poetryrepairs #234 17,02:013


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The Stationery Boy

His little dark street Is at home in the silky cobweb; His little dark street Is only loud in the missionaries’ prayers, It elicits a gaze in very few people, It is but an uninvited guest to life. The stationery boy hands out his beautiful fliers, Like a messenger of his little dark street. In his big clear eyes a tear is born, Not as an accusation, But as wonderful love, His heart is young and full of hopes That someday his big silent tear Shall drop onto someone’s palm. A new day is born in his wonderful spirit, Perhaps somewhat cold and strange, But a new day, still. Oh powerful destiny, listen to your unloved son, Wake up the sleeping star; Wake up the sleeping sun; Wake up the sleeping hearts of men, So that the new day may be a friend to your unloved son. In the inaudible shadows, he has his faithful listeners, In death he has a faithful visitor, His young beautiful eyes are more familiar with death than life. When so many happy children gather around the city’s Christmas tree, His dear young heart is loudly beating into the deaf nights, Like a silver bell, So that his small, dark home would be alight with a gaze. When the wonderful northern wind brings Happy children’s voices from afar, Like a modest Christmas gift, The stationery boy is building his little kingdom of happiness In his vivid imagination, His days and nights may be cold and dark, But his imagination is bright and completely wonderful, It shines in the darkness like an angel. His silver bell is ringing beyond the heavenly dome. If you want to show a real angel to your kid, Hurry towards that little dark street, And you might be lucky enough to see the stationery boy Before he gets his silver wings.

poetryrepairs #234 17,02:013

Road of Dreams

When destiny leaves you alone in the dark; When your mother and father leave you early, All you have left are hope; All you have left are dreams, Yes, my friend, life rolls along the road of dreams, And each dream is finished soon; Travel in peace, dreams of mine, Into the land of color, the wonderful land of noble memories, So that my blind spirit might see through the turquoise moon's eyes, So that my tired spirit finds its peace in your sacred cradle. Fly with the breath of Freedom, So that you may sow the seed of young hope In the courtyard of heavenly gates; Travel in peace, dreams of mine, To honor the many tears haunted by memories, To honor the many stars haunted by lonely nights, To honor the many winds haunted by prayers of the unfortunate; Travel in peace, dreams of mine, Into distant valleys of saturnine silences. Find your humble home In the infinity of human tragedies, So that you may fraternize many unfortunates With your merciful existence, So that my lonely spirit can see the magnificent light In the fraternal souls of people I hold dear; When they want to kill your hope, hoist your flag of dreams And keep on marching your way, like a noble soldier of Dreams.

poetryrepairs #234 17,02:013

 Notes From the Hanged Woman
Face it, we’re wind From womb to the blue prom. Remember me licking Cream off your belly? I swing soft breasts Over the bones of the forgotten. Creation and death Harbor in beds. Can’t recall why I hate you Yet want to keep the investment. I take my wrinkles to bed, Hoping to dream young. Cold tea on the nightstand. Cat between my legs. Listen for the cracked dawn. The riot is close. From WOUNDED MORNING by Kirby Wright a collection of flash and poetry explores the secret interior worlds of characters dealing with intense emotional landscapes. Some of the pieces flash back in time to reveal the underpinnings of feelings of inadequacy,

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WALTER WILLIAM SAFAR Poetry enriches the human soul, as it nurtures love, compassion, freedom and faith in people. I don't know much about victories, but I am sure of one thing, that compassion is a victory of the human spirit. Yes, I consider myself to be lucky to share my poetry with everyone regardless of race or religion, because anyone's tears are the same color, as well as an honest smile. There is hope in me that you shall become my brothers in art, in terms of literature and compassion. Let it be the beginning of a wonderful friendship that shall be linked through small mercies. As William Wordsworth put it beautifully: "The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love."

WALTER WILLIAM SAFAR was born on August 6th 1958 . He authorrd a significant number of prose works and novels, including "Leaden fog", "Chastity on sale", "In the flames of passion", "The price of life", "Above the clouds", "The infernal circle", "The scream", "The Devil’s Architect”, "Queen Elizabeth II", “ The Last Voyage”,„”The Gambler And The Ghost“, Plays: “ Birdman”, “ Brothers”, as well as a book of poems.