Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism. Spiegel has tech bro form. No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss? Bozhidar Pangelov Jul For the authors: Bozhidar Pangelov was born in the soft month of October in the city of the chestnut trees, Sofia, Bulgaria, where he lives and works.
He likes joking that the only authorship which he acknowledges are his three children and the job-hobby in the sphere of the business services. His first book Four Cycles written entirely with an unknown author but in a complete synchronous on motifs of the Hellenic legends and mythos.
Some of his poems are translated in Italian, German, Polish, Russian, Chinese and English languages and are published on poetry sites as well as in anthologies and some periodicals all over the world. Mira Dushkova was born in in Veliko Tarnovo, the medieval capital of Bulgaria. Her writing includes poetry, essays, literary criticism and short stories. Some of her poems and essays have been first prize winners of different Bulgarian contests for literature. She lives in Ruse — Bulgaria. All poems are in English.
The Antology consists of pages. Its Chief Editor and President of A. LII is Prof. Anuraag Sharma. Currently he is working as a Professor in English at Govt. Moizur Rehman Khan — co-redactor, project manager, secretary of A. He is a creative writer. His poems and articles have been published in various magazines and journals.
This anthology is a successful fusion of unique, inimitable and polyphonic poetry, a well-organized improvisation with a solid and flexible structure. Our precarious era requires a global affirmation that we are all in this together.
Poetry has always said as much, and here it says it again, in the idioms of our time. Poets from nearly sixty countries rub shoulders in this ambitious and wide-ranging collection, and their poems resonate and mingle in a multi-layered voice.
It is the voice of our humanity. In his Introduction, Dr. Sharma points to the invaluable importance of poetry in what he calls our destructive Lear era: Beyond the Lear Century, across the 21st Century lies the island of Prospero and Ariel and Miranda and Ferdinand — the region of faith, hope and innocence, the land of virtue, and all forgiveness sans grievances, sans regrets, sans curses.
The doleful shades lead to pastures new. We must weigh our hopes. The Second Genesis is at hand…. JJ Hutton Jan Caged Gorilla. Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
Alamo idiot stand and a neon Jesus waving newcomers into the whitewashed port town known as "Cuba North". At the Caged Gorilla, Linda, the waitress, laughs through yellowed teeth, while my bloodshot eyes crawl up her red gums.
Binge'd and my brain keeps parallel with the ceiling fan while a plain clothes cop tries to give me the reprimand for nostalgic mischiefs. Handcuffed and looking for that old fiend, Freedom, while Miranda spews on the back of my skull, slides down my shoulders, dots the cement. Out the door and tourists with cameras looking for evil behind my irises, but I can assure my handshakes feel the same, I'm front pew tame, and I blend with the parade.
Rose Amberlyn Nov Dear Miranda Rene. A wild fire. Dripping paint on an open canvas. Colorful, inspiring, vibrant. Breathing life into art. Straight forward. Her words powerful. Her thoughts matter. She was born a leader. Her eyes deep pools of water, far more lies beneath the surface. Silent laughter, searching eyes, she is tough as nails, but her compassion runs deep. Socks her best friend, and food her true love.
She is beautiful and she knows it. An unforgettable character, beloved like an old classic. Challenge her, support her, she carries herself without conflict. A memorable person, and a best friend. Love, Sara Ashley. Katy Laurel Jan Le Destin Du Loup. I There are many moments in life when tenses collide. Ones you felt carried a certain suspension separate from any other emotion.
But here you are. The gravities have hit head on and danced into an embrace of blinding light and you have poorly handled defeat. Claiming care and emotion where it is never planned.
Learn control over that desire to understand. Humans do not need to actually understand but simply have motivation to care about the small puzzle pieces that compose the whole of this mad, mad clock machine, gliding through something we observe as space, nothingness, holiness, magnificence, terror- All that we attribute to something named god high above our clouded atmosphere.
II But here i am. Something separate, but whole, but a part, and dancing two dances. Flung between two rhythms too unalike to exist within the same night. But I force them. I space out an afternoon or a day, but ultimately I bring the two pulses into my arms and scatter my identity among the veins pumping lustful confusions and the brain filling up with failures that overshadow the motion of the last decade.
Yes, the broken fragments attract the healers and the hungry. III Let them howl lustfully at your moonlit window. Lock yourself inside your head and convince yourself that they have taught you all you need. You have always been a lover of the losers, the vampires, the beautiful demons of lilith. They make your blood pump with laughter. Here you are. The moon fills such cold nights and you abide by her hymns. IV His long home of bones hold you and slip small moans into your golden spirals.
The knowledge that he no longer needs to claim your bones. You are a glittering pendant among tomorrow mornings garbage. Too soon has the sun touched your totality and given it to other thirsty pupils.
You are a book that has already been read. You are the instruction manual learned too early to be made sacred. You are merely an example of comfort, false hope. V I begin to hate the teeth within his smile. Yellow smoked ivory pierces my mind with failure. What exactly are you looking for? What is it you need to surpass? The embarrassment of something you had no control over. Well, maybe you are confused by your own reaction to the situation. Your anger.
Your misplaced desire. Your frustration with his thoughts. Your carelessness to understand. Maybe placing myself in the second person will help me come to terms with my evil. Share this: Twitter Facebook.
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Everlasting Arms Join 49 other followers. Sign me up. Time is timelessness for you; Calendars for the human; What's a year, or thirty, to Loveliness made woman?
A beautiful reflection on what makes one old What is one day from the next if we do not make it so. W, ords of a master clever to illustrate age and the withering tick of time, very nice to read! Beautiful poem Tick tick tick it does not wait for you or I, or even the lady Miranda.! Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge Next Poem.
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