Editors Note

Dear friends,
Glad to meet you all after long time. Sorry for the delay. My debut poetry collection Singing
Soul is published now and thats the reason I wasnt able to concentrate on Fragrance.
Waseem too was busy in his studies. We apologize for the delay and we thank you that you
stood by us and patiently waited for the issue.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge says,

Poetry: the best words in the best order.

Let the words in best order refresh your mind.

Let the words of these poems rejuvenate your thoughts.
Let poetry rule your hearts.
Happy Reading.
Regards
Shalini Samuel.

1
Evolution for some, not for all
Piercing malleable opening,
a softness in the face
over ridden by cynical neglect.
Supper is almost ready, folly on
the garden steps.
Intonations speak the
underbelly layers of languages.
Puddles I deliberately
step in to know the intimacy of water,
the revival of being overpowered by the strongest
of all Earths elements.
Superimpose me on your raincloud.
I cry like Lazareth shedding his week-old shroud.
I stumble under the falcons swooping breath,
remembering myself prehistoric a bird before birds.

Allison Grayhurst
407 Sammon Ave.,
Toronto ON
Canada
M4J 2A9
(416) 466-4847
allisongrayhurst@rogers.com

2
Its Trees or Not Trees
Human hopes and human experience
interrupt and contradict each other
until they become nothing more
than a wallpaper pattern.
Unallowable worlds skulk on the edge of sight,
devour the landscape with whispers.
I keep only a shaded window
onto that madness now.
I know its trees or not trees
and need not look again.
I let the soap bubbles
with the imprint of eternity on them,
hiss and hum their slaughterhouse politics,
and pass gently by.
I behave as if stars are not bursting ecstatically,
as if the kings thousandth cousin the worm
isnt busily fucking itself into a broader existence.
And so the pattern in the wallpaper repeats
with no meaning beyond its viral shimmy
until
Collin Dodds

3
Too Frail to Mock
Reality is too frail
to mock at this hour.

Our feelings do not run strong or long enough.

We are at the mercy of a gigantic echo.

The word Already rings throughout the echo.

It opens sentences and closes whole worlds.

In our one moment in the sanctum,

we gather our voice and call out:

Wait, we think weve found the answer:

Its either the Irish Blessing Cross or own urine.

Like that, the little you

screws things up for the big you.

Collin Dodds

4
Loneliness Grows Stranger the Larger It Becomes
We brought food to their lips. But they would not eat.
We implored them with prayer and self-flagellation.
But they would not be moved.
We blasphemed to the limits of our imaginations.
But they would not raise their hands or voices against us.

Still we fed, praised and cursed them.

Until, with an atom bomb to deflect creations question,
we left that home.

Collin Dodds

5
Secrets of the Modern Race
My tribe held a gun
to the head of the world,
only to learn
that you cant just laugh off
something like that.

Babies find it strange

to be born among us.

The tvs fill with fantasies

about institutionalized cannibalism.

And even the billboards concede

that the primordial trust has been broken
in the worst possible way.

The shape of that catastrophe

worry the men all day
and give them erections at night.

How are we supposed

to get excited, to glow,
unless people are maimed and killed?
asks everyone, in or near a movie, now showing
all the time.

The ancient processes are short-circuited.

Certain extreme measures unveil themselves.

The urgent center expands,

takes the newspaper as its skin.

Collin Dodds

6
Room Without End
The endless room flickers.
Its lightning is line charts and its thunder is poverty.

The endless room makes men and women

equivocal as anthropologists apologists,
even in the privacy of their own hearts.

You can do alright here for awhile.

But youll never beat the dead man in charge.

Collin Dodds

7
Whispers of Soul

Into a colliery, the ground quakes

Darkness envelops a pleading core
Casting doubtsunsolicited visions
Hesitation, overcoming the mind

Desiccated interjection sways

Encasing the nimbleness from
The woes entreated of the beyond
Submerging my delicate soul
in eternity

 Cristy Bramhall, July 8 2014

8
Noise

Someday, youll write your last poem,

kiss your last kiss, look
at a sun that wont return.

Youll be gone between the time

that a leaf will begin to fall
like an aimless, intoxicated
sparrow, and when it will land.

The world will go on, busy

where youve seen it,
where somebody else has watched,
where nobodys ever seen,
busy, lazy, at all of its speeds,
seconds and eras intermingled.

The heart is a clock, and yours

will simply stop, a gear
will spring off down the hill,
rolling and shiny, rattling
to the bottom then spin,
then hiss into stillness.

Where your noise was, there will be noise.

JBMulligan
3 James Street

Washingtonville, NY 10992
frastus0g@gmail.com

9
When I die

I'll miss my family, my friends.

I'll miss poetry and beer,
music and light and food.

I'll miss everything I had and lost.

I'll miss this sky.

I'll miss that sky.

I'll miss my senses.

I'll miss the world they fondle and question.

I'll miss the pets I bury

and the pets that wonder where I am,
that mourn if it's a dog,
and wander off if it's a cat.

I'll miss the sweetness of dogs

and the tartness of cats.

I'll miss the wet green leaves of spring

and the splatter of autumn colors
drifting down and away
from the anchoring wood into dirt.

I'll miss the dirt.

I'll be the dirt.
You'll smell the air and go on.
That will be enough.

JBMulligan
3 James Street
Washingtonville, NY 10992
frastus0g@gmail.com

10
Abound around
On this speck of interstellar space
I ride towards firefighting dreams
As if valuable assets
May be delightful in full measure
Early in the morning of the world
Next month will get involved
Jumping out of airplanes
To fulfill promises
Worlds around me shrinking
Stuck in a blizzard of stars
Specifically millions uncountable
Long may it wave
This flag of which we are
Unaware compatriots

With pre-existing melodies

An old poem set to music
Years after its creation
It will be for a long time
Undercutting righteous claims
Opposition calls our names
Trying to predict a new era
Added momentum
Limited to a maximum
Training to communicate
Trust and integrity
Like storytellers
In their own nights
Believing
John Garmon

11
Pinched Corners
Good peoples mistakes
Pounded out by lawyers
Rigging testimony
Paying witnesses
Under the table
Her lips quivered
As she testified
Like a caught fish
Gasping for air
Pinched corners
Of her dainty mouth
The ugly prosecutor
Held up his hand
His dirty fingernails
He declared dismay

Had a flash of wisdom

From who knows where
They carried him away
He tried to see
Through the windshield
The judge gave a sharp glance
The jury had false leanings
Good people paid
They were ubiquitous

John Garmon

12
Then we will take care
Trees and stones
Wounds and moans
Their bullets found us
How it sounds
To hear their flesh
Struck point-blank
Then sublime peacefulness
We envied their being dead
I nearly suffocated
Under the mattress
They hid me under
Clutching tightly
I listened helplessly
My mind a wild frenzy
Fears spat out
Swiveled around

Forced me to stifle
My halted screams
They said ride out
Your turmoil
They we will take care
To see this doesnt
Happen again.
John Garmon

13
Natures picture

Dark grey sky peeping through

The lattice of the branches.
Yonder stands a tree with its
Serrated leaves as if waiting
For someone in solitude.

Twilight is about to set in.

Morning glory has vanished
With all its dazzling brilliance,
Leaving behind a trail of gloom,
A pall of utter despondence.

Soon darkness will come,

Swathing the jet black canvas.
The night star gleaming with
A smile so cherubic,
I welcome the sheer loveliness.

The diamond-studded canopy,

A portrait of picturesque beauty.
Without radiance, without luster
But with a comeliness, enticing
The poets to doodle for ages to come.
Koyel Mitra

14
Exalted
Shimmering rays percolate through my heart
Effacing the weeds of yesteryears.

Pristine sunshine glitters in my window

Embracing me with ample affection.

Day ends with the voluptuous twilight

Painting the canvas of my soul.

Moonbeams smile at me
Through the star-studded sky.

Night befalls but the light

Never extinguishes, an aura of mirth

Envelops and caresses me now.

Desultory
Memories buried deep inside,
Only groan and ache of encounter.
Loving traces of him embitter
My already captured heart.

His seductive smile meliorates

Me in umpteen despair.

Cherishes for his attachment this

Heart made sore by his immaculate love.

His love though chaste pierces

My virgin heart with flames of desire.

Unabated passion scorches as

This love is not replete.

Torched heart scours for a

Love pure, primordial but incomplete.

Koyel Mitra

15
Fire

Why there is no fire

When two red-heads of match-sticks chafe?
Not even a spark flares; a sterile dark.

Squirming between two match-sticks

A fireworm whistles a wet song
Into the xeric ears of no listener.

Why there is no fire

When sun perfuses its life all firmament?
Dabbed in blue the speckless pilgarlic.

Set and rise not forever

Hovering in the vertiginous heights near the tumbling edge

Being overconscious ruins the step.

Why the word fire hasnt

Set self ablaze while everyone says language is reflexive?
Opposites furtively coexist with each other.

Arent there a thousand countenances for fire?

Seen just one thats torrid, juggernauting everything
How cool the womb of fire.

Why fire always leaves behind a souvenir

When itd inflicted severest of changes?
Not only Burn, scar, twinge, turn and bend,

But the suffered itself is one

No rescue for the thirsty throat
When itd netted to the mouth of fiery waters.

Krishna Kumar

16
Jasmine

Seeing her heart effloresce every day

Evincing her love through her pristine perfume.

Instinct prods to seek her

Naked simplicity outweighing mundane glitz.

Tongueless language speaks love truer than the tongue

Words fail truth by the time they reach the heart.

Not caressing her soft white petals,

For any relation that involves touch will go sour.

Heart bursts when she quivers

Even under the delicate smooch of the fingers.

Filling the lidless limitless bowl of the soul with her fragrance
Receiving never ceases, so does the storing.

Squatting in front of her, mute and attentive

While she sparges my being with her aromatic presence.

Love of smell is inexhaustible unlike love of flesh,

For it lasts long even when it long ceases to exist.

Krishna Kumar

17
Metamorphosis 1

As he sat near the peaceful lake

He detected all my composure was fake
A beautiful butterfly flew
Suddenly a sword it drew
It changed into a deadly dragon
Heading towards hell was its wagon
The dew on the flowers all turned black
Peace and beauty were all thrown at the back
The sky was no bluer
A grey substance rained like glue
Stuck in it he became pessimist even more
He wanted to escape from an invisible door
His hands then transformed into wings
What else was reserved for him in the long list of findings???

Shah Jehan Ashrafi

18
Metamorphosis 2

We all live in that transition

Doomed to our own ambition
Soft and kind
Cruel and blind
Touchy like the morning dew
Violent anew
While life pining to reach a new height
Yet we embrace the ground in a hurry to take flight
The monster inside us is always here
Then we attack the one who is always dear
Why do human beings live this dual existence?
Great souls need to go through that penitence
The saint can become an ugly monster
Yet a monster can resist a disaster
We keep changing without changing
The desert never disappears though it keeps raining
Shah Jehan Ashrafi

19
Metamorphosis 3

A story is life
Written with a sharp edged knife
Strife, suffering all stout
This is what life is all about
Happiness too can pierce darkness
But one wants a true abode with all fairness
Where is that abode
We keep changing it once aboard
A mystery is life
Like behind a veil stands a beautiful wife
Only after death is an abode given
The tomb stands between the world and heaven

Shah Jehan Ashrafi

20

Love Lullaby
His writing echoes his affectionate voice, deep
Reading every line he wrote for me, I fall asleep

I hold no memories of yesterday except these papers

His every single line is a lullaby to me

Like a balloon slipping from its mooring

My soul escapes into eternal peace

Reading these love filled letters became a ritual

Since he left me, left me with tears

That washed away all my memories

I have no more tears left to shed but

I realize that love can never be perennial

Though I fool myself every day that it actually is

Basilia,
India.

21

Dint
You've always been a veritable greased pig
when it comes to avoiding virtual disaster
brought about by reckless risks,
or lying your way out of an arrest.

Sure as a cat, you have nine lives,

but at last count you've expended eight,
so best toe the line from here on out.

I might add that at last sighting Silver Star

was mating with wolves out where cattails
grow in wide open fields of mind unwound.

This extends to me the concrete conclusion

that love bites from her little cupid mites
are mere nuisances: texts dont constitute
a relationship. Occasional appearances
for purpose of consummating bodily bonding
a necessary component in the overall gestalt.

I have taken Draconian action, informing her

no more niggling excuses allowed:

show up and shine or dont burn my time.

You have no doubt noticed

that Stephen Hawking has come out
with an ominous warning
about the Singularity, artificial intelligence
an impending tsunami: think ahead 20 years,
whats more an entire century--mankind
at that point ruled by dint of its own invention!

Such a world tailor-made

for wealthy fops and dew-drop
gypsy fairies that hum, flitting
just this side of the suns corona.

No need to conjure, the native raisin

so long dormant at that suns core
has risen and is visible to your naked eye.

Thomas Piekarski

22
Teachers

Moon when ceases to exist

stars shine brightly
negotiate universal maze
choreographers end assignments
dancers take centre stage
or gardeners water the thoughts
trimming the plants
and cutting the rough edges
for smooth growth
within the periphery
of social hedges, buds bloom
sure, legend are not made in the womb
discipline, values, responsibilities
inculcated to be tools of anti-wrongdoing
no gratitude is enough
thanks giving makes one weep
as investors far off
watch their money grow
in the building of a nation
a nation reaps, they sow
Tribhawan Kaul

23
Senryus
Mothers cry

blood all over newborns

fathers ecstatic .
---------------------------Sun shining bright
Twinkling stars fading fast.
Children starving
--------------------------------Highway crash
Brain dead
Dead men walking.
--------------------------------Eyes untrustworthy
Beauty not skin deep
Breakup.
------------------------------Simmer volcano
Lush green mountain
Best deception.

Watching to excel
Waiting in wings
Dreams in eyes
Tribhawan Kaul

Note from the poet :- Senryu is a Japanese form of poetry like haiku. It is written in three lines like haiku with
syllables count in first, second and third line upto 5-7-5 respectively. It predominantly deals with human nature and

its behaviour. Like haiku it is best known for its brevity and imagery. Reader has to imagine what the poet wants to
say.

24
Things You Make

The fall of song accompanies no tree.

We saw through concrete

to prevent future cracks when

Earth's less stable.

Rivers run under us, against progress.

We arrive home by dark.

Time illuminates Berlin

over and over again,
even when it's broken.

I'll leave later for work tomorrow.

I'll email my coworkers to explainmy right headlight isn't working again.

Jason Arnold

25
Down on the farm

we kill chickens.
We don't care
how the chickens feel
we make them
into a happy meal.

Mikel

26
Leather jacket stolen

When you have

a broken car window
you tend to notice
all the other broken
car windows in the world
around you and you wonder
if everybody else
had their leather jacket

stolen from their car, also.

Mikel
3.9.98

27
You'd never find out

She looks good until

she pulls a cigarette out
then I wouldn't kiss her.
She looks so pretty
but smells like an ashtray.
They could put her
on the cover of a magazine
and you would never find out.

Mikel
Sept. 29, 2000

Pictures
Louie Crew Clay

Thankyou

Waiting for your feedback