for L.Y.

for L.Y.

by N3ko 

chased
from gray yesterday's throb of compelled error:
start on the back-beat
and prophesy of tomorrow's sheen, dread
moonlight - burning down
on our sundering:
the straits, and sometimes the mountains
meander

blackly
under pouting skies, withering
all sense of forgiveness, fading -
your masked words, betraying
our listless vision
of the chiming hour; none
but your damned distance
would burn me thus, and press
to make rose-thorn tears heal
this heart stitched with regret:
mine, still
waiting
for the blooming dawn -

that which never came:
left behind
only for a moment - i was
hiding in the corner
of the turning, from May rain
to July farewells, forgotten
as you strode off, ample shadow
quivering slightly, the fixed melody
of your life: focused, denying,
ignoring my interlude -
went on

© N3ko 2008

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N3ko is born and bred Ipohite, rarely logically coherent, terminally sceptical, usually found reading something, often found in a state of hunger or starvation.

how do they choose

how do they choose

by Maslina Arshad

how do they choose
who to die
that day
which spot
to leave
a ticking clock

and afterwards
how do they know
who they’d missed

© 2008 Maslina Arshad

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Maslina Arshad is a closet poet who is also a lawyer by day. She loves reading and is especially blessed to have married a fellow bookworm. She loves watching the rain fall, staring into space for ideas to form into words. She has been writing since many moons ago but never submitted anything to anywhere, until the existence of this webzine. She would love to publish the rest of her work someday. In the meantime she is happy chasing her son chasing the cat, somewhere in the middle of a town called Temerloh. Visit her blog, to see more of her work.

Psychic Snail Post

I licked the stamp

by Leon Wing

I licked the stamp

I posted the stamp
under my tongue
Saliva and glue kissed
danced together
burned the nous
Seeing strobed
Heart bosomed
Legs lost locus
Nostrils flamed out
sparking the danced ground
Someone’s fleck surged
large close
into my iris

I see black

© Leon Wing 2008

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Leon Wing: Someone called out to another,"Lick the stamp". A song is playing in the background: if you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair ...  This is from the finale of a documentary I was watching on an Aus network TV, about hippies invading San Francisco in the groovy 60s.  I licked actual stamps there, for postcards (not in the 60s, course not) ... in London,  well ...

Leon Wing writes poems, mostly. He “sees” shapes, colours, objects, structures, when reading them; like some people do when listening to sounds or music, as when he writes for Puisy-poesy.

My Road

My Road

by Nuruljannah Bte Hj Usop 

Knitted thorns on immeasurable road,
Malevolent gravels scattered abroad,
Though small, do not
Misjudge their entangled malicious thought.

Taking a step with coercive pace,
Melancholy hidden through fence of face,
I let a sombre sigh, which could dissipate,
Not vanish the pain, letting hidden tears participate.

Do not sleep, whispers my head,
forcing the steps, like a blade.
The day is young, the road endless and long.
Until it is darkling, I would stop and play another song.

© 2008 Nuruljannah Bte Hj Usop 

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Nuruljannah Bte Hj Usop: I'm taking Bachelor of English linguistic and literature at International Islamic University Malaysia. Poetry is the platform for my emotions to roam freely without boundaries. When I start to write a poem, these emotions are my ink. Every word I use is embroiled with hidden emotions. Needless to say, I really enjoy poetry, reading and writing it.

See her other writings at http://www.annafisha.deviantart.com/

Snakes and truants

Kiss Me

by Vaijyanti Ghose

Come kiss me.
I am waiting under the morning sun,
At the edge of the rock near the pool,
On the vine of red flowers.
I am the dying croak of the night,
The dry bark on your lawn,
The hunger in the pit of your stomach,
The rage pulsing in your veins.
Come kiss me,
Cradle me,
Love me,
Let me loose.................

© 2008 Vaijyanti Ghose

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----

Truant

by Vaijyanti Ghose

As my truant spirit plays havoc with your senses,
Sets fire to your balmy soul drenched in this sudden shower,
As these long fingers play with your burgundy tresses and
My eyes watch you arch towards me,
My heart hears you moan from some deep dark corner of your soul
And, frenzied by it, digs further into you.

And yet I know this is just for tonight.
Tomorrow you shall do this to someone else,
Look at him as though besotted,
And all you want is to be ravished by him.
I know you, girl.
This brief night you are mine.
Tomorrow will bring another.
Who can pay for you to play the part of love?

© 2008 Vaijyanti Ghose

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Vaijyanti Ghose says: "My mind is an independent creature, somewhat like saying, 'My mind has a mind of its own'. As the pen scribbles on my paper I read what my mind has to tell me…."

Vaijyanti lives in Delhi, India. She writes a blog called www.fishpoo.blogspot.com.

Cain Canine

Cain Canine

By Leon Wing

His canines kill
his sibling as he keels
over and dies
in jest, learning their mother’s
ways in the paved tropics,
these kitties, so appealing
even when they can bore
a punctum as precisely as the point
on her kitchen knife can stab
into the plates of the fish,
their last repast
of the eventide, her sons
watching and waiting
for the kill

© Leon Wing 2008

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Leon Wing:  As per usual I'm writing about killing, this time in a poem.  I tend to put in some cats into my work now.  The ones in here are learning the ways of the feline world, in order to survive.  I also bring into the picture a mother and her scary sons.

Leon Wing writes poems, mostly. He “sees” shapes, colours, objects, structures, when reading them; like some people do when listening to sounds or music, as when he writes for Puisy-poesy.