WORLD POETS MAGAZINE

    Attention Readers! In contrast to conventional poetry this poem contains no preservatives   In the fridge you can keep it up to three days in the ice compartment up to one week and in the deep freezer for up to a year   But it’s best to read it right away Then you already have one worry off your mind     How it Goes   Poems are doing considerably better and worse these days. They are clearly read by more or fewer people. Most passers-by don’t care about poems; teachers, editors and booksellers care even less. Publishers don’t care at all. Those who write poetry are allowed, but not obliged, although this is strongly recommended, to call themselves poets without being laughed at, as was common in the past, and are showered with prizes of all kinds, unless they are not. The young are old, the old are young, the dead are the most alive. Everything rhymes with Berlin. What doesn't rhyme with Berlin doesn't rhyme. Quite a bit rhymes that doesn't rhyme. ...

  In Aristotle's school   In this place, figs were cracking under the blazing sun, giving the philosopher's visions a taste of contemplation and wisdom.   In this place and on the amphitheater of the school, the philosopher was grabbing the ear of his wretched student, little Alexander, and teaching him slowly the difficult paths of life and ways to understand them! The disciple listened to him with great depth and intelligence, and he did not let anything miss his little ears.   In this place the walnuts fell in abundance, the squirrels rolled them into their mouths as the philosopher rolled fresh ideas into existence.   In this place, the great philosopher was getting old and the logic of philosophy was growing and expanding. The little disciple, was growing up and the gluttony in his terrifying imagination grew stronger. In this place, trees, birds, river and a cave learned the skills of philosophy from the great philosopher.   In this place, the phil...

      " The Old Guitarist " - Pablo Picasso   dried up in his room he embraces his guitar whispering to it with his fingers songs from the wedding at Galilee   his legs entwined he sits with lowered head listening to the light of blue to the shadow of a distant voice   overwhelmed by loneliness he takes the pain away from Jesus     (From the anthology of the German-Arab Poetry Salon, published by Edition lyrik-salon Spezial in Germany in 2026. Titled: "das lich ruht sich aus", / in english: " the light is rasting " )     The House Is Half Empty   in the heart of the city a very short street   on its left side stand four houses three of them inhabited by grief   the fourth - half empty the other half filled with the voices of those who left   in a silent war beneath clouds that carry no rain     (From the anthology of the German-Arab Poetry Salon, published by Edition lyrik-salon Spezial in Ge...

    “Forty years are like a single day if you let the wind pass over theman do not say no …”                                                                             B. Brecht, “ In the Jungle of Cities ”   No   I will wake   - and dream build a wind trap, a trap of Sinter   and humming sand. No longer does the wind pass though hair an ribs, where, sated of hunger and weary of toil, a YES ripens year by year. NO There I want nothing but do devour beauty words and from the words strip the skin, and from the skin the skin. What remains shall ripen under the sun.       Baghdad   I understand nothing, nothing at all, not the journey from the airport to the hotel, or the sleeping behemoths batting their eyelash prayers, or the moon over Baghdad calling...