Robin Ouzman Hislop

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor at of Motherbird.com of Poetry Life & Times.   His recent publication of collected poems All the Babble of the Souk, was published by Aquillrelle.com. Buy All the Babble of the Souk by Robin Ouzman Hislop at Amazon or Lulu....... Read more

En dépit de la lamentation. Poem by Jim Dunlap with English Translation

by

moi(1)

Authors comment:
Writing it in French was a lot easier than trying to translate it into English since the languages are so different. I had to stop and think numerous times about how to say the same thing in English. I don’t envy translators in the least.
 
 

En dépit de la lamentation
par Jim Dunlap

 
Si l’on croit qu’on est à même de boire à sa vie
à quatre reprises comme boire à même
autant de bouteilles de vin rassi, tout de travers !
on serait si bouleversé par telle une idée
qu’on se mettrait à se trouver
pris en tout désespoir – et le temps
aurait semblance de passer bien trop rapidement
dès cet instant-là.
 
Mais moi, je crois bien que la vie
dure juste assez longtemps sans ce qu’on se soucie
de petits trucs comme ça.
Car ce monde en fait trop des soucis…
pourquoi donc perdre son temps à s’inquiéter
de ce que les jours ont une limite finie.
Chacun cherche à sa façon de se faire riche et sage,
mais personne n᾿y est jamais arrivée
tout en se fiant naïvement au calendrier
pour démarquer ses accomplissements.
 
Que les années sont peu nombreuses !
… en dépit de tout ça, l’on doit (sur)vivre… …
de jour en jour ni sans perdre le temps
ni nous inquiéter que la vie s’écoule
comme un fleuve au précipice
vers un avenir … incertain…
 
…and the English. I didn’t try to turn it into a poem really. I just translated it.(Jim Dunlap)
 
 
In spite of Lamentations
 
If one were to believe that one might devise in one’s life
a time-frame which would be equivalent
to comparing life to four bottles of old wine …
viz a viz the baby bottle to the IV bottle,
one would be nonplussed by such an idea
to such an extent as to be overwhelmed by despair,
and time would seem to pass far too quickly
from that moment on.
 
But myself, I believe totally that life
passes in such a way that it’s unnecessary
to dwell on such minutiae …
Simply put, life contains far too many worries;
why then waste one’s time worrying
since our days are numbered but we don’t
know how, when or why.
 
Each of us would hope in his own way
to be rich and wise, but one doesn’t arrive there
by naively checking days off on a calendar
and tying them to life’s accomplishments.
 
The years of our lives run out quickly.
In spite of that, we must survive and live
from day to day without losing time
in worrying that the minutes flee
like a river dropping over a precipice
towards an uncertain future.
 
 

Jim Dunlap’s poetry has been published extensively in print and online in the United States, England, France, India, Australia, Switzerland and New Zealand. His work has appeared in over 90 publications, including Potpourri, Candelabrum, Mobius, Poems Niedernasse, and the Paris/Atlantic. He was the co-editor of Sonnetto Poesia and is currently a Content Admin for Poetry Life & Times. www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes He is also the chief proofreader for the On Viewless Wings Anthologies, published out of Queensland, Australia. In the past, he was a resident poet on Poetry Life & Times and the newsletter editor for seven years with the Des Moines Area Writers’ Network.
 
You may find him here:
 
http://www.thehypertexts.com/Jim%20Dunlap%20Poet%20Poetry%20Picture%20Bio.htm
 
Here: http://www.whoislog.info/profile/jim-dunlap-poet.html
 
Homepage: http://mindfulofpoetry.homestead.com/index.html
Here: http://www.pw.org/content/jim_dunlap_1
 
Here: http://www.artvilla.com/plt/currentoct06.html
 
Here: http://allpoetry.com/contest/2602767-Poems-for-Jim-Dunlap–
 
Here: http://classicalpoets.org/fairy-dust-anarchy-and-other-poetry-by-jim-dunlap/
 
Here: http://classicalpoets.org/fairy-dust-anarchy-and-other-poetry-by-jim-dunlap/
 
Here: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/109492
 
Here: http://allpoetry.com/column/9188321-Book-Review-The-Spirit-of-Christmas-in-Poetry-by-Jim-Dunlap-by-WandaLeaBrayton

 

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Oasis. Poem by Neal Shetty

by

 
 
at the birth of your sister

you paid the nurse with

pesos, sat the newborn girl

on a lotus and called her the buddha.

 
i swore you were insane

but you said that’s alright

solstices always come in groups of three-

 

: : : : : :
 

the first is the summer

when the sun is at its highest point and you

are manic and we are stuck in the highest

gear, the gears of this bicycle stopped

working when you stopped pedaling–

your kickstop is broken and you fall onto

the highway but at least the white woman

across the street with the crooked nose was not

a doll.
 

because in the morning you hope you’ll wake up

next to one and snatch an alka-seltzer;

set the child down at the baby chair in the

korean restaurant where you

order bibimbap and burn your tongue. snap a picture.

the beach is empty from the chemical spill

but you can still walk the dog on the sand.

 
: : : : : :
 

the second is the winter

when the sun is at its lowest point

the single ring around jupiter, the arms

of the girl who does not have a navel

or a menarche

fits so certainly around her neck

like jewelry

or a noose.

 
you can drag yourself

back to the house gods

and prostrate at the feet

of your ancestors.
 

but can you hear the

click of a gun that has run out

of bullets-

moonlight and moon ice

because there is still water in space

so we can swim along

in the galaxy.

 

: : : : : :
 

the third is you–

the dying embers

of a hope long past-
 
 
Nihal Shetty (Neal)

 
Neal Shetty is a 17 year-old writer based currently in the Detroit area, which has provided him with insight into both social and personal paradigms which influence much of his writing. Raised in a library, besides poetry, he also enjoys the study of classical languages and novels told out of order. He hopes that his writing accurately reflects the space that he lives in.

Editors Note: This poet was introduced to PLT by the poet Jim Dunlap see Categories, Many Thanks Jim.

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Piranha. Poem by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

by

 
 
 
The circus poster featured two beautiful girls
in a tank filled with ravenous piranha
This image appealed to the Sicilian soul
But the woman I was with
who had been on the lam
since the seventies for
being a domestic terrorist
having bombed a police station
told me that the circus manager cooled the water to nearly
freezing to keep the piranha inactive
Still, the women
who were not nearly as beautiful
as the women on the poster
looked terrified
maybe not of the toothy fish
but of the icy exposure
It was winter, which made it worse
They could not step from the tank
into Sicilian heat
 
 
They’d been waiting in a battered trailer
locked in a lesbian embrace
trying to build up some body heat
a futile act
considering how fast it would dissipate
in the icy water
 
 
Maybe the tropical piranha were just as terrified
Each ice bath threatened death
 
 
The circus owners were also scared
because piranha were expensive
They had considered replacing them with
other, less dangerous fish
and calling them piranha
but didn’t think they could get away with it
They would be discovered and ruined
 
 
So the women gingerly descended the
two metal steps from the trailer
 
These women were Rumanian sex slaves
who had to do what they were told
 
I was eating blue cotton candy when my lover
the domestic terrorist
explained all this
 
I could never fully accept that she had
bombed a police station
I couldn’t see her doing it
She was so soft in bed
 
I had met her at a gelato stand
in Agrigento
on Sicily’s rugged south coast
and we talked about flavors while the counter girl
scooped our cones
 
As the women submerged themselves in the
piranha tank
a cold wind whipped down from Mt. Etna
scouring us with pumice
and heavy volcanic dust
ruining my cotton candy
I threw it off the bleachers
then followed—
jumped off
the fifth row plank
I felt something give in my left knee
 
 
I picked up a fist sized rock
like the one the hobo heaved in Ironwood, the novel
by William Kennedy
I wound up
like a big league pitcher
and let fly
shattered the tank
 
All the piranha and the two Rumanian sex slaves
came out in a flood onto the rocky soil
 
The piranha flopped and the women gasped
They bled from minor glass cuts
 
The domestic terrorist and I each grabbed
a sex slave by the hand
and ran

 
 
Mitchell Poet
 
 
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois’ poems and fictions have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He is a regular contributor to The Prague Revue, and has been thrice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for 99 cents from Kindle and Nook or as a Print Edition
 
 

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Where I Live. Sonnet. Poem by RC de Winter

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Alone is not a state, it is a place
With walls unseen and locks on every door,
A barren land devoid of any grace
Where nothing seems to matter anymore.
No music plays, the silence shouts aloud,
The only voice that answers in the void,
A shrill reminder of the cursèd shroud
That wraps you in its sorrow unalloyed.
And knowing there is beauty to be found
If only one could somehow make escape
Makes all the worse the desolate surround
That try as might one never can reshape.
Condemned, but why? I know not for what sin,
I’m always on the outside looking in.
 
 
© 2014 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved
1A SPRING EASTER TWIT AVI
 
 

RC deWinter is a photographer, digital artist, poet, essayist and singer-songwriter currently living and working in Haddam, Connecticut. She has been shooting photos for over 25 years, using both traditional and digital SLR equipment. Her digital work is created using a variety of software and includes oil paintings, watercolor sketches and drawings.
 
Her poetry has appeared in print, notably in the New York Times, chosen for publication in the New York City in 17 Syllables haiku competition, Uno: A Poetry Anthology, Pink Panther Magazine, Arts Creation Magazine, The Sun Magazine, 2River View, Poetry Nook, Garden Tripod and The American Muse as well as in many online publications.
 
In addition to her personal online portfolios, Ms. deWinter’s art is exhibited on of several internet-based showcases, including Saatchi Online, ARTbracket, The Art for Cancer Gallery, Copperflame Gallery, b-uncut and Artists, Writers and Photographers in the Raw. ABC has licensed several of her paintings to be used as set decor on the television series Desperate Housewives.
 
Ms. deWinter is honored to be the first digital artist invited to exhibit her work at an October 2011 solo show the Arts of Tolland Gallery in Tolland, Connecticut.
 
 

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Found in an Attic: World War II Letter to a Wife. Poem by Donal Mahoney

by

 
 

When I get home
things will be the same.
I haven’t changed.
 
The sling
comes off the day
I get on the plane.
 
I’ll be able
to cut the grass,
rake the leaves,
 
shovel the snow,
all the stuff I did before.
And every morning
 
in summer, fall,
winter and spring,
when we wake up,
 
I’ll draw rosettes
with the tip
of my tongue
 
on your nipples,
await your orders to
bivouac elsewhere.
 
Nothing has changed.
I’m feeling fine.
We’ll cleave again.
 
 
FH020020

Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had poetry and fiction published in various publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/

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Scirocco (Tears of Carthage) Poem By Joseph Armstead

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Among the stony ruins, the shadows haunting Carthage yet abide…
 
An unforgiving heat, strangling Life
from the very air through which it pulses,
radiates from an ocean of sand, charring
the steel of Heaven’s Gate —
 
there is no romance in this tale,
that would be a fool’s conceit
 
… and this disenchanted heart bleeds for you…
 
this is the bleakness of a dying god,
my lazy, uninspired deity,
slumbering
under baked, dessicated soil
as a nomadic army of ghosts
marches through the long centuries,
the flesh burns, scalded
by the brilliant light
of a star suffering storms…
 
Burning memory onto the retina of the mind’s bleary eye.
 
Something touches my hair. Wind?
Perhaps a Specter, lost, and wandering
the labyrinthine corridors of Time.
 
No greater fool than this, I peer into history’s chaos;
 
Bonifacius fell before the fury of the Vandals,
the Vandal heretic Gaeseric, in turn, fell
and the paretporian prefecture
of the Darkest Continent sundered
the Mediterranean shackles of Empire
until the Muslim Caliphs wrested control
of the warm waters of the vast harbor
 
… and still my misshapen life weeps through this wound I bear…
 
‘Lo, hear the music of regret, my scars are singing.
 
It’s the heat. Always and always, the furious heat.
Blistering. Stifling. A ragged silken gag stretching parched lips.
 
The breezes stir from off the bay
and streak over the rolling waters,
gathering into a rushing, stormy
fireball
 
… searing the wound shut, closing it against the leakage of yet more blood…
 
I see the excavated dinosaur’s remains of this place,
a warped mirrored reflection
laying bare my inner desolation.
Naked, in a shallow puddle
of dried and flaking scarlet
yesterdays.
 

 

BIO

Joseph Armstead is a suspense-thriller and horror author living in the United States’ San Francisco Bay Area. Author of a dozen short stories and ten novels, his poetry has been published in a wide range of online journals, webzines and print magazines. A mathematician, Futurist and computer technologist, Mr. Armstead’s poetry often defies easy description, but frequently includes neo-classical imagery, surrealist viewpoints and post-modern themes.
 
http://redroom.com/member/joseph-armstead

http://www.amazon.com/Condemned-Of-Heaven-Joseph-Armstead/dp/0578013665

 
Uroborus Mike Collins
 

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Orange. A Poem by Belinda Rimmer

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An orange
sits on top of a tossing sea of apples –
 
outcast.
 
She’s a grumpy grandmother,
aproned in dimpled buckskin.
 
A depressed old lady.
 
Her navel
is a brittle button
in a sagging buttonhole.
 
She waits to be lifted
in hammock hands
and placed like a queen
on a spotless plate.
 
Then an elegant set of fingers
could peel her,
dissect her,
enter the jagged segments
of her heart.
 

belindarimmer(1)

 

I was born in Wiltshire in 1959. My father was a builder and my mother a housewife. I attended one of the first comprehensive schools and loved school life. However, my ambition to be a journalist was viewed by the school as not being a suitable occupation for a woman! It took me a while to decide upon psychiatric nursing as an alternative career. I worked for many years in mental health, mostly with adolescents and their families.
 
After having my children, I enrolled at the local university. As I’d always danced and written poetry, I became increasingly interested in performance arts as a subject which allowed me to use both disciplines. After completing an MA in Fine and Media arts, I worked in a variety of creative roles: lecturer, dance development officer, and dance and drama practitioner for schools.
 
I’ve had poems published in a number of journals (I’m hampered by a tendency to keep my work hidden inside a box).
 
Over the last few years, I have been writing stories for children. This gives me hours of pleasure, but not a wage.
 

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The Golden Lion. Mycenaean Haiku by Richard Vallance.

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haikpotniatherolioninthesundeath
 
Press to Enlarge. Editor
 
The Golden Lion linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com/2014/06/26/a-blazing-hot-summer-haiku-in-linear-b-the-golden-lion-potnia-mistress-of-the-wild-and/
 
Editor’s Note: it is also advised by the author to visit the site for commentaries on the translation & text.

Richard Vallanc Santorini Greece May 2012

 
Richard Vallance, meta-linguist, ancient Greek & Mycenaean Linear B, home page: Linear B, Knossos & Mycenae, http://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com/
 
PINTEREST Boards: Mycenaean Linear B: Progressive Grammar & Vocabulary, http://pinterest.com/vallance22/mycenaean-linear-b-progressive-grammar-and-vocabul/ and, Knossos & Mycenae, sister civilizations, http://pinterest.com/vallance22/knossos-mycenae-sister-civilizations/ Also poetry publisher, The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of sonnets of the early third millennium = Le Phénix renaissant de ses cendres : Anthologie de sonnets au début du troisième millénaire. Friesen Press, Victoria, B.C., Canada. © August 2013. 35 illustrations in B&W. Author & Title Indexes. 257 pp. 315 sonnets & ghazals in English, French, Spanish, German, Chinese & Persian. http://vallance22.hpage.com/
 

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