expecting near as dear
was death so beautı ful mother
why you left us alone
ı t ı s evident
you longed for it
ı was angry

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poem by Metin Sahin
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Comrades An Episode

Before, before he was aware
The 'Verey' light had risen… on the air
in hung glistering..
And he could not stay his hand
From moving to the barbed wire's broken strand.
A rifle cracked.
He fell.
Night waned. He was alone. A heavy shell
Whispered itself passing high, high overhead.
His wound was wet to his hand: for still it bled
On the glimmering ground.
Then with a slow, vain smile his wound be bound,
Knowing, of course, he'd not see home again -
Home, whose thought he put away.
His men
Whispered, 'Where's Mister Gates?' 'Out on the wire.'
'I'll get him,' said one….
Dawn blinked and the fire
Of the Germans heaved up and down the line.
'Stand to!'

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poem by Robert Nichols
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The Blues, The Jazz, The City

The city is jazz under neon lights
The jazz is blues stoned
And the city never forgets this
Like the heart never forgets to pulse
And the stars never forget to shine in the night
But it takes jazz to move it, to move it all
So the jazz is the beat that always burns
So the heavens continue to shine on and shine all

The jazz soothes the souls of the children
Though the city is old, the jazz is young
Thus the jazz, fast and heavy, radiates the city
She returns her to her ember glow in night

The city is high on the hill and low in the valley
She is the heart, the blessed nectar, the blossom shower
The jazz glows in prosperous tombs
She serves the crashing wave of the monsoon, to the city's bay, to the ancient harbor, across bold rivers, to lakes nestled in the safety of moors and battlefields, and sings to the forest and soaks the timber and every reborn city is cloaked in the fingertip of jazz
Since jazz destroys and creates, it is the fire, and so the smoke rises higher
Hark the newborn guff of jazz

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poem by Jay Bradley
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