Poetics

ITABOSUWA. A Poem By Eddie Awusi

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She was my warrior queen,
Princess of my past world.
Naive was her royal reign.
Armed with an eye on the world.
Walking through tepid grassland
Of spears, toil, buried breath and aged gossip –
Dismantling a garrison of
Tuareg foot marching fighters.
Her temper was ancient goose,
In a flash of lightning.
Tending love with great value,
 
Anguish called her, home.
Within a heart that vibrated in it’s casement.
I recognise her from the past,
From the foot of creation.
527 years gone and counting,
In a countryside Egypt.
But I died in her hands, Itabosuwa.
My blood dribbled and stirred,
From her immaculate white frock,
Leaving a cesspool of anguish,
In her widowing youthful heart.
My love for her was a road,
With an abrupt dead end.
This underage princess from antiquity,
Now relives her past glory, differently.
All forgotten in a macabre,
In a modern breathless tale of love.
She takes her place,
Beside my merchant self:
A modern Nigerian,
Not knowing the story of our ancient love.

 
 
 
Eddie Awusi is a published poet from Delta state of Nigeria. He has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies. The latest being Dandelion In A Vase of Roses.
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) 

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Until The End of Time . A Poem by Wayne Russell

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It is the darkest season,
a season where human
has risen against his
brothers, his sisters.
 
Insanity tossed into a lifeless
prison cell, a padded cell?
 
An end of day’s scenario?
Yes, or so it seems more
so; each day.
 
While the snow outside
plummets from grey skies.
 
The homeless, wandering
aimlessly, lifeless souls encased
in an insignificant existence.
 
Asking
 
Where were you, when I needed you most?
 
Yet deep down they know, that in their heart,
the answer lies, and always will; until the end
of time.
 
A shard of hope, hands
 
outstretched towards
the heavens they ask.
 
Is it you?
 
This seed of rejuvenation,
 
buried beneath whitest
snow, for now.
 
 
 
Bio:
Wayne Russell is a creative writer and amateur photographer hailing from Tampa, Florida.
Wayne’s first publication was in Quill Books back in 1989, since going digital on social media
in 2007, Wayne has had his short stories, poems, and photographs published in various zines
in several countries.
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) 

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Fair Weather Confidante Poems by Christopher Barnes

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Fair Weather Confidante
 
We’ll not howdy-do you once more
Now you’re in Parliament.
Votes fabricated, you’re exorbitantly loaded,
You’ll shove consorting with us.
Toothy grins aren’t engaged,
Qualms are ballooning.
The bank’s your handpicked chum.
 
 
The Former Mrs. Homer
 
So In a twitch, you’re divorced.
On blue moons we’ll dwell upon you.
All that consorting with your ex-hitch
Didn’t woo you.
The fleshy debauchery sears.
Those hearts-and-flowers you once gave away
Seem pipe dreams now…a laughingstock.
 
 
Gayla Joy
 
The blowout’s intemperate,
Cut-and-thrust.
Good morning – you’re safe havened from rehab.
Granny’s manic on whiz,
Daddums’ swigged a Pilsner loch.
The missy you cried off to us
Retches in a dog bowl.
Welcome back Sis, we’ve enough for you.
 
 
Goodtime Sheryl
 
An earth-shaking straw in the wind.
Quit hoarding all over-the-counters together.
Multi-vitamins aren’t morning-after remedies;
Pronto, something unlooked-for fattens.
 
 
Cobwebbed Gifts
 
We’re sad-voiced that hoarder, Aiden Muchene, croaked.
The Will sound-out bequeaths you all.
Musing helpfully, it was a benevolent gesture.
It’ll take a glacial epoch to unsnarl –
Five skips invincible
To release the draff.
 
 

 
In 1998 I won a Northern Arts writers award. In July 200 I read at Waterstones bookshop to promote the anthology ‘Titles Are Bitches’. Christmas 2001 I debuted at Newcastle’s famous Morden Tower doing a reading of my poems. Each year I read for Proudwords lesbian and gay writing festival and I partook in workshops. 2005 saw the publication of my collection LOVEBITES published by Chanticleer Press, 6/1 Jamaica Mews, Edinburgh.
 
On Saturday 16Th August 2003 I read at the Edinburgh Festival as a Per Verse poet at LGBT Centre, Broughton St.
 
Christmas 2001 The Northern Cultural Skills Partnership sponsored me to be mentored by Andy Croft in conjunction with New Writing North. I made a radio programme for Web FM community radio about my writing group. October-November 2005, I entered a poem/visual image into the art exhibition The Art Cafe Project, his piece Post-Mark was shown in Betty’s Newcastle. This event was sponsored by Pride On The Tyne. I made a digital film with artists Kate Sweeney and Julie Ballands at a film making workshop called Out Of The Picture which was shown at the festival party for Proudwords, it contains my poem The Old Heave-Ho. I worked on a collaborative art and literature project called How Gay Are Your Genes, facilitated by Lisa Mathews (poet) which exhibited at The Hatton Gallery, Newcastle University, including a film piece by the artist Predrag Pajdic in which I read my poem On Brenkley St. The event was funded by The Policy, Ethics and Life Sciences Research Institute, Bio-science Centre at Newcastle’s Centre for Life. I was involved in the Five Arts Cities poetry postcard event which exhibited at The Seven Stories children’s literature building.
 
The South Bank Centre in London recorded my poem “The Holiday I Never Had”, I can be heard reading it on www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/magazine/record.asp?id=18456
 
REVIEWS: I have written poetry reviews for Poetry Scotland and Jacket Magazine and in August 2007 I made a film called ‘A Blank Screen, 60 seconds, 1 shot’ for Queerbeats Festival at The Star & Shadow Cinema Newcastle, reviewing a poem… On September 4 2010, I read at the Callander Poetry Weekend hosted by Poetry Scotland. I have also written Art Criticism for Peel and Combustus Magazines. I was involved in The Creative Engagement In Research Programme Research Constellation exhibitions of writing and photography which showed in London (march 13 2012) and Edinburgh (July 4 2013)
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) 

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EVERYTING LOOKS LIKE WUN NAIL, A Poem by Joe Balaz

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It must have been da ovahload of anger
surging through his veins
 
along wit da effects of tequila
 
dat wen send da jousting knight
galloping down da highway
 
to stab wun oncoming classic Impala
right between da left double headlight.
 
Dat wuz part of da drama dat took place
out on da highway
 
foa everyone to see.
 
Coming down wun off ramp
 
Sir Catastrophe
took it even further
 
wen da hooves of his charger
wen trample ovah wun gaggle of baby geese
 
squashing dem all like bugs
into da pavement—
 
Not even wun windmill chasing Don Quixote
would have done dat.
 
Out of control
and out of his mind
 
da buggah wuz feeding
da heat of da moment
 
like wun swirling hurricane.
 
Dismounting on main street
in da suburbs
 
Lord-Holier-Den-Tao
wen pile it on
 
wen he wen draw his sword
 
and threatened to chop off da heads and arms
of people
 
dat wen go running and screaming
through da neighborhood.
 
Wen da police arrived
 
da suspect wuz seen
walking into wun house across da street
 
and he wuz easily identified
 
by the broken heart emblem
emblazoned upon his chest.
 
Wun officer talked to his fair lady
up in her bedroom
 
while assessing da damage
 
of wun door dat wuz kicked in
earlier in da day.
 
Anadah cop in da living room
made him write down wun statement
 
of wat transpired
in da tortured kingdom.
 
All da metaphors

and  da painful imagined scenes
of brutal chivalry
 
made as much sense
 
as trying to find da words
to explain wat happened.
 
You can conjure up
any kine of diversionary tale you like
 
but it’s still so sad
to finally realize and discover
 
dat wen you have
wun aggressive hammer
 
everyting looks like wun nail.

 
 
Joe Balaz writes in Hawaiian Islands Pidgin (Hawai’i Creole English) and in American English. He edited Ho’omanoa: An Anthology of Contemporary Hawaiian Literature. Some of his recent Pidgin writing has appeared in Unlikely Stories Mark V, Otoliths, and The Lake, among others. Balaz is an avid supporter of Hawaiian Islands Pidgin writing in the expanding context of World Literature. He presently lives in Cleveland, Ohio.
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

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Hermit. A Poem by John Grey

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I inhabit a desolate, weather-beaten place
accessible only to sorrow,
a necessary dwelling of course
based on current situation and future prospects.
 
And perhaps I will succeed as a place-dweller
where the place doesn’t promise much,
and the horizon is cut off by bramble-cover
and I’ve just this small surface to occupy.
 
At this stage of life, no possibilities remain
and I have stiffened into a man
who is so accustomed to the silence,
now he is its biggest booster.
 
In my rooms, my companions are
a winter sun that shines bleakly,
a wish to be left alone so powerful
that no other wishes survive.
 
 
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Tau, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Examined Life Journal and Midwest Quarterly.
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

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Strength. A Poem by Holly Day

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Light pours in through a thin slit of a window
blood red sunset illuminates silver
bells, golden chalices, the empty
half-orb of a sterile baptismal font, black robes
casually tossed over the back of a chair,
a pair of wool slippers half-hidden by folds of cloth.
Faces of concrete angels strain from the walls, echoed
in smooth porcelain, glistening oil on cracked canvas.
Worn Persian rug covers hard
stone, fibers holding still the ancient trace
of sweat from hands straining to hold the threads
in place on a room-sized loom, invisibly
imprinted by knees crawling after dropped things
wanted things, lost things. Tiny pile of mouse droppings
in the shadow of a lost corner, they want things, too.
 
 
Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis , Minnesota , since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Tampa Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle, and her published books include Walking Twin Cities, Music Theory for Dummies, and Ugly Girl.
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

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Marys. A Poem by Mitch Grabois

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If I had my babies I would lay them in a crib
They would glitter like diamonds
My legs would splash through surf
sending droplets of pacific gism
to sparkle in the sun
 
When they fall on me
I am pregnant again
I am whole
I am invulnerable
to murderers and rapers
I am the Virgin Mary
protected by God
 
But there are so many Virgin Marys
bloody Marys
cross-eyed Marys
marys whose eyes are carbolic wedges of cheese
leprosy marys
revolving door marys
marys who work at convenience stores
marys whose lives are inconvenient
marys who died tens of thousands of years ago
and whose voices are reaching us
only now
marys on their backs in cheap motels
marys who were my roommates in the asylum
So many
 
I am hitch-hiking to my babies
I will arrive soon
 
 
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over twelve-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad, including POETRY LIFE AND TIMES. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a Print Edition . To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

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Tricks language plays. A Poem by Rajnish Mishra

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My daughter, eight, looked at me
with eyes: half-enquiring, half-afraid,
eyes with faith, half, at least,
and asked suddenly: Are we born again after death?
I looked at my wife. Our eyes met.
She smiled: that corners of the eyes,
so-it-did-happen smile, and I knew
it was not she who dropped
a hint to the child
of death or birth, or both.
I did not, I know. We don’t discuss death
at home, especially with children
awake or around: never with them around.
No, not death, the old enemy, no talks
in the recent past with anyone.
Death horrifies me.
 
So, I sat back,
took a pause,
filled my eyes with light and strength,
that fills the eyes of those
with half-faith, at least,
and told her boldly that half-lie:
‘No, you don’t have to die if you say no to death’.
I knew I was half-true.
Tricks language plays!
 
 

Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India. He is the editor of PPP Ezine, a poetry ezine. He has a blog on poetry, poetics and aesthetic pleasure: https:/poetrypoeticspleasure.wordpress.com.

 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

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