Category: Poetry

Categories
Poetry

Rion

By Tanjila Ontu

We laughed until our cheeks hurt,
Danced like no one was watching,
Clicked endless photos
And filled our days with silly moments.

You were so bright, so neat,
Smart in a quiet, effortless way,
A friend I thought I’d never lose.

We worried about our weight,
Yet still enjoyed our coffee,
Had our tea while spilling the TEA*
And laughed at our endless hair problems.

But then, slowly, you drifted away
Your laughter is no longer shared with me,
Your words have become so rare
And I’m left wondering — why?

You’ve found your own friends now
And I’ve managed to find mine too,
But it isn’t the same anymore…
I still miss the chaos we had.

The jokes, the dancing, the endless chatter,
The comfort of having you near.
It feels so strange without you, Rion…
Some days, I wish you were here.

*Slang for gossip

Tanjila Akter Ontora, writing under the pen name Tanjila Ontu, is an emerging poet from Bangladesh. She explores themes of friendship, memories, and self-reflection through heartfelt poetry and storytelling.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Green Poetry by Onkar Sharma

The Chipko (to cling) was a green movement that took off in 1973 in India. Started by Sunderlal Bahuguna, the activists hugged trees to save them from being cut. Photo: From Public Domain
INTO THE DIN 

The slumber must shatter, for we stand 
at the point of no return. Extinction 
will be our last, sterile destination,
leaving behind only a memory of green, 
and a legacy of sulphuric air.

The errands of urgency often fade into the din,
silencing voices like Sunderlal Bahuguna's
and brushing aside satyagrahas like Chipko.
How did a man with frail looks but fierce will
weigh heavy on the shrewd nexus 
of politics and timber sharks?

In the glory of his bold endeavours, 
can we not stop laying the red carpet
for deceptive proposals, 
misleading hill dwellers into monetising 
the jungle views with hotels and homestays
built along the sensitive zones…?

*Satyagrahas, literally ‘holding firmly to truth’, is a form of passive resistance

A PACT

On my morning walks,
right across the society gate
a pair of street cows always turn to me
their eyes meeting mine
not with hope but certainty – 
as if this, too, is a pact
inscribed in a language of hunger.

Abruptly they lurch towards me,
hoofbeats heavy on the concrete,
a sudden clamour for what little I have—
the swift scramble for leftovers; 
the dignity of hunger laid bare.
Their rough tongues will soon scour
every crease of the crumpled polythene,
turning yesterday’s waste
into today’s survival,
without caring about 
the microplastics mixing  
in their bloodstreams.
Onkar Sharma

Onkar Sharma, a writer and poet, is the author of the poetry collection Songs of Suicide and the novel Revenge Theory. He founded Literary Yard, a platform to support emerging writers and celebrate diverse voices. Sharma is also an editor, book reviewer, and columnist, actively contributing to literary discussions and fostering creativity within the community.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

I Had Too Much

By Rhys Hughes

From Public Domain 
I HAD TOO MUCH 

I had too much to drink:
I was drunk.
Too much to think:
I was thunk.

My pet mink went missing,
he’s no longer present,
so he must be a monk
and the idea is unpleasant.

If I search the monasteries
I may be reunited with him.
Let’s give it a try!
When I peer through a hole
in the abbey wall
in order to spy
on the mink all alone,
the hole is a chink in a stone,
but in the past tense
it turns into a chunk
of rock that falls on my head.

I blink, did I blunk?
I clink, did I clunk?
I feel like a fink in a funk,
lips to lick and out of luck,
in the pink with a punk.

Skating on a rink with a shrink
I feel that I have shrunk.
Washing my face in a sink
I think that my nose has sunk.
From Public Domain

Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Sunset at the Beach

By Joseph K. Wells

A fresh slice 
of orange exploding 
at the brim.
I slurp up
every little drop,
without a break,
without a blink.
Overwhelmingly
quenched
yet still parched,
every thought
so distinct,
yet dissolved 
into one drink.
Every cell
so intoxicated,
yet so sobered,
exhilarated
yet so numb,
so incoherent,
yet as never before
have they been
so much in sync.

I drink up
the concoction
by this brilliant mixologist,
yet to us all unknown,
overflowing
the fragile walls
of this life
as for now to us known.

Joseph K. Wells is an American poet and healthcare executive, originally from India. Since 2016, his poems have found a home in over two dozen journals and lit mags internationally. A selection of his published works is available at https://paperonweb.wordpress.com/ .

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

My Stetson’s Replica

By Joseph C. Ogbonna

MY STETSON'S REPLICA

Readily I have my hat made.
Skillfully, it has been crafted.
It’s bright and just won’t fade.
Two precious fabrics were grafted
To make this Stetson’s replica.

I wore it on a sunny day
To see my fondant Jessica.
It was a merry Saturday, 
The best to exhibit it’s splendour.

En route to her house, it caused a stir,
As my regally crowned head raised it.
Every eye trailed me with a fixed stare.
There never was a hat ever seen
Like my Stetson of rare sheen.

Joseph C. Ogbonna is a prolific poet from Nigeria. He is published. He is also an Amazon International Best Selling Co-author. He lives in Enugu, Nigeria.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Seasonal Poems by John Grey

Fallen Tree by Alexandre Calame (1839-1845). From Public Domain
DEAR MAPLE

You had to come down.
You were just too close to the house.
Your branches tapped on the windows
and your roots were upsetting the foundation

But, as I stood beside you, my fallen giant,
I couldn't help but count the rings.
I almost made it to a hundred
before your beginnings
crowded out my eyes.

A truck hauled you away
leaving nothing but the odd scattered leaf.
And the stump of course,
already claimed by foraging insects.

One hundred years of life, 
now no more than remnants
scatter to the far fences --
a chunk of wood reduced to rot
and the feeding of the nameless.

My being here was your bad luck.
I have to keep that in mind those times
when I think I’ve made a difference.


ON A MORNING IN MAY

Red cardinal, blue jay, goldfinch,
perch on a nearby branch –
looks like they’re working on a spectrum.

The trees are in full regalia.
And the bird’s cry for a mate
is answered in a heartbeat.

The pond ripples as constant 
as the wind.
A snowy egret steps 
as slow as consideration.
Willows are in water-kissing mode.
And the morning sun 
is on the lookout
for its own reflected self.

This is the view from my window.
Such modest ways
of holding nothing back.


THE MAN FROM THE NORTH

He comes down from the north.
Do not go looking for him.
He’s more spirit than solid flesh.
It’s too chilly out to manifest more.

Yes, there’s someone out there
but the light is as poor as our skin is thin.
So, we hunker down in our fire-warmed houses,
prefer not to make his acquaintance.

He’s grown so large, yet still invisible.
All presence. No substance.
We see the white bird 
but not the shoulder it’s perched upon.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, River And South and The Alembic. His latest books, Bittersweet, Subject Matters and Between Two Fires are available through Amazon. He has upcoming work in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Flights.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Two poems by Ron Pickett

Painting by Rembrandt (1606-1669)
DIAGNOSIS

Everything is different today.
Everything is the same.
She walks a little slower,
Her head a little lower.
Her smile is gone
Her smile might never have been.
Her dog knows; they have a way of knowing.
Only three of us know,
We know what the doctor said.
The diagnosis.
Everything is different today.


CARE FOR YOURSELF FIRST

Care for yourself first.
Like loss of pressurisation in a jet.
It wasn’t a surprise, not really.
Are there any surprises left?
Still, I wasn’t ready for it.
The name sounded so final, so fixed.
But isn’t life final, certain?
After the hospital stay,
I focused on myself, my body, my mind.
I thought I would have lots of time.
Time to write, time to paint, time to connect.
Recovery takes a lot out of you.
Physical, psychological, spiritual. 
Care for yourself first. 
Slowly, I discovered what was missing!
Creativity and humour!
Where had they gone?
Will they return?
I used to find beauty wherever I looked.
I used to find humour all around me
I used to have leftover energy to convert.
They’re back now and welcome home!
Laughter, Jokes, Observations, Insights.
Excess energy to convert. 
It won’t last forever, sadly.
So I’m revelling in my creativity while I can.
Care for yourself first!
Then care for others.

Ron Pickett is a retired naval aviator. His 90-plus articles have appeared in various publications. He has published five books: Perfect Crimes – I Got Away With It, Discovering Roots, Getting Published, 60 Odd Short Stories, and Empaths. Ron has had his poems published in Scarlet Leaf, Borderless Journal, and other periodicals. 

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Whispers by Arshi

WHISPERS 

Here, this morning, 
where faces are aglow like soft sun-rays,
sit beside me, 
for an eternity, or so. 

Musings twirl like autumn winds. 

Tell me, 
of stories, 
in which strong girls strive, 
of cities, where love deafens hate
of battles, that are won
vows that were never torn. 
Tell me, 
the storm will pass
and we will survive, 
sunflowers will bloom
out of our bosom.

Arshi writes poetry on themes of love, longing, and emotional resilience. Her poems have appeared in both Indian and international journals, including The Blue Minaret, Bosphorus Review of Books, Tap Into Poetry, Heduan Review, and others. Through her words, she seeks to find light in the dark, and a voice for tenderness in a loud world.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Short Poems by Jim Murdoch

Jim Murdoch
On Grudges

Grudges are like hedgehogs.
Be careful how you hold them.
And never juggle with them.

Seriously, don’t.


Hide and Seek

[I]t’s harder for him to mean something than say – A.R. Ammons

Meaning hid in the words.
The last place anyone would look.
These days anyways.

And no one looked.
No one looked.
No one ever looked.

And that… hurt.


Tuesday (or in might’ve been a Friday)

Wrote a little poetry.
Made no difference.
Same ol’ same ol’.

Actually, I think it was Sunday,


Quotidian

Every day I forget a little.
I eat a little, sleep a little,
forget a little…

actually, sometimes I do forget to eat but

I never forget to forget.
Either way it gets a little
easier every day.

Jim Murdoch has been writing poetry for fifty years for which he blames Larkin, who probably blamed Hardy. He has published two books of poetry, a short story collection and four novels.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

The Dragonfly

Poetry and translation from Korean by Ihlwha Choi

From Public Domain 
The dragonfly, it seems, wishes to be my companion.
Even when October comes, it still hovers close by my side.
On a late autumn morning, cloaked in white frost,
clinging to a withered blade of grass until its life is spent,
the dragonfly loves the fields, loves the sunlight.

As swallows line up in long ranks,
packing their final bundles for a faraway journey,
news may come from the city of someone’s suicide,
yet the dragonfly listens half-heartedly, caring little.
Beside the fisherman, beside the farmer gathering beans,
following the way of life of distant ancestors,
the dragonfly flits about, plays with innocence.
And then, from a withered blade of grass,
it departs the world as lightly as taking flight—
on a morning when leaves and blossoms alike have faded.
From Public Domain

Ihlwha Choi is a South Korean poet. He has published multiple poetry collections, such as Until the Time When Our Love will Flourish, The Color of Time, His Song and The Last Rehearsal.

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International