I am sewing a dress
with the thread of strength,
And knots of ambitions,
And when it’s ready,
Then will iron it
with the remission,
I am sewing my broken soul!

By: Nida Mahmoed.

Ever does he slumber
Put to sleep eons ago
By long dead gods

Realities surge and receed
As nothing more
Than his thoughtless dreams

Few within or without
These realities understand
The great being's power

And those that do
Have all but slipped
Into madness

I see beauty in dark places
Like diamonds in a mine
Some gems are rough,
In need of polish
But I hate to see waste
And find potential in all
Some sparkle where, in others,
Elegance may be understated
Personally I like those best
The most valuable treasures in life
Are often those which were hardest to find

There are sweet dreams which sometimes lead
To sadness and pain which sometimes bleed
Into a strange and eerie beauty
Causing the heart and soul to swell
Hovering between heaven and hell
And the deepest shade of blue
Rolls over the infinite truth
Of the sensitivity of being

                                       By Phil Roberts

We first laid eyes on you over drinks
and dinner in the Latin Quarter,
a short stroll from the Spanish Arch,  
its historical significance gone
in a heartbeat along with all
expectation of ambush
by austere beauty
on those wind swept stepping stones
Inishmore, Inishmaan and Inisheer.

The River Corrib gleams
like vintage vinyl beneath
Wolfe Tone Bridge,  
grainy and black as your liquid
image glowing serene on screen,
countless heartbeats of moonlight
mingling quayside with the sea
in a salty embrace that stings
my eyes and seizes me
by the throat.

The windows of St. Martin’s
frame the timeless river.
Soft chamois of morning lifts
the stubborn tarnish of dawn
from its braided embellished tales.  
We tuck into our full Irish and drink
watery coffee while you float outside
time to the rhythm of the tides
in your small brackish sea.

Tonight the ceiling fan
clicks with every turn.

The bedside clock ticks
and tocks in moonglow.

I close my eyes
and one by one
the light bulbs in
the house explode.

The darkness
becomes me,
I think.

I wear it silky black,
a spider-tailored suit
imponderous as ether.

I focus on the anesthetic sound
of a future breathing inside me.

Memory folds like
an obsolete map—

a distant archipelago
of diminishing stars.

Years ago, I’m sure,
we married in a copse
blue with wild hyacinth.

Tonight the satellites
cut like diamond tips,

lugubrious orbits etching
across a bedroom window.

Dawn always blooms with
the sound of breaking glass.

take me
to the
space where
the  magnets of
                  our souls
rise up in mad thunder
sadness pushed
right out of stratosphere
a tidal wave rush,
       no warning--
as flames seep
through our skin
the burn cleansing
those cracked cuts
                          of glass,
searing granules of pain
that foam up
             from our pasts
and our wounds
get so pumped up
with love
       they bloom exotic
into
      floral entities
curious and strong
offbeat shapes
of undefined texture-
yet they suit us,
each throbbing petal
      intoxicated in
endorphin glow,
         softening as
tender eyefuls
of kisses embed
themselves in
our torrid earth

I will wrap my tendrils
                       around you
I will carry us, freshly seeded
   through these aching,
whipped-up winds
I will follow the arcs
  of aurora borealis
         beatific crystalline
I will let the wings beat
fast and full,
as they are meant to
I will release the
quicksand haze
of heaviness
that sometimes consumes us
and unravel depths
of the chaos within
In the meantime
just underneath,
a mere scratch
   under surface
a width of a molecule
from the pulse of skin
roars the breath of
            eternal blaze
etched in the silent layers
of your
              tattooed gaze
inked upon my essence
           in ancient runes
carved upon my heart
my quivering thighs,
a bond sealed in blood
and lingering sighs
Under dark rocks
rays of prismatic
                     rainbows
burst forth
unexpectedly,
        in phosphorescent miracle
release us from
our caged-up fury
Liquids morph into solid,
still iridescently fluvial
I reach out to you
pour fire
       in your veins,
for you are
      my Light
ebullating our souls
in healing trance
through the
       restless echoes
of
      night