The Voices Project - POETRY LIBRARY

The Day She Tasted the Fruit~ By Marzia Rahman

6/15/2022

She looked here and there, and when she was sure no one was nearby; she plucked the fruit from the tree—a red ball like a clot of blood. She imagined the juicy taste and her mouth watered and right then, he appeared, frowning. She wanted to touch him, kiss him and do all the other things forbidden to them. She made a wish and blushed; a wild wish, and a dream, of course unattainable—but what if it became true? She was so immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t realise when she popped a segment into her mouth, and he shouted, what have you done … and she looked up, his eyes carrying the cadence of the crimson night. As they got caught in the midst of a maelstrom of fire and fury and the fruit dropped from her hand and they fell and fell from the face of heaven, she looked into his eyes and found what she was always looking for.

Author Bio:
Marzia Rahman is a Bangladeshi writer and translator. Her flashes have appeared in 101 Words, Postcard Shorts, Five of the Fifth, Fewerthan500.com, WordCity Literary Journal, Red Fern Review, Dribble Drabble Review, Paragraph Planet, Six Sentences, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Potato Soup Journal, Borderless Journal, The Antonym, Flash Fiction Festival Four and Writing Places Anthology UK. Her novella 'Life on the Edges" was longlisted in 2018. Her novella-in-flash If Dreams had wings and Houses were built on clouds was longlisted in the Bath Novella in Flash Award Competition in 2022. She is also a painter.

The marvel of the freedom: In patches~ By Paweł Markiewicz

6/14/2022

The vault opens oneself at dawn.
The calyx of an Arctic alpine forget-me-not reopens
for an enchanting glory of the sunshiny dreams,
because of the eternally august poem,
that reads lenient and benignant.

Throughout the day:
there is up there a paradisiacal flight
of all halcyon seraphim,
singing through the stoicism, eudemonia
of many celestial dreamers.

Under the sun: a rhythm in wings of butterflies.
After evenfall: the paradise closes itself.
The springtide has gone to bed in aestival splendor.

Than overnight a balmy sempiternity sleeps as well.
Here below a sensitive firefly flies,
above so ravishing earth.
In danger owing to the raveners of the night.
Indeed spared thanks to the sheen of Luther’s star.
The earth becomes a dazzling hereafter.
It remains not far from June sparks, the little fire.
.
.........................

vault - (poetical) sky
benignant - mild
halcyon - peaceful
seraphim - seraphs
aestival - summery
ravener - bird of prey
sempiternity - eternity

Author Bio:
Paweł Markiewicz was born 1983 in Siemiatycze in Poland. He is poet who lives in Bielsk Podlaski and writes tender poems, haiku as well as long poem.

Ideas, Matter & the Light that Sings~ By David Wyman

6/9/2022

What the media narrative promises,
that in a world ablaze
with probabilities and data,
one person can make a viral impact
on history going forward.
Whilst near the end, the one becomes a something
larger, but like a rogue exoplanet, a celebrity
inspiring copycats. (Still to say all
opinions are not equal is belittling, yet aren’t
some opinions just wrong?) What we read

into it, then, unconsciously manifests in new light--
purplish behind a lightning shaped like veins.
What do they think is going to happen? The
solutions are on a much higher frequency
only actualized by self-awareness…

Author Bio:
David Wyman’s second poetry collection, Violet Ideologies, was published in 2020 by Kelsay Books. His first book Proletariat Sunrise, also published by Kelsay Books, came out in 2017. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Voices Project, BlazeVOX, Dissident Voice, Zombie Logic Review, Clockwise Cat & Squawk Back among other publications. He lives in Massachusetts and teaches at a local community college. He’s a fan of Noam Chomsky, jazz guitar and the visionary poetry of William Blake.

Help Wanted~ By Alexander Pérez

6/8/2022

Out of all
The good jobs,
Poem,
Why poetry?

Bet your parents
Are real disappointed.

Why not a
Bank manager?
Real estate agent?
Let’s be practical.

Maybe a doctor!?
Even if you
Are not a real
Doctor, but
Play one on TV,
Your parents
Could brag
To the neighbors.
They could finally
Say you’re not
Living in their basement.
Loser.

Have you ever
Heard of poetry
Striking it rich?
Get real.
Not unless you’re
Mediocre & make it
To the big time:
Barnes & Noble.

Sure, you want
To be one of a kind.
I hear you.
So let’s think of
Anything except
Poetry.

I got it!
Big Foot.

You already have
Crazed fans.

I have seen them online.
On cable TV.
They’re searching for you
Like you’re the messiah.

Then you come out on a
Barbara Walters special:
“Hey guys. I’m Bigfoot.”
That would be big news.
Even if you confess
“I have small feet.”

Yes!
Then the neighbors
Would stop
Talking about
Their darling
Jennifer.
Jennifer who
Went to
Harvard (big whoop).
Now a bigshot at some
Money-laundering
Financial institution
Making eight fingers
With a house on
Martha’s Vineyard.

That would shut
Them humble braggers
Up.

You know what?
I say be something
Even better
Even more
Freakin’ awesome:
An extra-terrestrial!
Now that would
Make some noise.
Not Spielberg’s
E.T. though.
He’s a wuss.

But please don’t
Abduct anyone
And do freaky things
To their butts.
We get plenty
Of that on
The internet.

Then you could
Lend a helping hand
To this doomed planet.

Use your powers
For some big
Advancements
Like the ability to eat
Mexican
Without getting gas,
Or, no doubt, cloning.
We want to stay up late
Playing video games.
Sleep all day
While our clone goes
To that mind-numbing
Nine to five.
These are the things
Earthlings really want.
And to find out
Who killed Kennedy.
That’s the first thing.

You could always be a cat.
It’s not much work.
An easy job.
Have a funky name like
Sir Meow-Mix-A-Lot.

Everyone loves cats.
Except the people we
Don’t talk to.
The “dog people.”
Don’t be one of them.
They’re mutts.
Oops, I meant nuts.

Also, don’t be
The moon.
It’s ’s tired of not
Getting paid
For its likeness.
Moon poems are
Pretty cheesy anyway.

If only the moon
Had licensed their
Image like
Kim K.
(Kris Jenner
Please don’t sue me for
Unauthorized trademark
Infringement.)
To be on the safe side
I will say like Dolly Parton.
She’s cool.

The melancholic &
Alcoholic
Are out too.
We have lost
A lot of good poems
That way.

You could always try
Filling a real tough job
Something you’re
Made for…

A
Revelation,
Reconciliation,
Path to freedom,
Anecdote to cynicism,
Peace treaty,
Saving grace,
Common language,
Declaration of Interdependence,
Secret to happiness,
A rhyme or reason.

Author Bio:
Alexander Pérez (he/him/his), gay and Latino, has stories and poems published in Trolley (NYS Writers Institute), Whisky Blot, Defenestration, Flash Fiction Magazine, (mac)ro(mic), and X-RAY. He received a James B. Duke Fellowship from Duke University to study Latinx and queer studies. He holds a BA in English from the University at Buffalo and MA in philosophy from the University at Albany. He currently works for the School of Education at the University at Albany. Website: perezpoet.press Instagram/Twitter: @perezpoet

Human Nefariousness~ By Ahmed Mehdi

6/7/2022

A crow taught Cain how to bury Abel,
So don’t claim to be a superior race.
Since life’s dawn you’ve borne many a label
That demeaningly disgrace and debase
Unbiased, you’ll see worth in flocks and herds
Like meekness in lambs and patience in steers,
Ethics in ravens and chasteness in birds,
And many a trait praised by pamphleteers.
Humans, however; to my sheer dismay
Are largely lustful, greedy and envious.
Heartlessly inclined to torment and slay
Leaving others with a taste to odious.
It would be well-grounded, reasoned and sane
If people learned from beings more humane.

Copyright © Ahmed Mehdi- All rights reserved

Author Bio:
Ahmed Mehdi is an EFL teacher from Sfax, Tunisia. He has been writing poetry as a hobby, including Shakespearean sonnets, for the last 16 years. He firmly believes that poetry is, to some extent, articulation and perception, but it is essentially, and above all, inspiration!

For Lisabeth~ By Emalisa Rose

4/5/2022

A flourish of filigree
tallies like tears
as they cradle
the grass,

where your ashes
combine
with those
of your brothers

over the bridge
under the parasol

the collection
of colors

free falling

slowly
rapidly

much like this life
flutters by.

Author Bio:
When not writing, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting with macrame arts. She volunteers in animal rescue, tending to cat colonies. She walks with a birding group on weekends. Her latest collection of poetry is "This water paint life," published by Origami Poems Project.

reflections on thee as fault~ By Suzan Alparslan

3/30/2022

stark pink lines are marking their territory
on the inner wrists of thirteen year old girls
across america, even as my oblivious, vintage
faux-gold medusa buttons arrive at my door
from half a century ago. maybe the pain
in my lumbar spine is a message from my
overachieving great, maternal grandfather,
as if to say I suppose you could sit this one out,
enduring daughter of the daughter of the daughter.
a dried up red leaf from autumn in new york
crunches into pieces when my hand-of-destruction
reenters my jacket pocket. and the old dog
hesitating at the top of the steps makes me miss
my lost baba. out in the world, from inside my
japanese glass and steel bubble i, the observer,
take in two 20-something fems taking wide-
smiled, body positive snapshots of each other
in golden light on sunset, east of hollywood.
back home, the wet heat radiating off our new
teen’s panic-attack-back causes the need for us
to, swiftly, step (i, the stepmom) outside and
sing in the rare, dark-rain, soak in its medicine,
the tap tap tap on our up-tilted faces, a wet respite
we’re too often deprived of in the southland. a
primitive, self-taught motion compels our feet
forward and now we’re leaping in the cool
hospitality only night can host. nick drake’s
pink moon for the first time through her ears
until interrupted by the doppler effect of a motor-
cyclist’s grief over the moment he just passed
by. there is a strong undertow, dear Willow, roused
by the terrible swell that tells you, you are defective.
it will keep tugging and tugging, until you submit.
just notice it and know, centuries of blood and kismet
have gifted you this delicate casing. resist tampering
with your edges. when the harsh daylight smothers you,
love, remember the soft potency of the darker hours.
they have promised to hold our survival rituals until
our step-reflections of this night morph into your own.

Author Bio:
Suzan Alparslan’s poems have been published in several journals including Poeticdiversity, Pedestal Magazine and Smartish Pace. She holds an MFA in poetry from Antioch University and was a proud mentor at writegirl.org. Suzan writes, massages and makes art in Los Angeles where she lives with her interspecies family.

Mere Fragments~ By James Kibby

3/29/2022

You are beautiful.

I wish I could express it well.
But there are no colors vibrant enough
And no words pure enough
To capture it fully.

I am left to offer mere fragments,
Pieces of a mosaic
That would take more than my life
To complete.

I wish there were something beyond, "I love you."
I wish there were a more delicate shape than a heart,
With its curves like the neck of two swans
Joined together in their Spring affair.

I wish there were a deeper red.
I wish there were something softer than rose petals.
To rest my hope on metaphor
Would be a betrayal.

I am broken by this inability to express
What is inexpressible in the crude nature
Of human communication,
But it's all I have.

So, like a man down on his luck
In a last-ditch game of poker, I play all of my cards.
Not to win a small sum; I want to lose everything,
That my love would be purely enraptured

In your tender embrace.

Author Bio:
James is an accomplished songwriter and aspiring poet whose love for creative writing began when he authored and illustrated his first comic book at age 11. James' poetry was featured recently in Calla Press, and he's currently working on publishing his first collection of poems. James is a devoted husband and father and works full time at his church, handling facility and media operations.

The Bachelor Seal~ By M.F. Nagel

3/28/2022

The bachelor seals come morning star and evening star
Alone and together one and another
Salt and tide
Wave upon wave sons of the daughters of the seven seas
Young and strong and
Reckless
Storming the shore from the black pebbled seas

Storming
They come
Wave upon wave salt and tide young and strong and reckless
Choking the sea-weeded shores rocky with blood and moon stones
Barking-; on the mad wind under
Heaven’s sky scarred hungry heavy with three legged dog stars

The old ones know
And wait fat and proud wait with their women fat and proud
Knowing
Knowing
The way of things
Hearing the roars mad roars wild howls on the winds the old ones fat and proud and knowing heave their chests over the rickety rookery fence
The rickety rookery fence rolling to black pebbled sea
Fat and proud they watch and wait and know
Know the way of things

The bachelor seals come alone and together
Salt and tide
Wave upon wave
Sons of the daughters of seven seas
Young and strong and
Reckless
Storming the shore
From the black pebbled sea walrus deep whale deep
The bachelor seals come
Sons of the daughters of the seven seas
Waiting for harvest

Author Bio:
M.F. Nagel was born in Alaska. Her Athabaskan and Eyak heritage has given her a love of poetry.
M.F. lives and writes near the banks of the Matanuska river in the Palmer Butte, among the moose, wild dog~ roses and cottonwood trees, drawing inspiration from her ancestors.

Emma At Five~ By Peter Venable

2/28/2022

She practices ninja training--
jumping front kicks, flying sidekicks,
back kicks ( Pa Pa holding her old crib mattress)
then charges Cobra Kung Fu fingers to rip it open

until I prop it on the top staircase;
face up she lays on it, clings for dear life,
and rides it to the bottom bouncing and squealing
and giggling over and over

as she does when clutching her unicorn’s
mane, streaming down a rainbow into candy land,
grabbing treats from Caramel Cottage, Peppermint Forest,
Lollipop Lane, Gummy Snake Ridge and of course
Snow Cone Palace, Uni’s chocolate hoofprints behind.

Then Emma’s afternoon tea party—daintily sipping
apricot juice with M&M’s melting on the bottom
and toasting her Barbies sitting on the couch.

Mom arrives, she grabs Elsa and
we watch their SUV depart out of sight.
The floor, ankle deep with Legos
(sharp as pop bottle shards), plastic animals,
mermaids, two velociraptors, stuffed animals,

I wear steel-soled boots
picking up this
Toy Story landfill . . .

cartwheels next year or the next.

Days of grace until age thirteen.

Author Bio:
Peter Venable began scrawling poems in high school, but in college, after taking an English Lit course and reading renowned poets, became ignited and composed many on a manuel typewriter and many more white-out correction strips. Over five decades he wrote free and metric, sacred and secular, serious and whimsical verse. He has been graced being published in numerous poetry journals. Visit him at petervenable.com. Since 1-26-15, he is a grandfather for Emma, and with his wife day-caring the second one, Ms. Madeline, 1-24-21—which prompted these offerings.