Domingo Mendo -------- Three poems and translations by author

Feelings deep inside me

There is something I feel for her;

It is deep and warm and it floods my body and soul;

It keeps me afloat and threatens to drown me;

I cannot reach her but through words, thoughts and

imagination;

It is very close and very far - I wished she would

quench my thirst, and still my hunger.

I wished I could feel her arms strong around my body.

I wished her eyes would burn in my eyes.

I wished our souls would merge in flesh and blood.

I wished, I wished, I wished she knew what I cannot

tell her.





Wenn die Deiche brechen



Wenn so viel Blut fließt, dass

die Deiche brechen.

Wenn so viel Blut fließt, dass

unsere Gemeinplätze ihre Vernunft „abbrennen“.

Wenn Wort und Schrift es nicht

mehr fassen und „Soll, Muss

und Hätte“ eitel werden.

Wenn Blut dann doch noch wallt;

und Menschen kommen. Können wir

uns dann versperren? Wenn Auge

und Auge sich treffen, wollen wir

uns abwenden? Ist dies alles

noch fassbar: Ist Reichtum nicht

Totschlag, wenn andere verbluten?

Ist Reichtum nicht Selbst-
mord, wen andere ver-
hungern?

Wenn es so wild klopft, dass

Deiche brechen.

Wenn Zäune und Mauern

zerbröseln, da die Leere der

Mägen und Verzweiflung

der Herzen sie zerreißt.

Wenn all dies so ist,

dann ist es Zeit, auch die

Deiche in UNS zu brechen.



(English translation by author)

When dikes are breaking



When streams of blood become so powerful that 

dikes break.

When streams of blood become so powerful that 

our common places “burn” their common sense.

When it is beyond the grasp of word and writing 

and “should, must and might” become futile.

When blood is, nonetheless, still boiling and men, 

women and children start pouring in. Can we 

then bar all the doors? When our eyes meet, are 

we going to turn our backs on them? Can all this 

be grasped: Isn’t richness murderous when 

others bleed to death? Isn’t richness suicidal 

when others die of hunger?

When they come knocking on the door so 

strongly that dikes break.

When fences and walls start crumbling because 

empty bellies and desperate hearts tear them 

apart.

When all this is true then it is time to break the 

dikes within YOU AND ME. 





Ein Che Guevara in Filzpantoffeln

A Che Guevara in felt slippers



Abends bin ich ein Che Guevara in Filzpantoffeln;

In the evening, I am a Che Guevara in felt slippers;

Ideen rauschen durch meinen Kopf und schwitzen sich in meinen

Filzpantoffeln aus;

Ideas swirling through my head and turning into sweat in my felt slippers;

Der Kopf wird kalt

und die Filzpantoffeln erwärmen meine Füße;

My head goes cold

and the felt slippers warm up my feet;

Der Kopf muss dann wild geschüttelt werden; wild

wie der Che Guevara; doch meine Filzpantoffeln schütteln alles ab; alles aus

meinen Filzpantoffeln.

Then I have to shake my head wildly; as wild as the

Che Guevara; however, my felt slippers shake everything off and everything out of

my felt slippers.

Ein toter Che Guevara

in lebenden Filzpantoffeln.

So untot ist der Filz.

A dead Che Guevara

in living felt slippers.


So undead is felt.

Myungsoon Kim -------- poem

The way I love you

by Angela

Sometimes my bowl is too big

your love cannot fill it

Sometimes my bowl is too small

your love fills it and overflows

When my heart is filled with greed and egoism

No room is left for your love

If I let them go, could it fit

If I empty all of them, could it be enough

The sky is high

The flowers are so beautiful

I learn how to live and love from nature

Just flowing clouds, river and wind

My bowl is getting as clear and as pure

as your endless love

Norm Davis -------- Five Poems

Strolling

white lady
walking her white dog
black crow
beak full of something
stolen from garbage
both headed for home...
beeline

To Alan Catlin

Some poets don't have any message.
They don't have anything to say.
Their task is to say it with beauty...
and with feeling.

Fort Dix

Stationed at Fort Dix, my
father, on the way to France,
in World War One...
although they didn't call it that.
I mean they didn't call it World
               War One.
We called it World War One in
later years, and we also called
Fort Dix the Spinal Meningitis
Capitol of the world.
Dad got spinal meningitis there,
and so did Jack Kelsey.
Dad didn't make it to France.
And Jack didn't make back to
               Wellsville.
Insects, two... Wellsville zero.
An Irish, and a Taff.
Mosquitoes had the last laugh.

Carlisle

Dad was stationed at Carlisle,
the Indian school, in 1919.
He was a medic.  He went home
on a 72 hour pass, and when he
returned, half the base was down
with Spanish Influenza, so
naturally he got it.
Spanish Influenza did not have
anything to do with Spain.
It was just that Spain was a
neutral nation, and their news-
papers published the figures.
The warring nations had to keep
the figures secret...not let the
enemy know your losses.
By not sharing information, by
lack of cooperation, losses were
by far increased.  Death rode
              rampant.
It raged around the world.  One
of the greatest epidemics ever
               known.
It shouldn't have been called
the Spanish Influenza.
It should have been called The
Influenza That Wiped Out Millions
and That We Were Too Damn
Dumb To Do Anything About.

When You Come Home

When you come back,
nothing around you is real.
Sitting in The Modern Diner,
or The Texas Hot, the library,
the kitchen table at home.
The film just rolls along as
usual, like it's always done.
Nothing is out of place.  But
you're out on the flight line
with Irving, or launching your
BST with Shoemaker,  out of
the motor pool.
Jay is telling a joke, "Go back,
go back, there are two of them!"
They are having a Coke, down
in the Biltmore.  The girls are
laughing a lot.
You're turning into Area 12.
Maybe a war has started this
morning, and this is the real thing.
One can't tell the difference, and
nobody wants you to.  Your
behavior is the same, whether
it's yes or no.  Everyone hates
the Russians, even the little ones,
the children.  Communists are
like the weather.  Everyone com-
plains about them, but nobody
              does anything.
You are doing something, here at
Area 12,  picking up a unit, 4.5
megatons of radioactive TNT.
The sports fans on TV are talking
about Bobby Layne.  His injured
thumb looks like a peach pit, but
he's gonna play.  Tough guy.
Choir practice tomorrow.  Tour
starts in only two weeks.  Here
we are practicing World War III
devotedly, protecting the Sinclair
refinery at home, Philco assembly
line in Batavia, that plant in
Lockport, the father of Tim McVeigh.
Fisher Price, Kodak, French's, Stromburg-Carlson, the whole damn
               Rust Belt.
It doesn't seem real, sitting here
in the diner, hearing the laughter,
the talk.  I should be driving out
to the flight line, getting ready
                to kill.

Two Poems ------- Lisa MN Yoon Les (South Korea)

Two Poems ----- Lisa MN Yoon Les (South Korea)

The Glory of Walking                            

-The Glorious moment I met Walking by H.D.Thoreau

You entered the dark forest that is my mind

At dusk, gleaming

You stepped into the gloomy jungle that is my heart

Shining, fending off shadows

You came into the grizzly cottage that is my soul

Glowing, rounding the curves

You soothed my torn, cracked heart

Glittering, dazzling as the play of my bracelet

You amble and saunter,

Bringing brilliance into my shed

You are freedom and the unfettered wildness

That at once is also civilization’s peak.

Idol Star-smtm4

-Following We Real Cool by Gwendolyn Brooks

Thee aspire inspire. Thee
Hip-hop K-Pop. Thee

Respect suspect. Thee
Cynical critical. Thee

Mask-on & off. Thee
Rapping choking. Thee
 Cracked Ordinary. Thee 
Oh Offnary Off

l  smtm4(Show Me the Money-Season4): It is a rap audition program on cable channel. There were so many young people who tried to be idol stars through the show. I had watched the show several times and felt sort of pity for the craze of the show and this poem is about the youngsters who wanted to be the rap idol stars but seemed to get stolen their normal daily life.