Fire, Rage and Mermaids – Ishika Kiran


I’m afraid

I must confess

That when they accused women

Of being



A woman

And burned them at the stakes

That’s when fire met with fire

And the flames danced to the tunes of rage

And the ashes became one with the air.

The air promised to the women

The fire wouldn’t die

The ashes promised to the women

The rage shall live on.

I’m afraid

I must confess

That when they accused women

Of bringing bad luck

And threw them off their ships

I kid you not

As they sank with their legs tied together

The water breathed life into their lungs

They changed slowly

Until they could swim

They drowned sailors in revenge

Luring them in

By singing

In their raspy voices

Still stinging from the salt water they breathed.

Mermaids, you call them.

I’m afraid

I must confess

That when they pushed young women


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What is life?

A series of sunrises and sunsets

A Slice of moonbeam

Purple roses

Your hand on my heart and it

rushing like Niagara Falls

Tears fill my eyes

Stars against the hollow universe

Is there anything out there?

My echo coming back sinking into my soul

Is Love my medicine or my curse?

Time is imaginary

Cover the mirrors

For what is life?

Buttercups and bellflowers stretch out for sunshine

Their shape like my bodies most delicate parts

Howling like the wolf

Physicists atomic brains

finding alternate realities

Darkness in my heart

Wishing for a fifth dimension

What’s it all for?

Joann Cohen

Star struck

How many Galaxies must I look at, before I find your star dusted soul?

The moon is jealous that her beauty isn’t enough to keep my heart full.

I will find you one night, although you’re light years away. I will never stop searching.

Joann Cohen


Those sweet early years, when I was first brought into a public library. The place where books were cataloged by the dewy decimal system and lined on the shelves with precision. The smell of the thousand pounds of paper each being part of a story of a individual. Who’d thought this introduction to books would last a lifetime. That I would refer back to it again and again.

On The Way To My Own Life

Tomorrow or Sunday. I will be attending my first open mic poetry reading. If I sign up early enough I will be able to read my poem. Beginnings. I almost talked myself out of going. However if I do not try I’ll be disappointed in myself.

Until tomorrow

Joann April 2019