H(OUR) LIFE, poetry written by Deborah Jane at Spillwords.com

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Hour Life

Deborah Jane·March 6, 2019

English Poetry

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H(OUR) LIFE

written by: Deborah Jane

All my children have but one life to live

Many times they will be young and restless

Hope as the world turns, for loving days of our lives

Healthy, without need of general hospitals

Follow the bold and beautiful guiding light

Clear of dark shadows from another world

At the edge of night, when you search for tomorrow

Live y(our) life

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Deborah Jane

Yours truly, the small child grew to a vertically challenged adult. Never diminutive in passion, Strength, or courage. An innate creative power pack, evoked a continuous deluge of words . This emotion led to lead and papyrus .

Suman Pokhrel

Suman Pokhrel is a Nepali poet, lyricist, playwright, translator, and artist. He debuted in 1999 with a poetry collection and has since published works, including translations of Shakespeare and global poets. His poems are translated into many languages and taught across South Asia. A two-time SAARC Literary Awardee, he also received Asia’s Inspiring Poet Award and was named Author of the Month by Spillwords in June 2023. Beyond literature, he works as a freelance consultant in socio-economic research, rural development, entrepreneurial development and creative writing. He began his career in Nepal’s civil service and later worked with international NGOs. He holds degrees in Science, Law, Business Administration, and Economics.

Condoms by Seán Óg Ó Murchú

They all laughed at me. All the dinner ladies. It started with your one, I’m after forgetting her name now… Smelly Nelly’s ma. A wet little tear trickled toward her tattooed cheekbone. She was roaring red. Her harsh, wheezing laughter sounded like a black taxi tackling the Whiterock Road, her throat destroyed from all the fegs she used to be hoofing into her. She called over the other dinner ladies then, an army of them. Or maybe it was the curiosity of her horrid laughing that brought them over… I can’t remember.
“Tell the girls what you’re only after asking me there ni wee mawn.”
I looked between herself and the girls. Jesus Christ, I said in my own mind, Mental Mick is after stealing all my crayons that I’d been hoarding for myself there before the break...

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