In the dawn of my wake there’s a system dawdling,

in mannerisms and abbreviations known to the awoken.

For fear lies not ahead but within, an enclosure of boxed openings..

Let there then be a sea, that the staff might part into halves..that the asleep may rise…

What colour is breakfast?

First it’s tailess,

then heavy,

An unnecessary beam of silence beclouding,

Like the welcome of two soulful birds departing..

Heaven is here and hell is here, the latter being the abode,

And everything rings out continuously in a seemingly quiet room…

In my wake you lie, now as a memory to be returned to, for pleasure, for pain,

With each glance I return to your arms, your smile, soulful and beaming,

I capture every moment, entrap every feeling, surrender to every song, remain defenceless at your sight, hold on to every kiss capturing as much as I can, as well as I can…

I know one day you’ll become a memory I return to for a sip of pleasure, for a sip of pain…

That you may find another better I wish you not,

I wonder the bravity of ones who wish good when those wishes come from a broken place..

There are no clothes on me now and every stare burns through my skin..

 every song holds me captive..

Every picture returns me to tears..

I want to blame the world, I want to blame you, I want to blame me, but none of these all done bring relief..

I burn your memories and return scarred, except these scars return to life the memories already burnt…

At evenings I walk into places deemed scary, deemed inhabitable, in an attempt that something might find me and take me out of this mortal plane…

And everything I look at reminds me of you..

Every thing…

So I’ll say you a prayer,

That you be happy,

That though your heart ever-red, never darkens,

That these emotions that now bind me in ever-serving enslavement, never find you,

That you be loved in whatever halls you step into,

That your heels remain strong, your heart, wise and your brain, calm…

Like a melodic song on constant repeat, that I may never forget you…

“Going South”

Everything spiralled out of control so damn quickly. It had been a long night to say the least. Now the sun was rising but new hope was nowhere to be found. Looking down at the city below, one turned to the other and said, “Do you think they made it?”

“Perspective”

“We are so screwed!” cried Anthony. “Now you’re worried?” asked Antonella. “The green towers have been getting larger by the day! I know the giant, metal robot will come soon! We need a stronger hill!” replied Anthony. “…I need a stronger man…” muttered Antonella to herself as she walked away.

“Office Solstice”

“Is it just me or does today seem like the longest day of the year?” asked Gary. “It’s been okay.” noted Cassie. Gary knew she wasn’t catching the joke but pressed onward. “Yeah, that sun won’t be setting for awhile!” Gary added. “I’m not interested.” Cassie retorted while eye rolling.

“Supernatural”

They stood there perplexed at what they’d come across. After a seemingly endless dash through the woods, the clearing revealed a house that had been abandoned for quite some time. There was a rustling to the right. Suddenly, the perimeter of the clearing had been lined with shadowy, tall figures.

“Date Night”

The retro pinball arcade was within sight. However, an open parking spot was not. They bounced from lot to lot and garage to garage for literally an hour with no luck. They talked, laughed, and enjoyed each other’s company, not realizing the irony of the situation. They were the pinball.

Let there be no rush,

Patient and gradual;

Let there be just love.

Let it be calm,

Let it be quiet,

Let not the world know,

What’s filling up our voids!

Let there be wooing,

Let one be wooed;

Let time pan out an anecdote,

Time would forever adore!

To take a liking for each other’s likings,

& forbearance for each other’s infractions

Let there be no rush.

Patient and gradual;

Let there be just love.

It’s that time of the month!

Drop, drop, drop…

And her periods hit!

She cancels all her whites,

No football matches,

Ignores her love for sports for a while!

Drop, drop, drop…

Pale face and poor posture combine,

But can’t fade the facade of her smile!

Oh the mood swings I see,

“Are you PMSing?”

Somebody sarcastically smiled,

Tie your hair before they soar around again,

They whined!

Don’t you dare enter the temple or the kitchen,

Or touch those pickles or the sugar they warned!

Control your cravings to refrain from the pimple breakouts.

Drop, drop, drop…

For those continuous five days

That Indian Girl wished,

each drop of blood that went out

Could even carry her pain along!

But all she did was “Smile”,

While the period cramps were killing her Inside!

The painful little helpless smile.

The Bear Went Over the Ocean

Orange trees grow

Where warm winds blow

Even in China

You find Aunt Jemima

Continents push

Waters rush

Quakes and volcanoes

Wildfires, tornadoes

See what he/she could see

Sea, which sea art thee?

Do Fish Get Cramps?

Big fish, little fish, dead fish, pew fish

Pretty fish, ugly fish

Both good eating

Both hard catching

Just like me and you

Fish are fishers too

To fish and be fished

Catch and be caught

Thrill of victory

Thrill of defeat, what? wait.

Why do I fish, cut bait?

To eat, to taste

Not to waste

I tell myself

What else?

In Rich Earth

The birds like the cemetery

As do I

I go there to bury

Good company by,

All resting in peace’s sting

I’m never sad there

Listening to the birds sing

It’s the sweetest air,

If I could expand

This campground of reverence

Supply and demand

For lasting paid severance

In rich earth the best

Are at last at rest.

Presence of the Door

I need to watch my blood pressure

More than ever before

I ain’t getting any younger

In the presence of the door.

But I am getting younger

I do so smell flowers

I do so fly a kite

Sit in the park for hours.

Finally I know myself

Know what I like

Know I hate oatmeal

Love to ride a bike.

My work comes natural

My days I mourn

Everything is beautiful

Every baby born.

All intense and wonder more

In the presence of the door.

Storm

The black woman’s shadow

lies on a thousand lakes

she’s resting now

flooded water aches

after the death delirious sky

screams and shakes.

The Temple

The temple is a quiet place

the dead are honored there

I like the retreat, the space

but find no peace in there;

I carry my church on bones

worship my soul-self where

outside the house of stones,

so empty I can’t live there.

Poems Composed by E. Martin Pedersen

“For this plant to grow it needs a dozen or so teardrops,

For this child to live it needs blood,

For this Phoenix to rise it needs flames,

For us to remain we need be swept away…”

Thoughts hang above the setting sun like a halo walking across a crown,

There’s milk in kindness and flavour in human,

To understand the mystery of being we arch our heads through fenced places to observe,

Like labelled chickens running away from fate,

Our palms are streamlined and homely and each carries destiny within,

Our feet are firm and placed like roots reaching far into the depths of hell,

In the wake of the setting sun an Agama arches its neck in prayer…

Black stage,

The moon sings a solo,

The stars cheer

I pause and watch with a smile.

Grateful, I feel

As I look at the sky, filled with stars!

Its infiniteness,

reminds me of the freedom

our universe grants,

I breathe in and look around at my pets,

curling up, in their dark, quiet room beside the balcony,

such peaceful existence without knowing what’s next!

Black stage,

The moon sings a solo,

The stars cheer

And I watch with a smile.

Why do wars occurs ?

Why do people kill each other ?

Why did they wanted wars ?

They wanted to destroy,

Others nations,

For this they are using,

Their whole mind, capital, and technology,

For what we don’t know,

They are wasting their time,

From this instead they can,

Do some good works,

But they are Illiterate,

By their practice of hard struggles,

They invent guns, bullets and bombs,

To kill for the people,

To destroy another’s country,

To show one’s power,

Towards another country,

This wars can’t give happiness,

To any one,

So, leave this wars and live,

Very happily our request to you all.

A wise sage lived in a hut with some of his disciples in a dense forest. The sage wanted to choose his successor. So he called his disciples and gave each of them a diamond. He said that one of the diamonds is of less value and forbade asking each other about their diamonds. The sapient sage knew to whom he had given the diamond of lesser value.

After a few days, the sage called his disciples and asked about the diamond. Everyone said that their diamonds were not precious. In the end, he called the disciple to whom he had given the diamond of lesser value.

The disciple said with poise, “Guruji, my diamond is the most precious.” Guruji hugged him and appointed him as his successor.

$10,000 down
Gets you in
Your choice of
Ranch or two-story
In prestigious Nooning Tree

“Is there one, a Nooning Tree?”
“Of course,” the saleslady answers
Loose strands of hair catching
The corner of her mouth
Like a lie

Tempered by talk of tradition
She motions; I follow
Slipping on the deceptively
Green sod
Outside her display home

She points, arm outstretched
Fingers fanning
In a ta-da moment
“There …
The Nooning Tree”

Under that very shade (weather permitting)
Noon meals were served
To plantation workers
Every day

Quaint, now, isn’t it?”

Yes, if
It were true

If *only* it were *true*
For a few of us
Still know fact from fiction
About this suburbanized
183-year-old black walnut

Its gnarled branches
Leafing through secrets

Midday laughter filtered
Not
Through this centurion’s autumnal rush
Frenetic excitement hung thick in the air
Frozen families, slack-jawed gawkers, jeering landlords *gathered*

On what is now
Premium
Lot 241 (backing to woods)
Where a barbarian’s buffet
Was laid

Bulging
Blood-shot eyes
Subtle smells of rope-
Burned flesh
Slaves *lynched* on the strike of *noon*

On a *tree*
On
A
Bountiful
S  t  r  e  t  c  h     o  f     L  a  n  d