Month: January 2017

Deborah L. Davitt – Three Poems

there are different kinds of beauty. A mountain range takes my breath away, as does a sea at storm. But there is also something sublime in a mother who’s fallen asleep holding her sick child–the pain of her experience, her fear of what could happen to her child, the child’s fear transmuted into rest by its trust in its mother–that’s something beyond the prosaic and the everyday. You simply have to be willing to see it, rather than to close your eyes to the possibility of wonder.

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Carol Smallwood – Two Poems

Carol Smallwood – Two Poems   What Does it Mean? “It is what it is” a clerk replied to my comment how busy she was last week.Has it any meaning—could it be profound wisdom—or just another cliché?There’s something about the saying that’s mysterious, illusive, unique—is it a passing figure of speech soon dated, already has had its heyday? Has it any meaning—could it be profound wisdom—or just another cliché?Maybe what it means depends on a shrug, raised eyebrow, tone, or frown.Is it a passing figure of speech soon dated, already has had its heyday?Most likely my curiosity about the...

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Silva Merjanian – Rain Had No Scent in Geneva in November

I am hoping this poem will raise awareness to the emotional state of ‘newcomers’ and make a ripple in tolerance and kindness. I moved from Beirut to Geneva during the Lebanese civil war. Leaving everything and everyone you know and love behind takes some adjustment. There is a sense of being pulled from your roots.

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Ting Wang – Six Photographs

When I was little, my dad had our walls decorated with calligraphy scrolls featuring ancient Chinese poetry. He and my mom grew different-colored chrysanthemum in dozens of pots in our courtyard. On some crisp summer mornings, he would gather me and my sisters in front of our water lily pond he built and take photos of us. Beauty then was the elegance and serenity that were surrounding me and my family.

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Patricia Worth – The Enchanted Ring

Three handsome, rich young princes, one named Felibien, another, Roland, and the third, Aymeril, were travelling on horseback through all the countries of the world, followed by a multitude of servants and wagons loaded with their baggage. A chance meeting at an inn had made them friends, and they set off together. Why were they travelling?

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Katherine E. Young – Five Poems about Moscow

For some, the city’s beauty lies in its geography, in its rivers and hills; for others, it is the monasteries, palaces, and bell towers. For me, it lies in the shades of people, real and imagined, who stroll around Patriarch’s Pond in June, when the nights are clear and cool, and puffs of pukh (cottonwood seed) float out across the water.

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