"I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..."

POETRYrepairs v08.05:050

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SAID SHUAIB Looking for Bread Sunset has come so has the rain, wind of life ordinary and plain. Take me somewhere to live to last, no time to tell help bury the past. I see flowers and leaves let me stay, no hunger or thieves no blood to pay. Africa is my home let my heart be free, to live in the world to give to see. Morning has come and now silence is dead, i must wake again to find my bread. --- copyright SAID SHUAIB Nigerian poet SAID SHUAIB is new to poetryREpairs and to international literature. His is a style rarely seen on these pages; nonetheless, the content is worthy of a reading both for similarity of thought and for its dissimilar details. 'Looking for Bread' from Signature of Time is published here with the poet's permission. REPAIR: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition. Oxford English Dictionary PS : Sponsor Poetry visit Poetry Sponsors ArabLounge.com

"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul."

poetryREpairs v08.05:050

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LYN LIFSHIN. ALL ABOUT ME Do You Ever Feel Like One of Those Women in Saudi Arabia who can't even go out in a car alone let alone appear publicly at a book signing? At least, not unless you're ambitious and fearless, of course careful what you write beneath your veil. Not that a lot of all poetry isn't veiled. Lets say you were hidden, only your eyes looking intent. Sure, you're ok. I had a mother who let me read Snows of Kilimanjaro when other mothers hid that book but later she shook her head over a poet about an explicit way to eat chocolate. "Some day you are going to meet a man you like and then he'll read your poems. You hear one man say "if my wife wrote what you do, I wouldn't let her out of the house." Another says, "at least I'll never have to hear that poem again." Of course I'm exaggerating. It's what writers do. I read this poem tho the man I'm with isn't thrilled. But there are times, like this morning when he put his hands over his ears or when someone writes about some dress I wore, or its length, or my teeth or eye shadow, I think I might as well be in a burka. "Get over it," I'd like to say as a young Arab poet did on a call in show on Arab satellite TV when some one complained her hair was showing. That's what I'd like to say to more than one person this morning and if asked "who allowed me to do what I'm doing?" give the same answer she did, "no one." --- copyright LYN LIFSHIN. ALL ABOUT ME poetryREpairs.com welcomes your essay on a topic related to poetry.

"Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!"

poetryrePAIRs v07.03:050

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PEGGY MEEKS-KING 'Ground Zero' Bombay ash falling like new snow on a black man wrapped in the American Flag tears flooding his eyes, stars of silver on his back, Lady Liberty standing still with a great pale flame; a gift from France. Fear, thick as an early morning fog after a Summer's rain, the screams of pain lay open like a wound, sounds like Israel in many ways, not just another day, no one can explain it, no one can at all. The streets are busy with Heroes, mothers stand there, they are the mothers of the disappeared, who have prayed for peace; year after year. Fire and smoke can be seen for miles around. Nothing is clear anymore, nothing makes sense. This is America 'home of the free land of the brave' this can not be, this can not be, I over heard someone say, it was a man from Russia come to trade in the USA. And I wonder myself what J.F.K. Jr. or John Lennon or Albert Einstein would say, would think of a world on the brink? Bin Laden did not take into account that day that this is America the 'melting pot' of the world with its many colours like a sweet rainbow and people from every part of the earth, from all walks of life, even his own men, women and babes, are here and call this wonderful place home, this is what makes America Great; not its money, not its power. --- copyright PEGGY MEEKS-KING. "'Ground Zero'" was previously published on poetryREpairs 02.01:007 'all the fine arts are species of poetry'

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poetryrepairs v08.05:050
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