Online Blog Poetics

A Late Night Poem About Morning 3 Poems by Kushal Poddar

March 24, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

A Late Night Poem About Morning 

Instead of pasting Goodmorning!
on your lips and ripping out mine
at the first urge to breathe we discover
sending pics.

You send a photo of a strand of my white 
on the black pillow case. A white cane
for a blind lane and for the piers dark with
wetness, water rippling, a few river gulls,
all tide in my mind. Sun walks in my head,
and its sweat beads explode, startle 
our alley cat, pregnant and sad 
as if it already knows the fate of its kittens. 

In a Landscape of Red, White and Grey

The red balloon moon 
keeps the boat afloat.
Snow steps into the slate.

Dream hands over its 
mutinous pamphlets 
to the flesh and drags 
its cold gnawed feet 
towards the ferry.

Now a wind will chase the shine. 
Now I'll wake up with 
a mouthful of slogans 
and "Bella Ciao" stuck in my glottis.

Thirteen Dogs' Piss Mark This Block

The dayspring birds surround silence,
now almost blind, now bewildered
and looking for the home all go in the end
to begin again.

The street lights still burn. The early
tramlines connect the horizon
with the broad mouth of the junction. 
One mad man seeks for the moon beams
last seen electric on these long metals. 
From his left hand hangs a brown teddy 
wrapped in a thin plastic. The locality 
is demarcated by thirteen dogs' piss.
They ask him who he is, and that he doesn't know.

Kushal Poddar ‘The Circus Came To My Island’, ‘A Place For Your Ghost Animals’, ‘Understanding The Neighborhood’, ‘Scratches Within’, ‘Kleptomaniac’s Book of Unoriginal Poems’, ‘Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems‘ and ‘Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel’. Find and follow him https://www.amazon.com/Kushal-Poddar The author of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe.
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

I Used to Dream I’d Get So High. 3 Poems by James Croal Jackson

March 12, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Resort

purple palm 
trees on your tank 
top       pink fingernails
clutching milkshake
you sip sun
drenched    Polaroid 
aiming into brick 
wall     red curtain
in the breeze palm 
trees    sky
behind you
all of the future in front


Wrap Party at Arsenal Bowl

Last time we were in this spot,
we broke glasses. on the real-or-
fake (which is it?) marble table.

In my memory, the entire
room is burgundy. wine-
tinted, but I won't let

go, the conviction
of all that spilled
that night, my

mouth, my heart,
the sticky nature
of the surface

that we had
yet to place
our hands on.


I Used to Dream I’d Get So High

Last night, I dreamt I stood
on a tall stack of books, gathered
with others around a roof

like we were at a dinner party.
When I glanced down– finally,
from the top of my tenuous skyscraper,

I had to brace my shoe against
the house to keep myself
from falling back into reality,

but I did anyway, repeating
to the guests anxiety, 
anxiety, anxiety.

I used to dream I’d get so high,
anything was possible. I entered a tower,
beelined to the elevator, and pushed 

the button to the top. Sometimes 
the platform was already ascending. 
Sometimes the whole structure was. 

When the doors (if they existed) parted,
the view from the sky was so rich,
I had to be dreaming. Deep tree greens.

Eternal ocean blue. I returned
to this view often, but stopped
near the end of my twenties. I was 

itinerant at the time, my life 
still an open road ahead
of me. A million meanings yet

to interpret. Not yet bogged by
a steady job but not quite steadied,
living off the promises of strangers 

and the engine of my Ford Fiesta, 
emitting exhaust into the atmosphere,
accumulating.

James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet who works in film production. His latest chapbooks are A God You Believed In (Pinhole Poetry, 2023) and Count Seeds With Me (Ethel Zine & Micro-Press, 2022). Recent poems are in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Little Patuxent Review, and The Round. He edits The Mantle Poetry from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (jamescroaljackson.com)

“Grandma”A Poem by Bhuwan Thapaliya

March 9, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

She rose from her makeshift rustic bed

and strained her eyes in the morning sun

shining through termite-eaten windows.

Drank a glass of basil water and then made

her way up a trail on a tough terrain

 to the forest overlooking the Sunkoshi River

 to collect fodder for her cattle.

An old kerosene lamp hangs in the window

of an abandoned building and carved wooden deities

flank a rickety gate. Poor eyesight, back permanently bent

from the burden of heavy loads, feet deformed

and ravaged by walking barefoot on rough terrain,

she looked older than her ancestral deity on a hilltop nearby.

Dry corn leaves rustled underfoot. She picked one

and rubbed it in her palms, smiling at herself

and kneeled down to quench her thirst from a

little burbling creek neighboring her path.

Thereafter, she hastened her pace humming

her favorite song, sung by her mother

when she was young.

“Plant a tree, then another, then many more. 

Maybe we will be able to cleanse the world.”

Every time when she hums this song,

she feels her mother humming it with her too.  

Whistling, she walked deep inside the forest 

and soon her doko was fully fodder crammed.

She looked at the deep blue sky and grinned

as a little girl with rhododendron flowers

in her hands high up in the Himalayas

and then sauntered slowly down the hill,

carrying heavy doko on her back with the namlo straps

on her forehead smiling at her neighbors

showing her uneven teeth, as they prepare

to spread animal fertilizer on their fields.

On the back of her polka-dotted cow,

there was a little bird.

The cows mooed loudly after seeing her.

She fed the cattle and then went inside the kitchen

to cook dal, bhat and tarkari.

In the adjoining room, her hungry children were

already getting ready for their school.

Bhuwan Thapaliya is a poet writing in English from Kathmandu, Nepal. He works as an economist and is the author of four poetry collections. His poems have been published in Wordcity Literary Journal, Pendemics Literary Journal, Poetry Life and Times, Trouvaille Review, Life in Quarantine: Witnessing Global Pandemic Initiative(Witnessing Global Pandemic is an initiative sponsored by the Poetic Media Lab and the Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis at Stanford University), International Human Rights Art Festival, Poetry and Covid: A Project funded by the UK Arts and Humanities Research Council, University of Plymouth, and Nottingham Trent University, Pandemic Magazine, The Poet, Valient Scribe, Strong Verse, Jerry Jazz Musician, VOICES ( Education Project), Longfellow Literary Project, Poets Against the War among many others

Excerpts from Strokes of Solace Collected Poems by Sanjeev Sethi

March 7, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop


Decathexis 

In long-established fasteners
of familial zippers, 
my aloneness leaves me unfurled. 
We are so easily robbed 
when we give ourselves to others. 
Who will want to be a professional boxer 
if epistaxis is the only reward? 
When kindness is home, 
no-one eyes the egress.


Peccavi

Thuribles of trust coax me to be myself.
In the calm of auroral currents, I inhale 
without worry. In the noise of many 
truths, I choose my assailants.

One’s moral compass is as good as guilt 
permits it. Whetted by His workbook, 
outcomes are unwemmed, though our 
daemon is lame as our lapses.


Personalia

I negate the truths they tell me 
about myself, 
a trick I learned early in
game of one-upmanship. 
Whigmaleeries twist on
the dance floor of inclinations, 
I plié myself out of them, 
an exercise practitioners 
of the deadpan imbibe.
The closeness of tanzanite beads 
crumble at the shrine of surmises.


Chef-d'oeuvre

Raked on coals 
by an unseen powerhouse
it seems I am always 
in a sedulous cauldron. 
Chefs of caliber 
add merit and material 
to create a masterpiece. 
When visitants drop by
I garnish the viands,
with poise 
and accept the praise.

Editor’s Note: A month before the release of Wrappings in Bespoke, Strokes of Solace(Strokes of Solace, CLASSIX, an imprint of Hawakal, New Delhi, July 2022) was published.

Sanjeev Sethi has authored seven books of poetry. His latest is Wrappings in Bespoke (The Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK, August 2022). He has been published in over thirty countries. His poems have found a home in more than 400 journals, anthologies, and online literary venues. He edited Dreich Planet #1, an anthology for Hybriddreich, Scotland, in December 2022. He is the joint winner of the Full Fat Collection Competition-Deux, organized by Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK. In 2023, he won the First Prize in a Poetry Competition by the prestigious National Defence Academy, Pune. He was recently conferred the 2023 Setu Award for Excellence. He lives in Mumbai, India. X/ Twitter @sanjeevpoems3 || Instagram sanjeevsethipoems

The Planet Poems by Stephen Philip Druce

February 24, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

PLANET JAZARANE

Planet Jazarane - 
where rustling herds of marching embers,
ooze a masquerade of tickled trenches
in seething dominion,

torched waterfalls, nourished by zephyr mastery,
lurch languid in a godly zeal of paradigm vanity,

sandcastle-shaped serpents trigger-spew
a soaring horizon of tangled theaters in
screeching flower cages,

scalded in sodden shadow, the swooping
goose machine scatters its crinkled chimes
in a sensory mist of ragged tigers 
and skating vulture dust,

the canvas hermit -

nurtured in chalice,

furtive in fountain,

splashed by ruby -

as the wilted maestro sits
in a solitude ceremony
of feathered ferocity -

the pianist's final flourish.


PLANET JAYGORM

On Planet Jaygorm, skittle creatures
ricochet plumes of alchemy mutants,

skyline overtures in bleak exodus,
squeal their glistening contours in
blundered hysteria and disfigured glee,

distilled in a gallant gory remnant,
the jolted wanderings of loaded crystal
chambers, fickle mutiny in 
supernatural solace,

as the jarring sorcerers etch ephemeral 
their supine shards of howling epilogues
in burlesque assembly,

the crooked stars in hooded vaults,
yearn to bedevil their tawdry transcripts -
unkempt for the ether.


PLANET YIZZARO

On Planet Yizzaro, crawling corridors
of glazed limpets in clustered folly,
cascade a symphony blossom to tantalize
the tattered artist in a towering squalor
of lampooned puppets ablaze,

plunged in feral escapade,
a dalliance interlude of watercolor 
vessels drip their fluttered meadows 
for willow portraits in starry infancy
and shimmering bliss,

hounded by the giddy margins,
the creaking valley - listless for rhapsody,
mutters its hollow blessings in a saintly
pattern of glimmering sapphire -
the treasured muse in slender desertion.

Stephen Philip Druce is a fifty nine year old speculative poet from Shrewsbury in the UK.His poems are planet based. They describe the events that take place on the planets that exist in his imagination. He has previous publications with The Lothlorien, The Cannon’s Mouth, The Seventh Quarry, Muse International Journal Of Poetry, Cake, Conceit, The Lemon Press, The Playerist, Ink Sweat And Tears and many more.He is published in the USA, the UK, Canada and India. Stephen has an Ebook released in the USA- ‘Quirky Shorts’ and has written articles for The Daily Squib. He’s also written songs for theatre plays in London, and poetry for radio stations, including Radio 4 Extra. He’s on Wikipedia too -as author for The Playerist Magazine. He self- published two books on Amazon : ‘A Naughty British Comedy’ and ‘A Shrewsbury Poet’.His favorite poets : Charles Bukowski, W.H. Auden, Philip Larkin, Jack Kerouac and Jim Morrison.

Scotland & Further Poems by Karol Nielsen

February 16, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Scotland

We took a family trip to Scotland and toured the country in a minivan. My great grandmother
had Scottish roots. Her maiden name was Bothwell. My grandfather said we descended from a
Scottish earl, Lord Bothwell, who kidnapped and married Mary, Queen of Scots. We visited
Bothwell Castle and learned the history. Mary, Queen of Scots’ third and final husband—James
Hepburn, 4th Earl of Bothwell—was not our ancestor. It was one of my grandfather’s tall tales.

Flashes of Inspiration

I used to come up with a new poem in order to have something to read at my monthly open mic.
I was always inspired by colorful experiences in the city. I began to write in big bursts based on
memories during the pandemic when live encounters were few and far between. Now I notice the
woman with a neon green afro, the police explorer with a diamond stud on her tooth, the sleepy
teen in pajamas and Winnie the Pooh slippers on the subway. I have flashes of inspiration as life
returns to normal.

Dead Poets Society

My Israeli boyfriend and I had one of our first disagreements over the movie Dead Poets Society.
In the film, prep school students are inspired by their teacher to embrace poetry and seize the
day—carpe diem! One of the students, an aspiring actor, shoots himself after his father enrolls
him in military school. “I don’t want to see this guy in Israel,” my boyfriend said. He had completed
his mandatory military service in Israel during the first intifada. I defended the film, but he
wouldn’t budge. It was an early sign of our divorce. Now I surround myself with poets and writers
who feed my soul.

Googling

I started to Google myself after I went to a party with poets and writers hosted by my urban
writers’ colony. People kept asking what I did and I said I was a writing instructor with a memoir
in progress. Most of the people I talked to were published authors who said they would look me up
online. I felt self conscious because I had not published a book. When I got home I Googled myself
to see what they would see. I was astounded when I saw a link to The Best American Essays. My first
published essay had been named a notable essay in the anthology and I had no idea. This lucky
discovery prompted more searches. Now I check DuckDuckGo. I find unexpected reviews of my books
by strangers and poems published without a formal acceptance. I cannot resist the urge to look for
more happy surprises.

Karol Nielsen is the author of the memoirs Walking A&P and Black Elephants and three poetry chapbooks. Her first memoir was shortlisted for the William Saroyan International Prize for Writing. Her full-length poetry collection was a finalist for the Colorado Prize for Poetry. Her poem “This New Manhattan” was a finalist for the Ruth Stone Poetry Prize

Dreams and Meanderings of the Fading Mind
(For Some Ladies I Met in Hospital)
by Sara L Russell aka PinkyAndrexa

February 5, 2024January 16, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Was it on a Wednesday
we used to go round to theirs?
Oh you know, that
slightly funny couple down the road.
She used to talk for England;
even the dog was bored.
I’ll swear it used to blow off just to
get her out of the kitchen.
She had one of those whatchamacallits
under her bed in the spare room.
You could fit everything in it.

Would you like some more tea, dear?
Did you find the tea bags box?
What do you mean, it’s in the fridge?
What’s it doing in there?
No, I would never keep it there.
Not that I know of.

Whatsername over the road is kicking off
again, this time about cats
doing their business on her lawn.

Oh by the way, when’s Ted coming home?

Oh no, did he? Oh that’s a shame.
a shame about old Ted.

I’m getting tired now.
Thanks for coming over.
Turn off the lights on your way out.

Put the children in the sink
and I’ll wash ‘em in the morning.

Sara L Russell aka pinkyandrexa

Sara Louise Russell, aka PinkyAndrexa, is a UK poet and poetry ezine editor, specialising particularly in sonnets, lyric-style poetry and occasionally writing in more modern styles. She founded Poetry Life & Times and edited it from 1998 to 2006, when she handed it over to Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide; Robin now runs it as Editor from Poetry Life & Times at this site. Her poems and sonnets have been published in many paper and online publications including Sonnetto Poesia, Mindful of Poetry and Autumn Leaves a monthly Poetry ezine from the late Sondra Ball. Her sonnets also currently appear in the recently published anthology of sonnets Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. She is also one of the first poets ever to be published on multimedia CD ROMs, published by Kedco Studios Inc.; the first one being “Pinky’s Little Book of Shadows”, which was featured by the UK’s national newspaper The Mirror, in October 1999. (Picture link for Mirror article) Angel Fire. And the 2024 AI version of The Perils of Norris cartoon, by Sara L Russell using Canva Pro AI, Episode 1. The Perils of Norris featured at this site Poetry Life and Times

Angelic, Summertime, Soaked. 3 Poems by Hiram Larew

January 16, 2024January 13, 2024 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Angelic

I am of you very --
         harked and widely
         truly hovered
         raised on twirls and wonders
My arms above are lifted towards you
	over flowing

And my heart is truly spread
         or split or stirred upon you
         beyond unending pieces

I am wings as much as 
         all above you
         above what may be surely 

I blaze upon your eyes that say  
         how flames may fling 
         as must our moths 
On fizzling air arrive
         and forward as can rise
         I fly unto you  

I am of you ever 
         in swept up breath 
         on shuddering time 
         as if you will me purely --
So radiantly scattered by
         or lifted high to craze 
	
For I am come to you as trumpets
         and through you always
         as if for wings to be or tell
         in any sky
         of you for you alone

Angelic -- This poem first appeared in Empyrean Literary Magazine.

Summertime

Fold up the table
         and chairs
Pack up to go
It’s time
The crowd is thinning out fast
         and the parking lot field is emptying

So unplug everything
Take down the flag
Zip the snacks back into bags
And make sure everything else is put away in boxes

Wave goodbye
Step over there to shake hands and mention next week
Start to leave and then
Look back to double check
         that nothing’s left behind

Soaked

Fame must be like driving 
        in a downpour
        or squinting through it --
        trying to see 
        what’s what at night
        with no one else around
        but loudly.

Or maybe being well known means in fact that
        wet shirts finally feel normal. 
Maybe in fact if you suddenly do get the chills 
        from all the headlines
        then those shivers will cause you to 
        simply say Well thank you.

Truth be told acclaim is probably like when creeks flood  
	your low ground
        and trees and dogs are just laughing 
        from dry above
        as you float by
        waving.

Yes, popularity must be like her basement smells --
        special and forever --
        long after your granny turns in her ticket
        for good.

Soaked -- The poem first appeared in Poetry Catalog.

Bio — Founder of Poetry X Hunger: Bringing a World of Poets to the Anti-Hunger Cause, Larew has had poems appear in recent issues of West Trade Review, Contemporary American Voices and The Iowa Review. His most recent collection, Patchy Ways, was published in 2023 by CyberWit Press. www.HiramLarewPoetry.com and www.PoetryXHunger.com. A 2-minute video of a poem being magically translated into American Sign Language — Eric Epstein’s American Sign Language Interpretation of Larew’s Poem, “Magic” – YouTube

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