Mike Maggio

Be brave
by Samar Najia 

Let us be brave-
Let us not heed the passiveness of onlookers
And hide in the shadows of their silence
But let us grow louder and bolder with the justice of our cause

Let us not join in the chants of hatred against an oppressed people
and forget the face of a orphaned child
let us grieve the sorrow of mothers who mourn their martyrs

Let us not paint the dead with colors of race 
so that we can turn our hearts away from the living in their hours of need
But let us grant them the same respect reserved for our kind

Let us not bury the truth of stolen homes 
And allow the anguish of one story hinder the power of one hundred others.
But let us walk in the footsteps of our grandparents and reclaim our   cherished homeland.

Let us not fear the flag flying from our windows even if it is in tatters
or don the habits of obfuscators who have us believe we are not their equals
The flag is our heritage and it is still flying

Let us not stylize our speeches with sanitized statements 
And peel the humanity off our words so that they offend no one
But let us sear the hope for our cause in every sentence

Let us beware of turning a page of history into a book of lies
If we allow history to turn to propaganda, then surely propaganda will become history
Let us verify and reverify until we know only one truth

Let us not seek too much solitude if it prolongs our sadness
But look to the shade of others for healing and hope
To be alone when there is so much abandon is heavy on the soul.

Let us not carry the rage of our oppressors or the vengeance of the oppressed before us 
Let us always seek peace even in the corridors of war
Even when all we have known is pain

Let us be brave 
Let us be brave

Copyright 2023 by Samar Najia

Samar Najia is a Palestinian American poet and writer residing in Virginia. Samar writes about the Palestinian Diaspora through her family’s lens and the hidden scars of  dispossession. In 2022, she completed a mixed poetry and prose memoir, about the repeated displacement of her family. She graduated with a Bachelor of Science from Georgetown University and has worked in banking for over 20 years by day and advocates for Palestinians by night. Samar is married with two grown sons.

A Brief for the Defense
   after Jack GIlbert
by Bonnie Naradzay

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter –
We are rushing to supply more billions, bombs,
with phosphorus thrown in, drones and planes, too,
that dropped 6,000 bombs in the first 6 days in Gaza, 
which is quite a feat, targeting hospitals, UN schools, 
no place to hide for the people trapped in the world’s 
largest open-air prison, so convenient for retribution, 
for the world’s empty abstractions, (who can envision 
so much death, destruction, nowhere safe left to stay,
all food, water, medicine barred; children made to pay)
for all the years of sorrow that are yet to come.

Copyright 2023 by Bonnie Naradzay

Bonnie Naradzay’s poems have appeared in AGNI, New Letters (Pushcart nomination), RHINO, Kenyon Review online, Tampa Review, Florida Review online, EPOCH, Dappled Things, The Birmingham Poetry Review, The American Journal of Poetry, Poetry Miscellany, and other places. In 2010 she was awarded the New Orleans MFA program’s poetry prize: a month’s stay in the castle of Ezra Pound’s daughter, where she enjoyed having tea with Mary, hiking the Dolomites, and hearing cuckoos call during mating season. For many years, she has led regular poetry sessions at day shelters for the homeless and also at a retirement center, all in Washington, DC

Loss
by Michael Ferrel

Soldiers and Generals have no imagination.
They do not see that bombs become cradles for children,
And their flying missiles— coffins and unmarked graves.

Can’t they see that their advance is a funeral march?
Their guns are crutches, newly minted for the battle,
Their tanks stately hearses, ready to carry the dead,
And their artillery no different than ambulances 
--Rushing forward to attend the fallen.

Their cheers of victory are keening wails;
Their loud celebrations a sombre wake,
While their prayers for divine assistance
Are the Devil’s ready call to arms.

In war, guns are like flags:
Nation against Nation;
People against people.

Chaos and loss—a carnival of death.

I weep for those whose loss is absolute,
For those vanquished, or lost in rubble,
And for those forsaken enemies who
Have once more lost their minds.

Copyright 2023 by Michael Ferrel

Michael Ferrel  a retired social worker in Toronto. His blog is Cosmic New Thresholds

About Holocaust Denial
by Marion Cohen


Knowing it happened won't help.
Those who made it happen knew it was happening and they just kept making
   it happen.
They wanted it to happen.
They'd make it happen again.

Copyright 2023 by Marion Cohen

Marion Deutsche Cohen is known, in particular, for her writings (poetry and memoir) on three topics: spousal chronic illness, late pregnancy loss, and math. She is the author of 33 books; her newest poetry collection is “Disturbing Shapes” (New Plains Press), and her latest prose collection is “Not Erma Bombeck: Diary of a Feminist 70s Mother” (Alien Buddha Press). Forthcoming is “Reasons and Remedies for Insomnia” (dancing girl press).  She is also the author of two controversial memoirs about “well-spousery”, a trilogy diary of full-term-pregnancy loss, and “Crossing the Equal Sign”, about the experience of and her passion for math. This year, her work has been included in six anthologies. She teaches a course she developed, Mathematics in Literature, at Drexel University’s Honors College. Other poetic inspirations are classical piano, singing, Scrabble, thrift-shopping, four grown children, two grown step-children, and six grands. Her website is  marioncohen.net .”About Holocaust Denial” is from her book , Stress Positions (Alien Buddha Press, 2020).

Child in a Tunnel
(after Jospeh Fasano)
by Grace Cavalieri

Come here 
come here child
place your head 
here on my chest
this is all a game 
going in the dark  
together 
an adventure 
see all these people 
in the room
they're here to 
protect  you 
and that candy bar 
in your hand
melting 
on your fingers 
put it to your lips
suck
suck the bar
here's
a cup of water 
sip sip
this is a game
to see
how long 
we can stay 
without crying
come here 
on my chest 
I will put my arms
around you
let us count 
the number
of heartbeats 
we hear 
in each other’s 
heart
let us feel 
each other’s 
fingers
and count them
again and again
please know
everyone here 
is our friend 
everyone
is here
to protect you 
to love you 
there's nothing 
to fear 
the dark 
is going to change 
as soon 
as the new day
comes 
it is all a game
we play
how many 
stories 
we will tell
each other
I tell you about 
the bird I saved
when it fell 
from its nest 
and the kitten
I found 
almost drowned
in the well 
let me tell you
about 
the flowers 
that just needed
water to live 
here have 
another sip 
from my cup
now lay your sweet
head on my chest
and close your eyes
and when you  wake 
all will be light.

Copyright 2023 by Grace Cavalieri 

Grace Cavalieri is Maryland’s tenth Poet Laureate. Her new book is The long Game, Poems Selected & New (The Word Works)  She founded and still produces The Poet and the Poem for public radio, now from the Library of Congress, celebrating 47 years on-air. Among other awards, she holds two Allen Ginsberg Awards and the CPB Silver Medal and is an Academy of American Poets Fellow. Cavalieri has written 26 books of poems as well as plays produced on American stages. Women in history is her specialty, and the last play produced was Quilting The Sun about ex-slave quilt maker Harriet Powers, 2017 NYC. The last 25 years of her podcasts have been sent to the moon on Lunar Codex.

Randomness 
by Rick Landers

I saw a little bird falling from the sky 
I felt a small rumble there beneath my feet 
Everything’s moving faster than it should 
in this universe 

A child points to a place of peace, yet unknown 
Read his lips he says, “It’s far from home.” 
While spinning into a vast emptiness 
Where no one belongs 

The light up in the sky it obscures my view 
Earth’s melodic rhythms, will return anew 
allowing me and you, 
Such innocence 

I don’t know why we cry 
I don’t know why birds fly 
I don’t know why things die 
Could this be randomness? 

We’ll build strong shelters for the vital few 
To protect our loved ones from the mighty storms 
We’ll re-awaken Nature’s fire 
like those who came before 

She said “Temptation only leads to sin.” 
I said “No, I’ve been there and back again” 
It’s just a scheme dreamed up by holy men 
lost in their wilderness 

I saw a little bird falling from the sky 
I felt a small rumble there beneath my feet 
Everything’s moving faster than it should  
Then plays repeat 

I don’t know why we cry 
I don’t know why birds fly 
I don’t know why things die 
Could this be randomness? 
Could this be randomness? 

(c) Rick Landers 2023 

Rick Landers is a multi-award-winning singer-songwriter, a poet, publisher
(Guitar International magazine) and author who fronts the Virginia-based band
Heartland which perform Rick’s original songs. The band has been selected to perform at the
2023 National Cherry Blossom Festival. Rick was recently interviewed by the respected
Nashville Voyager magazine. He is currently writing a children’s book series called, The
Adventures of Digit and Tess, about a young teen and her robotic AI cat. His first poem, “Digit the Cat,” appeared in 2018’s 30 for 30.

I Know Sad
by Lynn Strongin

It comes and go. We cannot sleep under tents, parched, starving
I don’t understand it

But it seems to have its own timing and one must accept it

In Prettyville, Missisippi, in Kabul,
I have known sad
Held its face in my hands

Cloe
Heart-shaped
Kissed its lips:
          Bayou flowers bloomed & a child drowned
          It begins to feel like life in an iron lung. Only, I have no circle cut ino my windpipe to let the requiem sound.

Copyright 2023 by Lynn Strongin

Born and raised in NYC, Lynn Strongin is well-known in the States. She has won a NEA grant in creative writing; has been published in five countries, been translated int Italian, German and French. A resident of Canada for forty-four years. She was recently nominated for a Woodcock award for lifelong achievement in writing in British Columbia.