Micro Poem 32

Even the rainfall

of your crimson tears
couldn’t extinguish
the torrential lava
coming out of

my inferno

–Soodabeh Saeidnia

Soodabeh was born in Iran and received multiple degrees from Tehran University of Medical Sciences. She has being worked as the University researcher, as a professor for 10 years in Japan, Iran and Canada, and has published about 150 scientific papers in prestigious journals as well as books in both English and Persian. Now, she is living in New York with her husband and 9-year-old son. She is interested in writing science fiction and poems in English, and has published a book of her poems in Persian named “Words for myself”, which you can find here, as well as her Facebook and Twitter.

Micro Poem 28

Keep galloping

on my broken heart.
The shards
aren’t sharp
and the blood
has already dried.

–Soodabeh Saeidnia

Soodabeh was born in Iran and received multiple degrees from Tehran University of Medical Sciences. She has being worked as the University researcher, as a professor for 10 years in Japan, Iran and Canada, and has published about 150 scientific papers in prestigious journals as well as books in both English and Persian. Now, she is living in New York with her husband and 9-year-old son. She is interested in writing science fiction and poems in English, and has published a book of her poems in Persian named “Words for myself”, which you can find here, as well as her Facebook and Twitter.

Letting Go

Breath.
Betwixt mine eyes I see her.
An effervescent cloud of mournful blues & grays.

Breath.
Between my lips I taste her.
Cold, crisp, cuckolded kisses filled with decisive disdain.

Breath.
Behold my hands I touch her.
Malleable rotted dirt-blackened smudges,

With which to paint upon her stone.

Breath.
Be still my mind I hear her.
Cooing softly into the bosom of my temple.

Breath.
Bemoan my heart I know her.

Breath.
Be staid my body I need her.

Breath.

Benign, malevolent waves of white winter pass.

Crushed cudgels of spring’s wet buds
Cry out in dew-dropped agony.
And Summer…

Breath.


And Summer.

How you, Dear Autumn, have declared her dead.

Eclipsed by the shadow of your callous sky,
She withers upon my gaze.

Left with only you, Dear Autumn,
I am resigned to go to the ends of the earth
And wander along my mind-path’s dreary plain.

Breath.
Be kind, Dear Autumn.
For I have gone to the place beyond the sun dried willow’s leaf,

I have wished that your sky’s dank shadows
Descend onto my eyes’ watery orifices once more.


Please…do not leave me out to dry.

–Laura Bernas

Laura is a freelance writer hailing from Buffalo, NY. Having lived in places such as Russia, Africa, and Alaska, she loves truly original short fiction, poetry, and pretty much anything to do with fantasy and adventure in foreign lands. Hoping to one day soon publish her first novel, Laura spends her time not writing making independent films, acting & singing in theater, and enjoying all the delicious restaurants NYC has to offer. You can contact her for any and all of your writing needs at laura.bernas13@gmail.com and on Instagram

Heart Failure

We’ve done away with straight lines.

We are instantaneous.

I am inside of you now,

and you’re inside me.

We’ve unwritten the question mark;

there are only answers between us.

I’ve been known to hold grudges:

when the Reconquista came for me I led

the battle cry, and even now I do a war dance

on the graves of my enemies.

Our armies are clashing once more, dearest.

But I have the Law on my side; the Long-

Arms will neutralize you soon enough,

and deliver you to me, concentrated.

Our love is undiluted; unfiltered, like

the cigarettes corrupting our lungs.

We built a foundation, our foundation, on

blood: we’ve been using each other up to

keep our city afloat.

I see the sinking in your eyes.

We are not like we were.

The space between us made our

greatest strength a debilitating hindrance.

I am inside you, and you’re in me.

But our bodies are rejecting each other;

the antibodies can’t tolerate our melding

into one.

We’re toxic now.

Our hearts once beat as one.

The beat ever goes on,

but the song is arrhythmic.

We’re at the end of it now, and the pacemaker is unable to stabilize us.

I am in shock now, as are you.

We’re broken.

–Jordan Mazzella

Jordan is an author and assistant teacher living in Brooklyn, New York. His works have been featured in The Brooklyn Review, as well as the Brooklyn College English Majors’ Zine and Hunter College’s OliveTree Review. You can contact him via email at nycstreetpoet@gmail.com, and he can be found on Facebook, as well as on WordPress.

When He Leaves Me

A convalescence of essence shoots through my veins.

Unrelenting, marrowed bone-butter funnels to my brain.

Who cries out to me?

Not a sound…but a name;
I’ve heard it before: a wishful archetype of my future refrain.

I beat my feet to the rhythm of my mind’s off beat harmonic hues:

Eyes shape shifting, color melding, all in effigy to you.

So easy to maintain, yet hard to constrain:

I’ll fight to keep secret what, still primal, remains.

With a fraction of useful macabre sensibility,
Capture the gun of my mouth and put your silencer on.

Press once for sensibility…press twice for malaise…

Press three times for un-amused irony, half-glazed.

Boom went the Shadow Man!; loves yang hatred-forced down within disguise. Words, thoughts, images half remembered: lost amidst my mind’s useless cries.

I am at once forgotten:
Vanished with a soothing rhythm of love’s sweet “yet-to-bees”.
Love’s counterpart Satan drives reckless, not knowing where or what or how to see.

“Tic-Toc” said the Shadow Man.

Come into my lair.
Make praise, and a revival!

Seclusion will dull those wits, half scared.

Drip drop down to the orchard of my kind.
Capture the supine staircases flowing from my mind.

Climb down my membranes. Envelope in kind:
The neural incontinence of a lovesick aching mind.

–Laura Bernas

Laura is a freelance writer hailing from Buffalo, NY. Having lived in places such as Russia, Africa, and Alaska, she loves truly original short fiction, poetry, and pretty much anything to do with fantasy and adventure in foreign lands. Hoping to one day soon publish her first novel, Laura spends her time not writing making independent films, acting & singing in theater, and enjoying all the delicious restaurants NYC has to offer. You can contact her for any and all of your writing needs at laura.bernas13@gmail.com and on Instagram

My Heart Screams in Gold Plaited Pharynx

My heart screams in gold plaited pharynx

In helios of doggedly striking cymbals

Steeply giving in to exotic cries

Of the ghastly deflowered flora of the deltas

In muted slit of moaning fiona

Opobo; Gbaramatu; Brass; Okrika:

How many more ruptured landscapes

are my outcry partners

In this spectrum of brutality

Sinking into mutilating tools

Of crude oil explorations.

For them, my heart has continually screamed

In gold plaited pharynx

–Eddie Awusi

Eddie is a Nigerian writer of Isoko extraction. He graduated from the prestigious Delta state university, Abraka, in 2007, where, he got a Bachelor of Arts degree in English and Literature. He has been published in Dissident Voice, The Australian Times, Tuck Magazine and other numerous magazines and anthologies. The pen and paper are his playmates.