BEACH WALK Under the vast beautiful azure sky Feeling he dulcet whispers of a cool sea breeze Enjoying he serenity of nature with those special people in our life Taking time for a beach walk away from a busy world Walking beside the seashore kissed by the waves Leaving unforgettable footprints in the canvas of sands Oh, so precious moments! Savoring the beauty of a kind time Cherishing every minute bestowed from above Sowing sweet memories together with no tomorrow's regrets Collecting treasures of simple joy in the pockets of our hearts Creating a long-lasting bond of love not ebbing away © Lyn B. Pastrana Photography by Erika Crisante, taken of her dad, Carl Scarwath and his grandchildren. Design presentation created by Lyn B. Pastrana.

In August, we offered a Visual Art Prompt Challenge, (Rose Visual), on the ILA Magazine Facebook Group, no caption or title with 'Best Entry' to be selected and published, on ILA Blog. It was to be one best entry, however, after receiving 43 entries, one simply could not just be picked. Although all forty-three entries were superbly written, 13 "Fresh from the Garden" poems are featured here. Green Roses Help me remember any truths beyond the lies. Do you know who you are? And, in return, say what you know of me. I stand before you with hands extended. You do this also, when it suits what you'll render. Your piano man fingers, your furrowed face, you weave my pain into holy beads. Help me remember any previously painted portraits before the newly applied paint coat. Is peace better than being right? I learned omens and portents from you, so I see where this new ripple will carry us, and I ask you: Would you still grow for me a most beautiful garden if there were no more roses? © Linda Imbler 09/2021 ROSE PETAL SPEECH I sought the existence of one woman in a pure rose But I never got a direct answer from her. I guess there is always suffering for my young age When I'm not a happy man, I don't have to live at all. I am disqualified from every life of yours. Body language tells me you are thirsty and hungry Persistence of a rose that remembers the scent on the body. That night, when I asked to dedicate myself to you I was just greeted by a story of a slightly different color. The rose is red, a symbol of love and blood. I am not a warrior, but because of you I would cross the world. And he threw himself under the bridge to be mine forever made of gold Love, we may have been born in the wrong time Where realism turns us into children's games. The center of the world is all the way to the ordinary falcon of life. I hit my head against the wall to which I gave my time. I never have to be your peony or rose When the soul is polluted, one should not give peace to anyone. You need to tread, and I will teach myself my life lessons Because I always learn from love that I am the most difficult for myself! © Amb Maid Corbic 09/2021 FRAGILE ROSE Each petal unfolds Itself into a beautiful Story of love! The freshness of That being defines An intense pain of A heart, lost in the Game of beautiful Miseries, lost for life! Even plucking a petal May cost it a wound With an endless bleeding! © Sonal Rao 09/2021 The Flower of My Youth Rose, the flower of my youth, Reminds me of the trying times; When I grappled with verses, To venerate its flawlessness A love unmatched in urgency, As an eagle in search of prey; Rising from the depth of a core, Like the wind driving the vapors, Even beauty, music and poetry Can't vie with the Rose and me. There's an eternal oath of love, Originating from heights above With an incomparable sweetness, A source of endless happiness, A lure to hovering butterflies, Love is a Rose that never dies. © Elmer Romulo Valdez 09/2021 Philippines ROSE As they always say: "Every rose has its thorn, Like every night has its dawn..." Just like how everything is imperfect I needn't dwell on your thorns For they serve a valid purpose. Your sole existence Is a gift for us ladies. You are a graceful balance Between fragility and firmness The one...my dreams sought While I hibernated. Yours is a quintessential beauty Timeless, elegant, alluring, A candied visual pop, A picturesque darling of nature, Your petals, flimsy but edible Your fragrance, a splash of pheromone With you in my hand, I shan't be forever blue. You are that silent language Of romantics hiding in cliches. You are an emblem of love and romance, The passion of an ardent lover. I Thank God for having eyes to see Your radiance. I need not analyze the semantics of your colors To understand the depth of your impact T'is enough that you've given me a wonderful reason to smile. © Sugar Zedna 09/2021 Summer Noon at Old Delhi A summer noon at old Delhi we once sought refuge from our dreams and delusions and the heat of many moments. The story teller at Jama Masjid sang songs of eternal Mughal love. Eons behind curtain of rose petals caught in its fragrance its age and your sudden smile. We hid in your ruby red scarf lips locked in a cooler fading sun. © Amitabh Mitra 09/2021 Universal Sign Your petals are auspicious Thrown from helicopter Or youthful damsels Into a crowd, an icon of Humanity, Or a religious leader. Strewn upon a bed, Romanticism is granted To blessed couples, Presented in a bouquet, To high dignitaries for their presence. Token of love for new Lovelorn lovers Of their idyllic love life, Can any flower be more Blessed by God. © Apu Mondal 09/2021 LOVELY ROSE (Tanka) Lovely rose agleam Blood of friendship or pure love One gets the spotlight While the other takes the pain An evergreen nature's tale. © Amrita Mallik VELVET ROSE Tears fall on ancient velvet rose petals. You carefully brought back to life nurtured with special feed. You never loved me as much as that rose. © Bernadette O'Reilly 09/2021 SHYNESS Hidden inside the blood-red petals is the tale of a rose ensconced in shyness, its scent stifled coyly but slowly crept to reveal in the right moment of unrivaled ecstasy its heady perfume for all to be transported in a trance. This rose, this bloody red rose is shyness at its best from a tiny bud it bloomed amidst its sentinel of thorns, aching to be free just like poetry, a rose is full of pleasant surprises. Each petal, a word for prose, each leaf, green with emotions, each thorn, a defense for faults. Oh rose, bloody red rose, bloom for us all, shed off vestiges of shyness and regale us with your unsurpassed beauty of poetry and prose, of this shy rose. © Rosemarie Miranda 09/2021 LAYERS I reach for you in the safety of your petals velvet soft upon my cheeks I gently reach inside and peel back the layers tenderly to reveal the essence of you. I caress and nourish and allow room for you to come and go. I water and encourage and carefully lean you towards the sunlight to grow and expand to your full potential. This is how I love. © Nancy Matchton Owens 09/2021 Your Color Gives the Hue Your color gives the hue to the bashful bride, makes it more vivid each time she stealthily catches a glimpse of her ardent beau. You lend redness to the blood of all the creatures God created, never diluting or making it darker for some. The same shade for all that gushes in our veins, to make us live. O'! Rose, what another name be thine, when in yourself, you carry all that love could hold. © Indu Kilam 09/2021 Ruddy Love You usher the heart dulcet melodies In your satin labyrinth, we unfurl peace Your thorns protect you from the ravenous eyes Your undying scarlet hue, a harbinger of blissful vibes Your invigorating fragrance entices every soul Your elegant presence often solder the cracks to a whole Your indiscernible composure replenishes the impoverished Your melodious sways tug at the heartstrings Born in myriad tints your peppiness is unrivaled But often your crumpled hems sing the wilted dreams that lay stifled Your delicate frame on a slender stalk dotted with prickly offerings Is God's message to mankind, not to grumble about miseries instead count the blessings! © Sonali Ray 09/2021

He touches her forehead in a sort of blessing. They recognize each other. A reunion has begun. A sort of repeating- of coming together. They have a historical presence. Not only of today-but of the past. They communicate in original ways. Known only to them. His presence changes reality. Her love is total. She shatters the way the world sees him. They judge him by his limitations. She does not. They do a sort of dance. Of unspoken rhythm. Her innocence blesses him. As she also blesses herself. We marvel at them. And we know that as we watch. Something special has happened. That we are not a part of. Poet: Sandy Rochelle Email: chelsea438@aol.com

The wait is long, I know but I'll still wait, never let go... Till my heart beats Till the realms exist Till the speck of life survives I will wait for thee. Like the night waits unhurriedly for its silver disc... Like the barren leaves wait for the spring song... Like the rivulets yearn for the summer rains to replenish their arid souls... Like the sky waits for the gold to brighten its dreary nooks... Like the green blades crave the kiss of the molten heaven... Like the dark woods relish the meandering trail of the ephemeral fireflies... Like the faded luminaries merge to birth new dreams... Like the sands wait to sleep in the oysters bosom... Like the wilted blooms recite the old tales to the new buds... I will for thee, until eternity... I know, the wait is long but I will still wait, never let go... Till my heart beats Till the realms exist Till the speck of life survives I will wait for thee. © Sonali Ray

I saw faces Laughing and smiling Joking around and being real Nothing seemed made up. The widest spread lips Carrying the brightest of all smiles And shiniest of all faces Making their fellows laugh And wheezing along. But eyes said it all They always betray. With every smile emerging Appears a tiny droplet In the corner of an eye That waits to fall off But hands wipe them away Or brain pulls it back Pretending it never existed. And it falls on the heart Adding to the river of grief That flows through the cracks Of the torn apart flesh And the face continues being real Like no one saw what happened. But I did. I saw every little detail Of that droplet Composed of memories and sighs and regrets. The ifs and buts, The question and exclamation marks That continues Till one droplet of that kind Fell off my eye, too, Rolling down the cheek Burnt the skin And stole my smile, Giving me reason Why the laughing faces Never let their droplets fall off Snatching the smile away. © Fatima Zafar

Ann Christine Tabaka Interview exclusively for ILA Magazine Good day to our ILA Readers. Today, I had the great pleasure of interviewing Ann Christine Tabaka. Ann Christine and I have previously worked on two of her book covers for which I am grateful. After reading her poetry books, I learned what an amazing poet and writer she truly is. Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She is the winner of Spillwords Press 2020 Publication of the Year, her bio is featured in the "Who's Who of Emerging Writers 2020 and 2021," published by Sweetycat Press. She is the author of 14 poetry books, and one short story book. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and four cats. Her most recent credits are: Caroline Muse, Sparks of Calliope, The Closed Eye Open, Poetic Sun, Tangled Locks Journal, Wild Roof Journal, The American Writers Review, The Phoenix, Burningword Literary Journal, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Silver Blade, Pomona Valley Review, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Fourth & Sycamore. * (A complete list of publications is available upon request) Ann Christine Tabaka, Poet & Writer - Pushcart Prize in Poetry Nominee Website: Ann Christine Tabaka All Websites: Christine Tabaka Carl: Thank you, Ann Christine, for your time today, my first question is, I know you write poetry and short stories. Do you favor one over the other and why? Ann Christine: I consider myself primarily a poet, or at least I feel more comfortable writing poems, musings, and abstract thoughts. I actually struggle to write stories. I was encouraged by several of my close fiction writing friends to try to write a few stories, so I challenged myself to do so. I managed okay, I guess, but it is still not something that comes naturally to me. The hardest part for me is to come up with a complete story and make it interesting, with all the details. I can always come up with a decent beginning, a decent middle, but I am not good at having a conclusion in mind before I start writing a story. That is a real problem. Also, I am one of those people who prefer the nitty-gritty and want to 'be told' a story, not 'shown' a ton of details, so that is how I write. Most editors prefer the "show me, not tell me" form of writing. Carl: Following you on Facebook, I noticed what a prolific amount of your work is published. What are your best advice or secrets to being published so many times? Ann Christine: Just keep pushing [or as Dory would say, "keep on swimming"]. I actually do not get published anywhere near as much as some of my more established poet friends. I write a moderate amount, but I submit vigorously - sometimes I send poems to was many as 10 different journals at the same time, knowing that the majority of them will most likely reject my work. It is by sheer volume of exposure that I manage to get published at all. Carl: The hardest part for me is having the idea for a poem or short story. Before you sit down to write, how do you develop the idea? Do you have an outline in your head or do you just start writing? Ann Christine: I rarely have an outline. Most ideas just come to me, usually in the middle of the night. I can always come up with a few good lines, then I get lost, and have to put the poem down until a later time, hoping I can manage to pick up the flow and idea again later. Since I now write mostly abstract and experimental poems, it is even harder for me to bring all the ideas together and create a poem with a central theme. As far as my short stories, 95% of them are based on a personal true experience, place, person, etc. I rarely write pure fantasy. So, yes, it is very hard for me to come up with ideas. Carl: What is your best advice for a new writer? Ann Christine: Just keep reading work by other writers and poets, especially the successful ones. And never give up. I write some real garbage, but I just put it aside and think of it as clearing out the junk from my mind. Eventually, I produce something that is not too bad, then I run with it. Write, write, and write some more. And do not forget to proofread. That is so important. I have learned (the hard way) to read and reread, then read aloud, sometimes 4, 5, or 6 times before I release a piece or work. And, I still find typos and errors in a lot of my work. Carl: Please tell the ILA Magazine your future plans and what one thing in your literary life would you love to accomplish? Ann Christine: I am still trying for that "pie in the sky" (excuse the cliché expression). I have never gotten into one of the top tier publications, that many of my literary friends have. I keep submitting and keep getting rejected (one place I am up to twenty-five rejections, and it has a steep reading fee to boot)! If I ever make it, that would be my pinnacle. Then, and only then, would I feel able to call myself a real poet. Carl: Please tell us Christine, what you like best about ILA Magazine group and their webpage/blog? Ann Christine: I have only recently looked at the ILA webpage. I was not familiar with it before. It is very well done and professional looking. I am impressed with the quality of work displayed there. I must thank Carl Scharwath for introducing me to it. Carl: Thank you so much Christine, your new ILA family hopes you reach that top tier publication and we will continue to follow your journey. Carl Scharwath, from the sunshine state of Florida, is the Art Editor of Minute Magazine and a Contributing Editor at ILA Magazine. His work has appeared globally, with 150+ journals, selecting his poetry, short stories, interviews, essays, art/photography, and most recently, plays. He is the author of four books.

My soul I dark you to envy the light of suffering for a No I live in for a Yes, I die. For the hands of blacksmith and for the love of anvil have you ever been a No, ever an ember kissed you? Recite me when your tongue has fallen and your eyes arrowed, see me neither love nor anger You will convey a coffin where death dies drop by drop. Lie down within breaths, fall off all your senses welcome thine mortal span and complete my poem... © Burhan Photography Credit: Rayees Dar In frame: Burhan

Elle Penaflor Today, I am happy to present to ILA readers my interview with Lisa L. Penaflor (Elle) from the Philippines. Elle recently was chosen as a best entry in an ILA poetry challenge. Lisa L. Peňaflor is an English teacher who finished her master’s degree in English Education at Bicol University Graduate School, Philippines. She is also the current adviser of the school publication in her post where she discovers and trains high school students in campus journalism. Her other works can be found at https://ellepoetry.wordpress.com and in Wattpad. She uses Elle in some social media accounts as an alternative name that represents her first name’s initial. Hello, Elle and thank you for being here for us. We would love to know more about you and your writing and my questions are: Carl: Are you a new poet or do you have a publication history? Elle: I can say that I am not a new poet because my passion for writing started during our creative writing class in college. Since then, I have written poems, short stories and novels as a hobby. I upload some of my works at Wordpress and Wattpad but some of my cherished poems are still unpublished. Carl: Where do your ideas for a poem or story come from? Elle: My ideas come from experiences, people, current thoughts or from writing challenges. Writers sometimes just have this spur of the moment ideas and those are rare and beautiful that we would just want to keep them in the form of writing to preserve them. That is when I write poems or short stories. Carl: As both a teacher and a writer what skills do you teach and incorporate in your own writing? Elle: I think that would be creativity, critical thinking, and ability to edit one’s own work. Writing and teaching has to be enjoyed making the desired output more engaging. Carl: Please tell the ILA readers who your favorite poet or writer is and why? Elle: I have three favorite poets. Two of them are classic poets such as Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allan Poe, and a modern writer from New Zealand, Lang Leav. I admire their unique voices as they speak through the readers. The totality of their work, the use of metaphors and other figures of speech, and rhymes make me want to write poems in that kind of standard. They amaze me in the way they convey their message through their work. In some of their works, they use simple words that one might not need a dictionary just to get the idea or meaning of what they would like to say but the overall effect gives a great impact to the one reading it. The universality of their themes relates with all aspects beginning from oneself towards the society despite varied cultures. Carl: What are your ultimate goals as a writer? Elle: My ultimate goal is to grow more as a writer so that I could share them with people who will appreciate my work. I actually dream of compiling my poems in a book. Carl: Please tell us Elle what you like best about ILA magazine and their webpage/blog? Elle: ILA magazine is a very helpful place to develop one’s skill and creativity as a writer. The interaction towards its members/followers ensures that every work is given appreciation or recognition. The magazine’s generosity to contribute to the growth of writers deserve commendation. I am very thankful and honored that I found this page and became a member of the group through Carl Scharwath because I found inspiration and motivation to continue writing despite my busy schedule at work. Had I not found this page/group, my poetries and other works would have only been slumbering in the dust. This is a great start for me to believe that my works are worth reading. ILA magazine boosts my morale and confidence as a writer. Thank you very much! Carl: I want to thank you for your time today, Elle and all of us want you to succeed. The ILA family and I would love to help you get your cherished poems published and are always here to help you. Carl Scharwath, from the sunshine state of Florida, is the Art Editor of Minute Magazine and a Contributing Editor at ILA Magazine. His work has appeared globally, with 150+ journals, selecting his poetry, short stories, interviews, essays, art/photography, and most recently, plays. He is the author of four books.

Kindness is a freely bestowed gift from the Divine, That’s why a new-born’s smile wins hearts promptly, It’s not shackled by grandeur of wealth and status, That’s why a pauper feeding a stray dog, is a blissful sight, It’s independent like flowers blooming in a garden, But requires nourishment and nurture through human beings, Becoming understanding and prioritisng life, Engaging himself in productive work, Enables a man to stay healthy and generous, Unless he is kind to himself first, shattering myths, He can’t be compassionate to any other living being, For one who doesn’t respect himself he can’t respect others. © Amrita Mallik

KINDNESS A will from the heart Expressed to mankind Not of force nor propel But with heart of simplicity It's the eyes of mercy and love Shown to fellow mankind Irrespective of their background Nor religion, race and colour but with a willful mind It's a mercy shown towards someone Not until they knock before you hear You hear their heart panting for assistance Giving from the little bestowed is kindness ©Adeyemi Kehinde A. Oluwanishola Nigeria

Kindness is love spread anonymously Like a wonderful word Spoken in multiple languages Like a magical deed Acted out in silent mutualism Where the aftermath is goodwill Kindness is a natural reflex Of pouring yourself onto another In moments of dire need Sans expectations nor rewards It is an infectious random act Of being human while being humane. © Sugar Zedna 22 Dec. 21

Writers We are not to be forgotten nor praised Just to be remembered on how we envisioned our thoughts. Darren B. Rankins (USA)