Friendship blooms

Friendship is a bloom

That does not grow in soil,

But it blooms in your life.

Like my aunt whom I called Granny.

When a person is alive you never think about the day he/she will expire…

But when he/she is not in the world

You think that when she will open her eyes and blink them

And walk…

But after this our friendship does not ends,

It will last forever.


                         Anya Mishra




Eyes and Stars

Eyes and stars are always blinking

We see them everywhere,

Eyes gives sight and stars give light

This is the difference

Stars are huge, eyes are small

Equation is equal


One star is equal to 2 lakh and more

eyes but eyes is equal to No star


Wow! Wonderful!

                                                                                                  Anya Mishra

Practice is World

Practice, Practice, Practice.

Everything is practice.

Practice of maths, practice of S.St, Practice of science

Is practice is world?

Imagine if you live in practice city. So.

Some people love to do practice,

Some people hate to do practice,

Some people love to force to do practice.


Anya Mishra, published on 11 February 2018

Read and like the poems of Anya Mishra

I will write again, again

Note: This is my daughter’s poem and I have published it as it was given, no editing. I love the last three lines. I wish that she keeps building on the range and depth she already has and by the time she is a grown up, she will already be a poet. 

Poem (Butiful day)

The wide blue pond,

The light blue sky;

The birds are singing in the sky.

The children are swinging in the park.

The sound relaxing under a tree is,


The birds are making a cute pretty nest.

What a butiful day for a party

Some people come for picnic,

And some for playing.

What a butiful day for joy!


 19 November 2017

Anya Mishra


Note: This is my daughter’s poem and the spelling of beautiful has been copied from the original where it always came without the ‘ea’ part! I liked the flow of the first three lines and also the way she constructed Nature that she seldom gets exposed to. I felt proud of her but I have seen so much of plagiarism from other poets and writers, I googled her best lines and also asked her mother about her past exposure to poems in her books etc. When I was satisfied about the originality of the content I published it here. She actually wanted to be published and to be famous. Probably she got it from me: the need to get published and the wish to be famous. May her wishes be fulfilled! I say Amen to that.

My Poems Online


You can reach my poems online here:

The Literary Hachet Issue#18


Shakespeare’s Sonnet#3

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou vie west
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live remember’d not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet#3

You may remember that in a problem was discovered:

How to contemporise and popularize Shakespeare?

and a promise was made:

We will do it.

This post is my step#3 in our journey to 154 sonnets of Shakespeare. I will neither analyse the sonnets nor write about them in a scholarly manner. Others have done it, and have done much better than what I can do. I will try to USE this poem in a micro-insta manner. In our previous post with sonnet#1 I had looked for the lines/phrases that were the meatiest and had the most concentrated matter and had then worked with and on them to create my micropoem. Let’s call it Method#1. That method will always work. In the post with sonnet#2 a different technique was employed: finding out the meaning of the sonnet, and write something parallel, changing the words etc. Let’s call it Method#2.

This sonnet is again a plea, a strong one. The speaker wants the handsome nobleman to produce children, as  it is his personal and social duty.  It is also what wisdom demands of a man: transcend death and age though the next generation. With this theme, using method#2, we can build a new micropoem:



Shakespeare’s Sonnet#2

WHEN forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held:
Then, being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘ This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet#2

You may remember that in a problem was discovered:

How to contemporise and popularize Shakespeare?

and a promise was made:

We will do it.

This post is my step#2 in our journey. I intend to cover all 154 sonnets of his on this blog, post after post, week after week.

No, I’l neither analyse this poem nor write about it in a scholarly manner, for others have done it, and have done much better than what I can do. I will try to USE this poem in a micro-insta manner. In our previous post with sonnet#1 I had looked for the lines/phrases that were the wittiest and had the most concentrated matter and had then worked with and on them to create my micropoem. That method will always work.

We will employ a different technique here. We’ll find out the meaning of the sonnet, and write something parallel, even try to keep the central metaphor in place. The sonnet roughly means:

When age has dug furrows through your face and all your beauty is gone. When your body-cloth is not new but tattered and worn. Then you will know how wise and right it is to have a child. your beauty and youth, passed on thus, live and thus you live your youth when old.

Taking the lines and converting them into verse form, we get something like this:


When age has dug furrows

through your face

and all your beauty is gone.

When your body-cloth

is not new

but tattered and worn.

Then you will know

how wise and right

it is to have a child.

Your beauty and youth

passed on thus, live

and thus you live

Your youth when old.

(Inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet#2)

PPP Ezine 1.1

PPP Ezine

Poetrypoeticspleasure Ezine

Volume 1; Issue 1; Year 2017

Copyright 2017 Poets of Poetrypoeticspleasure Ezine

All rights reserved.

Respective poets own all copyrights.

Santiago by Richard Lutman

De- branched or Not? by Sandeep Kumar Mishra

Requiem to Peace by Tejasvi Saxena

A Rainy Night (Haiku sequence) by James G. Piatt

Land of my Dream by Yajnaseni Mukherjee

A  Lonely Tree by Asha Visvas

Night Bird by Sergio A. Ortiz

The Breathing Days by Lynn White

Loosening Ties by Suryasri Saha.

The Yellow Streetlight by Mrinalini Raj

About the Poets

It’s difficult to choose and pick poems for an anthologist when so many alternatives, and good ones at that, are available at any given point of time. It becomes even more difficult when the selection is for a poetry ezine as the poets are contemporary and the decision has to be made on poetry hitherto unread, unheard and un-judged.

Of course, it’s refreshing, invigorating and pleasant to know that so many good people are taking (stealing, should I say) time from out of their modern day urban everyday life in order to create a thing of beauty. Look at the profile of the poets in this issue. There are students, teachers, professionals and amateurs, full-time and occasional writers and they take pride in what they do, and identify themselves as poets.

It’s a privilege, and a pleasant one, to get a chance to get exposed to so many novel and valuable ideas arranged in a way that declares:

Though this be common man’s language, and the words used are of everyday use, the syntax too is quite familiar, the overall effect is not at all common, because the urn, well-wrought, is no more just the metal or marble it is made of.


Santiago by Richard Lutman


The coil of sea arcs his veins alone on the olive water
Cod break the salty crust
A flip and thrash
Slap slapslapslap Slap
The tub brims
The hooks are his again
Oil scattered rainbows warm his feet.
Gray canvas dips towards docks taken by oranges and pomegranates
He listens,
The bright bodies of fish upon the planks in death.
And he turns unafraid
To watch the clouds scurry into the distant hover of scaly shadow.


De- branched or Not? by Sandeep Kumar Mishra



They say going away is not

Love lost but the beginning of creation,

Of  a big bang or a garden fruit,

When they are ripe or ready,

They are de-branched.


I prefer a simple union,

Not detachment

Because avalanches await for

Those who stray far and wide.

Why going off is a part of the process?

Is this division or decrement:

One part detached, one part united?


It is a wireless connection.

We would love more or forget completely

The distance defines the correlations;

We will meet but misfortune suffices

A refuge for the time;

It is not the matter of gain or loss

A joy kindles the sadness of separation


Requiem to Peace by Tejasvi Saxena


To seek you is an eternal wait

As drawing streams from dreary desert

Like dredging humanity from dried seabed

Of dead consciences, reeking of death.


To find you, is as empty;

As promises you make in a hollow space

That lost your presence long back.


From gleam of Nut-brown eyes

To shimmering Dal lake

From scented whiff of kahwas ,

To rows of wooden shikaaras,

From young firans to lanky achkans

Who sought a streak of bright Sun;

To blind eyes and crevices of wombs

Which crack with every sound of gun,


Not once, you winced or shrieked aloud

At wailing mothers, mourning on dead

And, gaunt faces of senile fathers;

Whose lives are dim lit

Plummeting in receding rays of sunset.


You lit up the hopeless hopes

Of half-widows and half-mothers

Who live one moment after other

In quest of their spouses and sons.


You seem to fancy the angst of youths

Who try to grab your tentacle hooks

In unidentified cesspools of blood

Agonized Kashmiriyat knows you though;


You march in a Caravan of diplomats

Whose words are sugary entanglements

That bind your fleeting silhouette

To elude in a blink of a swindler’s eye.


A Rainy Night (Haiku sequence) by James G. Piatt



Bells in the church peal

A sudden cheerful refrain

Sending prayers upward


Deer in the meadow

Leap in unbound ecstasy

As moisture covers earth


Land of my Dream by Yajnaseni Mukherjee



I leaned on the balustrade

Wind whipped through my untamed hair

The chill engulfed me

I wove the tendrils of hair into the fabric of my dreams


The azure horizon kissed the green blue sea

My mind transcended the visible realms

And emerged in the sun kissed land of my dreams


Pristine, undulating landscapes

Nomadic wanderlust

Satiated stomachs

Contented smiles

Cozy hearths

Secure havens of peace

Proud city lines

Industrialization saluting technology

The lavish bounty of nature

Harnessed to generate progress


No outraged modesty

No outcry of inequality

No gaping chasms of wealth

No pilferage

No terror unleashed

No forced infliction of brutality

No untold tales of torment

Lost in the maze of reality….


A  Lonely Tree by Asha Visvas



Autumn leaves

A calligraphy in ochre

On a blanket of sighs :

A sea of sibilance .


The wind whipped tree

Holding a single leaf

The next gust signs it off,

Like the trace of a dream.


The shadow of the tree

Rests in the backyard-

Loneliness- bleak and nameless,

Fear howls in the silent house.


Night Bird by Sergio A. Ortiz



I ask for nothing

of this land

that has given me everything


I loved and hated its men

found my Adam

he fled with a bodybuilder

as soon as I gained weight


I sought God

and in his place found knowledge

I discovered a home in my body


and since then

moved from place to place

without desires


this is my way

my destiny does not depend on luck

I am the night bird

foretelling death in its song


The Breathing Days by Lynn White

In the days when I still breathed,
the days before
living took my breath away,
the days before
I knew my soul was there.
I thought about this time,
this time of no light,
the forever night time
with no breath, no air
to breathe.
Just dust and darkness.

And I pondered.

Would there be slow decay
or fast.
Stillness or movement.
Now I know.
I know everything about
the dust and darkness.
But I can’t tell you.
Not now
in these days
of no breath,
no air
to speak.
Only my soul can speak.
Can you hear me?

First published in Fragments of Chiaroscuro, Summer 2016

Loosening Ties by Suryasri Saha.


Relations and ties breach often
at times untold and hard,
parting ways with us,
leaving us all distressed…
Emotions overflow yet the heart
feels desolate…
We wish to reconcile,
entangle the ties in bonds stronger
but the other side often seems too hostile,
they just distance us farther..
Forsaken we feel as if in dire need of the
ones now gone deserting us..
Soul gets hollowed by the void created in life
with their departure sometimes ensuing
confusion as to why they left and
and if they won’t return..
Their thoughts dawns realization reminding
that rendezvous may not happen anytime soon
or maybe never trickling tears but hope remains..

Hope of coming across them,
maybe at some instance of time,
after all storms are calmed,
when all pangs are soothed..
And even if it doesn’t happen,
broken ties don’t redeem as hoped,
live on with their memories you once lived.
Stop being mournful for ties which loosened
in spite of utmost care,
Its not your fault if you tried yet
they are not here..
Turns those sobs of despair into sobs
of happiness felt on reflecting
the sweet memories so never ending.
Sadden yourself no more if you tried
and walked down the mile,
maybe it wasn’t so worthwhile..
Give way not to doubting the love and bond
once shared in the past which now is so tattered
but to the memories of the moments shared
which can never be shattered.
The ones left may not return but
their memories will never waver,
they will stay forever..

The Yellow Streetlight by Mrinalini Raj


My first memory

Of that yellow light

On the street, is of years ago;

When I walked half-miles

through that dark

Clutching my mother on the

Left and Papa on my right.


Nor were there hundred-homes

Then, neither the Cackling kids

I now hear on the lane outside.


Today, when I click,

And stop mid-way on feeling

Again the yellow around,

Often I am asked, why this

‘Love’ ( if you agree).


No, I don’t know, why

Your ‘LED’ hurts me, yes, I hear

your issues with

The hundred-Watts. I know

When you say it is hot today,

I see my aunt lying sick

Next-room, ‘It is the heat’, they

say. Your concerns for the

green, I know.


While we walked through

The dark, there was

This yellow-street light,

Only one, which

We met always. In that

Quiet there, were three more

With us. Laughs and Smiles

Took shapes.

Years piled, and I saw more

Of her, loving a little more

Of that shadowy-bright.


Today, She leaves the trails for her

Young whites, vacating all slow.

Maybe these Nights are

her last.


About the Poets


Richard Lutman has a MFA in Writing from Vermont College.  He has taught composition and literature courses at Rhode Island Community College, Fairfield University, The Learning Connection in Providence, Rhode Island, and short story classes as part of Coastal Carolina University’s Lifelong Learning program. He has published over two dozen short stories, three chapbooks, two novellas and one nonfiction book. He was a 2008 Pushcart nominee in fiction and the recipient of national awards for his non-fiction, short stories and screenplays.   His first novel was published in May of 2016. His web site is:


Sandeep Kumar Mishra is a writer, poet, and lecturer in English Literature. Last year his work published in more than 50 national and international magazines. He has edited a collection of poems by various poets – Pearls (2002) and written a professional guidebook –How to Be (2016) and a collection of poems and art- Feel My Heart (2016).


Tejasvi Saxena hails from New Delhi, India. He is a dabbler in photography, a poet in solitude and thinker in all seasons. He loves the company of books, kids, nature, music, food and dogs. His works have been published in Muse India, Visual Verse, Duane’s PoeTree, Indian Periodical, Dissident Voice Journal, Tuck Magazine, Spillwords, Scarlet Leaf Review, Random Poem Tree, Peeking Cat Poetry, Phenomenal Literature, The Avocet Review and Thumbprint Magazine. He is on instagram @ Tejasvisaxena.



James G. Piatt has published 4 novels, “The Ideal Society,” (2012), “The Monk,” (2013),  “The Nostradamus Conspiracy,” (2015), and Archibald McDougle PI: An Archie McDougle Mystery (2017), 3 collections of poetry, “The Silent Pond,” (2012), “Ancient Rhythms,” (2014), and “Light” (2016), and over 1,000 poems, 35 short stories, and 7 essays. His poems have been nominated for pushcart and best of web awards, and many were published in The Top 100 Poems of 2016, 2015, & 2014 Anthologies, and the 2017 Poet’s Showcase and Yearbook. His fourth collection of poetry will be released this year.


Yajnaseni Mukherjee speaks three languages, reads and writes poems in two, and dreams in one. She has always been a poet. She writes poems whenever she is not busy doing so many other mundane things. She also gets joy in teaching poetry and literature to University students.


Asha Viswas is a former Professor of English, Benaras Hindu University, Varanasi ,India. She has also taught at  Aligarh and at the University of Calabar, Nigeria. She has published three collections of poems. The first collection Melting Memories was published in 1996 [Delhi]. For this she was awarded Michael Madhusudan Academy Award  [Kolkatta] in 1997.  Her second collection Mortgaged Moorings  [writers workshop, Kolkatta] was published in 2001. For this she was given the Editors’ Choice Award by the International Library of Poetry , U.S.A. IN 2003.Her third collection of poems was published in 2011 [Kolkata].

Her poems have featured in the shortlist anthology of all India poetry competition organized by the British council and the poetry Society India , Slug fest [U.S.A.] , The Mawaheb International [Canada] ,The Brob Times [ Ireland] , Jalons [France] and various other journals and anthologies in India. Some of her poems have been translated into French. She has read her poems in Western Europe, the U.S.A. and African universities. She had a fan club of her poetry in the U.S.


Sergio A. Ortiz is a two-time Pushcart nominee, a four-time Best of the Web nominee, and 2016 Best of the Net nominee. 2nd place in the 2016 Ramón Ataz Annual Poetry Competition sponsored by Alaire publishing house. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in FRIGG, Tipton Poetry Journal, Drunk Monkeys, and Bitterzeot Magazine.  He is currently working on his first full-length collection of poems, Elephant Graveyard. 

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem ‘A Rose For Gaza’ was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud ‘War Poetry for Today’ competition 2014. This and many other poems, have been widely published, in recent anthologies such as – ‘Alice In Wonderland’ by Silver Birch Press, ‘The Border Crossed Us’ and ‘Rise’ from Vagabond Press and ‘Selfhood’ from Trancendence Zero – and journals such as Apogee, Firewords Quarterly, Indie Soleil, Midnight Circus and Snapdragon as well as many other online and print publications.

Find Lynn at: and

Suryasri Saha is doing her B Tech. She is a poet from India who loves writing and believes poetry is her forte.

Link to the book she has written –

Mrinalini Raj prefers the tag of a ‘Reader’ over that of a ‘Author/Poet’. An English Literature Undergraduate at St.Xavier’s College, She is on her way to discover Womanhood. She has strong opinions hence few friends.