Denmark Of Pen Mysteries

(Collection of poems)
Year of published: 2022
Publisher: Rays Publishing Hub
Host Publisher: Opinion Nigeria Magazine
Credit: Learning The Pen Mysteries

EDITORS REMARK
This collection of poems is the remark of good deeds from Pen Mysteries and appreciation credit to go further.
Knowledge is dynamic, this book will give insight of goodwill analysis to all the incoming writers but in home and diaspora.

Chinwendu Chinonyerem Emmanuel (Mr. Rays)
Editor

APPRECIATION
We wish the appreciate all authors whom their poems are been selected for publication. We use this medium to appreciate the followings:
Matthew Sunday Edeh (Pen Mysteries founder) and all the Admin team and Moderators for tiredless efforts towards this publication.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Every poem published is at the credit of the poets.
No part of this publication should be published elseway apart from editors remark if chosen to go wide across the globe.

POEMS PUBLISHED AT THE AUTHORS CREDIT.

524 DAYS ON STREETS
In the City of Joy,
From dawn to dusk,
Fighting has been our task.
We spend the whole day
Under a shade of Mahatma’s fade.
We don’t have job,
It has been stolen by gambling rob.
We can’t claim,
No one wants to stand against Them.
We can’t go home,
How can we face our own?
With bare hands to widowed-mom,
With bare hands to marriage plan?
We want Court,
For justice and letter of appointment
Just to be placed on hands,
Honouring our 10years path.
We can’t rest on others,
Who can say there won’t be corrupts?
We won’t stop,
So what if Police imprisons us?
We don’t have any value of life,
4 candidates have already given Life.
We can’t dream,
As it’s sold by political team.
No one cares for us,
So what if we protest withWinter-Rain-Summer’s harsh?
We wouldn’t be here,
269+ are roaming as ‘We’ everywhere.
How long will we endure?
We want to be Teacher from every core.
We don’t know,
What we can teach to next generation’s fleet,
But the indomitable spirit of Right,
In long and fuzzy slide.
©️Diya Sinha

WHO SAYS A MAN DOESN’T CRY?
Who says a man doesn’t cry?
Has he got no heart?
A man too feels and cries
When he’s torn apart.

Who says a man doesn’t cry?
Is he not made of flesh and bone?
A man too feels and cries
When he’s hurt and left alone.

Who says a man doesn’t cry?
Is he not a human but machine?
A man too feels and cries
When his true love turns mean.

Who says a man doesn’t cry?
Is he void of tear glands?
A man too feels and cries
When his love never understands.

Who says a man doesn’t cry?
Is he an emotionless robot?
A man too feels and cries
When his bleeding heart doesn’t clot.

So, never assume that a man doesn’t cry,
For, you aren’t in his place,
Once you put your feet in his shoes
You’ll see the change on your face.
©Tshering Wangchuk

MIDNIGHT WHISPER
It’s not always at midnight
That I need a moment of clarity
It’s when the whispers fill the room
And I feel I’m not where I’m meant to be

Then I put my hands together
Closing tight my eyes
Praying for your wisdom and strength
God please come and be by my side

For you are always there
You hear every word I say
Helping me when I feel confused
And not judging me in any way

These midnight whispers comfort me
In ways that I can’t explain
Deep in my being
I feel reborn again.
© S E Toner
UK

RED DOT
AT toll gate,
Blood wetted earth
On the command
Of lunatic gods.

At toll gate,
Heads severed off its body
Rolled helplessly
And died in grieve.

At toll gate,
Salvation seekers
Were served sacrilegious sacrament
Baked in darkness.

Toll gate massacre,
A red dot on white garment!
(c) ILOKE C. ILOKE

**Let us talk in silence**
I’m your better half, a woman of
Substance; I live in cities, and
Fly like a bird in an open sky
Of my own making; I’ve broken
The chains of bondage paralysing me
For the generations gone by; yes,
I’ve smashed the glass ceilings of
Every kind; I’m the undisputed master of
My own body, my mind and
My thought process; I’m enjoying the
Heady fragrance of my freedom unlimited;

But you are still imprisoned in the
Defined peripheries of your village homes,
Enchained in the rough and tough
Traditions of yore; your range of
Freedom extends from home to open
Fields, and ends safely at the threshold
Of your husband’s place; you lack in
Education and awareness, so much so,
That the whole planet is a tiny
Dot on the narrow vision of your
Mental horizon; come on, my darling,
My other half! you have to rise
Like oceanic waves to cross the barriers
Of time and space; you have to
Cry for moon, and make endeavours to
Reach the shining stars; you really deserve to live and relive,
The enchanting moments of unending ecstasy.
@Rakesh Chandra

**House of Christmas**
Almost twenty-years-
since her brother died,
she still felt the pain inside-
from losing him,
they were very close,
Jack and her had the most-
loving relationship,
she’d kept some of his things,
his treasured ring-
she bought him on his twenty-first,
his precious words of verse-
he’d never got round to publishing,
flicking through the pages-
she’d been meaning for ages, to sort through,
came across… The House of Christmas,
a particular poem he’d read to her-
two days before he died,
she tried holding back the tears-
reciting the poignant memory,
it read…
All around the house of Christmas-
a sense of joy prevails,
adorned with holly everywhere-
and tinsel glitter trails,
the festive tree-
looks beautifully bedecked,
as mum bakes sausage-rolls, mince pies-
I haven’t sampled yet,
snow flakes fall on the window panes-
as my sister wraps-up presents,
dad has gone to the shed-
to go and get the pheasants,
carol singers can be heard-
serenading the new-born king,
“On Christmas night all Christians sing
to hear the news the angels bring.”
we all join in-
to dance around,
even Granny gives a yuletide sound-
as children play outside,
its a time-
in a tide of happiness,
I watch them build a big snowman-
with all their tiny freezing hands,
and think to myself…
this is Christmas.
Sally closed the book-
to wipe her eyes,
feeling her brother by her side…
in spirit.
©Terry G. Sewell

A TIME WHEN YOU WERE MINE
(By Patti Thomas Woosley)
We had our favorite love song;
pretty words that sound so right
I play it over and over – late into the night
I play it to remind me
when you were by my side
and we slept so close together, and held each other tight.

But it’s only a love song.
A love song isn’t real.
A love song can never hold me.
A love song cannot feel.
It just hangs around in my memories, reminding me of the time;
a time when you still loved me, a time when you were mine.

There’s a picture on my nightstand, close beside my bed.
I carry it around with me
all day long inside my head.
Your smile says you were happy.
Your eyes say you were true.
Your lips seem like they are saying, “Oh how much
I love you.”

But it’s only an old picture.
And I know it isn’t real.
It’s a picture that can never hold me;
a picture that cannot feel.
It just hangs around in my memories and reminds me of the time;
a time when you still loved me,
a time when you were mine.

I have a box of your love letters,
hidden on the highest shelf,
for I can’t bear to read them,
so I hide them from myself.
Sweet words of love you wrote to me.
You sealed each one with a kiss.
These old love letters remind me of all the things I miss.

I keep hanging on to these old souvenirs,
but none of them are real;
These things that will never hold me.
These things that cannot feel.
And even though you’re no longer here,
I still think about the time;
the time when you loved me.
a time when you were mine.

Flame of Words
It is the command of creation,
Neither of evolution,
From nothingness to existence,
Only on sovereign interference.

It makes the unseen, seen and real.
Did creation also cause the unreal?
Wondering how I came to be,
Biology or the divine being.

It enkindles all action,
Placing visions on mission,
The primordial discussion,
Through aiming objection.

It is the gravity of comeliness,
Everyone to belongingness,
It unites spirited passion,
Changing friends into compassion.

The intensify fire of words,
When kind in pacific moods,
Sheath the wounded hearts,
Reduce the traumatized throbbing beats.
©Nnanna Augustine

REBELLIOUS AUTUMN
Melancholic nip in the air, it’s rebellious autumn breeze.
Thorns under feet, gloomy maples on fire, smell of autumn intoxicate, it’s intoxicating fall
Bruises all over, leaves scattered under the listless trees, it’s alluring fall.
Rebellious air, no clarity or compassion for life, it’s rebellious fall.

Resilience is essence of life, miles to go in chase for peace.
Time to adhere to dreams.
Time to embrace and cleave to hope.
Time to have respite and rejuvinate.
Time to reset life once more.
Time to celebrate onset of rebellious autumn.
@Gurjeet Kour Ghuman

MRS AKINLABI, TEACHER TO REMEMBER
You were not an heroin
Nobody liked you
At the moment you stood on tools
With the canes, beating us so hard
In tracing us on the path of life

Today,
We looked back to yesterday
Where the battle seems unending
To thank you for your mentoring
Which sail through
The blowing storm
That have taking many to regretful moment

Under your unshaded glasses
With the fragrance of your perfume
That planted fear in us
Painted clear image of good dream

You are but a mother,
Who lead by example
On every good courses
Punctuality is a soul of business
Language you taught us through action

You are an icon
Brighter than silicon
With a shadowless Capricorn
In a state of emoticon
We all chew like popcorn
To become what is Great
© Azeez Surajudeen Olatunde

Now?
Grateful for the past
Grateful for the day
Grateful for the dis ease
That set me on the Way

The sun it keeps on rising
I keep on stepping forward
I offer up my life
To do something for you Lord

Everything I think
All I thought I knew
I lay aside it all
To be here in now with You

I open up my mind
I open up my heart
As You orchestrate Creation
I long to play my part

Empty me of me
Pour in me a new
I long to be Your conduit
That Love and Hope flow through

One day at a time
Today is our day one
I’ll walk with you in the Sun Light of the Spirit
Now that the new Way has begun

We’re not meant to walk alone
So come and take a hand
We’ll find joy beyond comprehension
And a peace many will not understand

Grateful for the past
Grateful for today
Grateful for tomorrow
Together on the Way

On the Way of Health and Wellness
On the Way of Love and Peace
On the Way to Live the Moment
All our burdens we release

All our burdens we release
To live and love a new
Let me set aside everything I think or thought
To be in this moment here with You

Helping Help’s
Greg Wooley

THE DARK PLANET
(Imaginatively)

Oh Dark Planet,
Sits cross-legged
On the seat of your throne
Far in the region of
Vagueness,
Island of darkness
Unscanned,
Of cloudiness untamed
In obtuse angle
To the planetary
System, revolving
Round rolls
Of the mysterious
And the mystical…

Darkened planet!
Abode of deep blackness,
Dangling troubles
That came surging
Like swamping locusts
Flying on feathers
With pronounced fingers-
Of the wasters
Of the emptiers
In the wild with
Clandestine boots…

Are you not weary
Of pouring out on all,
Those wastes to
No end,
Those empties to
No rend?
Blurry images in shadows
Painting the
Human landscapes,
Cacophonic voices
Of miseries and anguishes…

Accross your wrinkled face
Shadowy forms of
Creeping creatures,
Camouflages of miseries
Trailing earth-bound;
All submerged in the
Dominion of darkness…

But out of the trailing
Clouds of darkness,
The wonders of light
Are birthed
On the plightful laps
Of earth upheavals…

For the unweary
Humanity
Is light-intuned
Darkness-repulsed
Hope-atuned…

Out of thick darkness,
The colour
Of light is brightened
And the mortally
wounded pathways
Are lighted
On to the dawn of
A new day,
A new season:
The good always
Over the evil…

Aaron Blackie

Best Poem of The Year 2022

Marie Harris
USA

Marie Harris
Little Boy and The Snowman
In a snowy meadow
He stood proud and tall
Dressed in his suit of snow
His hands touching a lad so small

A smile was arranged upon his face
The boy awe struck with surprise
In his robe and pajamas
He was hard pressed to believe his eyes

The snowman spoke with a whisper soft
My little red headed friend, what roused you from your bed
The boy replied I was dreaming of building a snowman
And here you stand intact instead

Your not quite what I expected
With your brown woolen hat and tie
Black coal buttons adorn your jacket
Your face a bit of jolly that your smile supplies

I don’t feel the cold this night
held against your ample frame
A touch of rosy cold paints my cheek
As I timidly ask your name

I am known as Powder
a friend of winter’s fame
Brought to life by children’s
squeals of delight
Eager to build a snowman
When snowflakes paint the earth with white

Once in a while I am brought to life
To share a once in a lifetime
happening
With someone chosen by magic within a dream
A delightful romp in the snow
by simple imagining

The little boy was overjoyed and the night slipped quietly past
He and Powder spent the hours making angels in the waves of white
Running through the powdery
paths of glistening snow
Gleefully fulfilling a little boy’s
wish building a replica of Powder this magical night

Awakening to find his pajama bottoms damp
His dream flashed bold and bright
Racing to his window he found his friend Powder standing where he left him as his dream ended somewhere in the night
Was the night more than a dream?