Elephant Graveyard. A Poem by E Darcy Trie

Darcy Trie-1

there are mondays that curve up
with sides the color of dead milk
and all the egrets roost over a red hotel
in a town that never stops raining
it finds me
splintered
wintered
and brown

this favorite of barn swallows
and aged floorboards

all around are the echoes of wild dogs
of things springing from snow
straw dust and blood sausages
and heaps that are bornempty
i lie

cowled by green space
sewn within a hump of cream ribs
the graffiti of grass and mud
tickle against the sourdough belly
it is here
that the map of stars
have never been so far away

yet
i would still stay
earth-soaked
as your fiery death
jumps in my memory
looping
scooping
uncoiling like dark hair
released to the night

and the shiver

i know
these are the only bones strong enough
to hold up against this kind of
eternity

Darcy was born in Taipei, Taiwan in 1975, E. Darcy Trie is a Scorpio, Rabbit and matriculated in Little Rock, Arkansas at the age of two. She graduated at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville with a B.A. in Psychology along with Minors in Drama and Asian Studies. Sensing that achieving her Masters would drive her to drink, she wisely opted to tour Asia in her early twenties (thanks to a grant provided by Bank Of Daddy), and in the year 2000, found herself in the heart of Beijing, China where she began writing due to the fact that crocheting was far too complicated and because the voices in her head would not shut up.

By 2004, she had completed two romances, one historical and one modern, and after viewing all nine seasons of the X-Files and three seasons of C.S.I, finished the first two series of the Snow novels and is currently writing the third installment. During this time, she has also had several pieces of her poetry published in various online poetry magazines.

Her passions and hobbies includes writing, reading (anything put out by Neil Gaiman), Disney movies, all divination tools such as Tarot, I-Ching, Runes and is an enthusiastic, although albeit amateur, astrologist/paranormal investigator. She is 5’10, weighs whatever she wrote on her driver’s license, owns a lot of black hoodies and is addicted to It’s A Grind’s Passion Fruit tea.

She is fluent in English, Mandarin Chinese, some French and once took a Zero Hour in Greek in high school. She hates mornings, coconuts, wire bras, and sincerely hopes that this is bio is long enough to fill up an entire page (doubled-space of course).

Ms. Trie currently lives in Las Vegas, NV because she adores $2.99 buffets, Paigow Poker, and that lovely 116 degree August weather. She dreams of writing best-selling novels that will delight and thrill her future fans and because she is tired of being a productive citizen and wants to go back to being a mooching hermit.

editor@artvilla.com
robin@artvilla.com 
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com

 

Share and Enjoy !

Shares

Tilting Ponds.Poem from Serpentrope by Norman Ball

serpentrope1

 

ISBN-10: 0615900798 ISBN-13: 978-0615900797


Unique and highly imaginative, Norman Ball’s poetry is also frequently apocalyptic. Drawing on Jungian archetypes, his poetry continually circles back on particular symbols as it contextualizes everyday dilemmas while formulating windows into the broader world of the numinous. Spellbinding.
—Jeff Holt, Poet, The Harvest.
 
A prolific songwriter, literary essayist, political commentator and playwright, here comes Ball the poet refracting, at his best, Auden’s ‘ironic points of light’…as for that patented Ball humor does it traverse genres? I’m pleased to report it more than survives the stanza.
—Douglas Milton, Editor, Anthony Burgess International Journal
 
The price we have paid for being over-intellectualized by the Modernist movement is somewhat allayed by the formal poetry that predominates in this collection; thank goodness there are poets like Mr. Ball helping to recover the magical in the most important art form humankind has striven to perfect.
—Patrick Quinn, President, Robert Graves Society
 
Surprises abound in this marvelous collection of poetry. We find depth, wit and astute observation all wrapped up in classical metrics made profoundly fresh.
—Rowena Silver, Co-Editor, Epicenter magazine
 
Norman Ball goes where few have ever gone before—into the largely unexplored realms of poetic financial satire. Yes Virginia, there is such a thing. And he brings back a great many pithy and humorous treasures for readers from his travels there.
—Michael Silverstein, The Wall Street Poet
 
Norman Ball’s ambitious poetry turns on wordplay—for wit, for sonic joy, and for serious surprises. Both his formal and free verse thrive in the territory of e.e. cummings, where he takes on challenges too daunting for most contemporary poets. —A. M. Juster, Poet, The Satires of Horace  


Serpentrope is a small volume of collected poems by Norman Ball, written almost all in formal and classical metrics and for the most part in sonnet form. In an article at the back titled Ouroboros: Why Now? the author cites it as a trope for an emergent archetype of the millennium, – as the turning of an age, our time now is critical. The poems are given a contemporary context, often in current affairs of the last decade in the USA. The style is light, dexterous and pithy, many times coloured by a dark humour akin to the sinister and characterised by a deft turning of phrase. This appears acutely in the sonnets and their final couplets, where it is as if it’s the maw of Ouroborus itself swallowing its own tail. – Editor Poetry Life & Times Robin Ouzman Hislop

 
 
TILTING PONDS
 

The marriage of the swans has been annulled

with an absence of ceremony, she lies graceless and stiff,

a brick by her crushed skull;

an orange meteor hurled by a petulant boy-Zeus.
 

I know him as he runs back to his empty motive,

this orphan of unattended grief,

desperate for a mother’s dead reflection.

A universe of dying nest is all the nurture he allows.

 

Now too, the widower is beside himself

attended by the sag of his reflection,

The banks salve the water’s edge.

My bread of solace floats untouched.

 

There is only one to feed now.

But he leans away without appetite.

The world lies wet to boys and swans

and the mirrored edge of endless tilting ponds. 
 
 
Norman Ball FBP
 
 
NORMAN BALL (BA Political Science/Econ, Washington & Lee University; MBA, George Washington University) is a well-travelled Scots-American businessman, author and poet whose essays have appeared in Counterpunch, The Western Muslim and elsewhere. His new book “Between River and Rock: How I Resolved Television in Six Easy Payments” is available here. Two essay collections, “How Can We Make Your Power More Comfortable?” and “The Frantic Force” are spoken of here and here. His recent collection of poetry “Serpentrope” is published from White Violet Press. He can be reached at returntoone@hotmail.com.
 
 
robin2705
Robin Ouzman Hislop (UK) Co-editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010; Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, The Poetic Bond Series, available at http://www.thepoeticbond.com a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rise from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry All the Babble of the Souk.
 
 
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com
robin@artvilla.com
editor@artvilla.com

 
 
http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm
http://www.amazon.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop
www.lulu.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop

Share and Enjoy !

Shares

Lines 1-34 of Book 2 of Homer’s Iliad by Richard Vallance

Iliad Book 2 Lines 1-34

Please press to enlarge the text: The following link provides further information concerning references & sources of the translation. http://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com/2014/02/05/the-extreme-significance-of-the-archaic-greek-of-the-catalogue-of-ships-in-book-ii-of-iliad-in-the-reconstruction-of-mycenaean-greek/

Richard Vallanc Santorini Grreece 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/
 

 

robin@artvilla.com

www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

 

Share and Enjoy !

Shares

Acid Love. 3 Poems. Zayra Yves.

 

(i.)

Acid Love

The taste of you on my tongue
is caustic.

You think I won’t survive.

But you don’t know about flowers
that grow from a sardonic earth:

African Violet, Azalea,
Amaryllis and lovely Gardenia.

I have blossomed through
droughts and hell.

It’s your turn to fight
against dying.

 (ii.)

I Made the Mistake of Loving a God

I made the mistake of loving a God
who appeared stronger than stone.

His skin crumbled in my hands
and I found only the beginning of sorrow
in the broken ruins of our passion.

I discovered a heart made of clay
can be shaped into love once more
but a fractured mind
may never be whole again.

(iii.)

SEPARATION

A grain of sand is not a cliché
because no matter what we write,
we can’t grasp it
unless we compare our life to it,
then we feel the light
as it passes through that small space
which once belonged
to something greater than itself.

***

Zayra Yves Picture

Bio: Zayra’s creative writing is published in numerous print journals, anthologies, on-line e-zines and magazines: The Zimbabwe Situation, Panhandler Quarterly, Voices for Africa, Eyes of the Poet, Kreativ, Reflections IIT Madras (India), Edge Life Magazine, Poetry Life & Times, Astropoetica, Alehouse Press, 34th Parallel, Feeling is First, Memoir (and), Aquillrelle, The Enchanting Verses International Journal and The Cherry Muse.

 

She has appeared as a featured artist and/or guest speaker at: New Sun Celebration; CIIS California Institute of Integral Studies; on Ken Wilber’s Integral Naked (2006 & 2007);OneMindVillage; West Marin Community Radio; SW Radio Africa; North Western University Chicago; Zimvibes; Coolfire (UK); Women’s Radio Network; Perfectly Said; Mazungue Studio One; TWiN (UK); Genpo Roshi and Bill Harris’ Big Heart/Big Mind seminiar in LA; UltraFeel TV; UniVerse of Poetry; BlogTalk Radio, The Awareness Network and Today’s Revolutionary Women of Color.

Awards include:

In 2010 Zayra was the winning poet from the “An African Legend: White Lions and Leopards” contest 2010. She joined the conservation team at Tsau where the White Lions live in Timbavati, South Africa, as her prize, plus publication in the book.

In 2012 she received the World Poetry Empowered Poet 2012 award beside several other amazing International poets at the World Poetry Canada & International Peace Festival 2012.

In 2013 she received the “Woman of Goodwill Award 2013” and “Plaque of Appreciation” for her role as a Panelist at Pentasi B in the Philippines.

Her short story “Exit Ashes, Exit Blues, Exit This Life” won an honorable mention in Francis Ford Coppola’s Zoetrope All Story contest.

Zayra’s fine art collection has appeared from 1998 to present at the following California locations: Dore Dore Gallery, San Mateo; Somar Gallery, San Francisco; UC Berkeley, San Francisco Campus; Body Harmony, San Francisco; Dana Street Cafe, Mountain View; Cafe Libro, Mountain View; Maitri Art Show & Auction, Embarcadero Center; Cad’s Coffee Shop, Los Osos; One World Cafe, San Francisco; The Hive Gallery, Los Angeles; The Artist’s Alley, San Francisco.

She has four audio collections:

1.) Crowned Compassion 2.) Sleep in the Sea Tonight with Me 3.) Retrograde Motion 4.) Lanterns

In addition, she is the author of four books:

1.) Empty as Nirvana 2.) Ordinary Substance 3.) Color Me Pomegranate 4.) Leaving You Unpainted 5.) Floating in the Dark

You can purchase these collections directly on line or for more information send an email to:  express.positive@gmail.com

Currently she is producing a new audio recording and a fine art collection.

www.zayrayves.com

***

 

editor@artvilla.com
robin@artvilla.com

www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Share and Enjoy !

Shares

The Skiff. Poem. Joe Ruggier

 JR-Portrait

 

My skiff – with which no ships compare –

has weathered storms of Ocean:

in blackest night the beacon’s flare,

in steep commotion,

 

is but the one, consoling Sense,

the verse that shakes my Heart;

for Food the Ocean’s Providence

beneath the curb of Art!

 

Thou reddening Glow! Thou blood-red Core

upon the Wild neglected,

that ghastly Shadows casts ashore

by Time collected –

 

within the Flame upon the Wick

I dream that I behold

my Genius dance, my Fortune click

with cards of Gold!

 

Hail, holy Fire! through whate’er

perilous Seas – the Raft –

oh Thou! Thou burnest everywhere,

but not as daft

 

as Thou art faithful what Thou wilt!

I love the drift and sound:

Thou reachest but to Castles built

on solid Ground!

 

The Critic thought he haughtily steers

top-heavy, mighty Ships,

but with the Spirit interferes

from holstered hips!

 

Likewise the pious Rationalist

but clouds the faultless Feeling –

with Reasons fine as fog or mist –

that subtlest Reeling

 

which in my Heart of Hearts is burning!

Ah but my Life-raft’s light,

and the vast Ocean’s overturning

bury it quite

 

may never, and only upward bobbing,

throbs like my Adam’s apple,

and Vision brings the Joy of sobbing

and makes me grapple –

 

where in the Flames She smiles and dances,

her hair blown by the breeze,

where my Beloved counts the chances

and me strip tease!

***

Copyright © Joe M Ruggier 11th September 2000

portrait of Joe Ruggier executed by Vancouverite visual artist Virginia Quental (born in Brazil)

Joe M. Ruggier was born in Malta in 1956 and has written and published poetry in both Maltese and English.  He currently resides in Richmond, British Columbia, where he manages a small press, Multicultural Books.  Multicultural Books publishes poetry, poetry leaflets, sound recordings, fiction and literary fiction.

Joe Ruggier has sold over 20,000 books, many of them door-to-door, including over 10,000 books he wrote and published himself.  There are over 5,700 copies in print of his book Out of Blue Nothing.  Information on Joe M. Ruggier’s books, cassettes and poetry journal:

Intelligible Mystery (1985)
Out of Blue Nothing (1985) ISBN 0-9694933-0-4
The Voice of the Millions (1988)
In the Suburbs of Europe (1991)
Moods for Lovers (1993 ) Cassette
This Eternal Hubbub (1995)
regrets hopes regards and prayers … (1996)
Lady Vancouver (1997)
A Richer Blessing (1999 ) ISBN 0-9681948-3-4
The Poetry of George Borg Translated from the Maltese by Joe M. Ruggier (2000)
The Eclectic Muse, a poetry journal edited by Joe M. Ruggier

To order any of the above, please write or call first for availability and prices.  Please make checks payable to Joe Ruggier.

Multicultural Books
Suite 307
6311 Gilbert Road
Richmond, B.C., Canada V7C 3V7

Telephone:  (604) 277-3864

 

The HyperTexts

The Eclectic Muse

 

Managing Editor
Joe M. Ruggier

Board of Academic Consultants
Professor LeRoy D. Travis
S. Warren Stevenson (Professor Emeritus, UBC)


“There are many mansions in Parnassus!”

 

The Eclectic Muse has published poets and writers from Canada, Malta, the United Kingdom, the United States, and elsewhere. The Eclectic Muse publishes poetry and prose of various styles, but always reflects the passion of its Managing Editor, the acclaimed poet, essayist and critic Joe M. Ruggier. Mr. Ruggier’s passion is for poetry that sings and moves, for poetry that embraces rather than denies or defies the traditions of English poetry. If you believe as he does–that there is a revival of traditional poetry, and that the world is better place for it–we think you’ll find The Eclectic Muse well worth the price of a subscription.

***

editor@artvilla.com
robin@artvilla.com

www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com

 

Share and Enjoy !

Shares

The End of Everything. Poem. Neil Ellman

 

(after the painting by Roberto Matta

Echaurren)

Matta-the-end-of-everything-1942

 

 

And when it ended

there was a terrible groan

like the voice of a tree

falling from the weight

of too many seasons of death

and the pain of rebirth.

 

The ground could not hold.

Rocks heaved a last appeal.

Space filled

with an anarchy of white

shifting to red.

 

And then a silence

deafening, more profound,

its inevitability told

at the instant of its birth

when the word was everything

green, young and ours

we lived in that moment

not knowing it would end

with none of us to hear.

 
 
Neil Ellman
 
 

Biography:  Nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, Neil Ellman writes from New Jersey.  More than 1000 of his poems, many of which are ekphrastic and written in response to works of modern and contemporary art, appear in print and online journals, anthologies and chapbooks throughout the world.  His first full-length collection is Parallels: Selected Ekphrastic Poetry, 2009-2012 (Omphaloskeptic Press).

***

editor@artvilla.com
robin@artvilla.com

www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com

 

 

Share and Enjoy !

Shares

The Silent Thief.Poem.Sullivan the Poet.Video/Audio.Candice James

 

The Silent Thief..’

 

 

It crept in soft ‘pon velvet feet,

a yesterday to steal;

A birdsong day all summer scents,

fair seasoned and genteel.

So small a day it scarce was missed,

one rain drop lost the brook;

Two dozen hours from all a life,

so easily mistook.

And in its stead did leave discard,

a fogged and dull lit gloom;

All hid behind familiar doors,

a strange and empty room.

 

I missed that one day not so much,

nor yet the next it stole;

A dirty day all damps and blows,

that scarce but left a hole.

Or bare the next, if truth be told,

or was it one before?

When sly it took a friend’s kind face,

from out an unlocked drawer.

And with it neatly enveloped,

all fastened with a bow;

A sheaf of happy memories,

once held and treasured so…

 

Til ‘fore I knew each other day,

or least I felt it so;

Fell silent ‘hind a rust hinged door,

through which I could not go.

No care to how I threw my locks,

or latched each window tight;

Another precious jewel was stole,

with each new morning light.

As if I held all of my life,

within these helpless hands;

Which day on day, try as I might,

slipped through like time’s cruel sands.

 

And so; I roam these labyrinths,

each crueller than the last;

In search some brightly open door,

to window on my past.

Dark corridors within my mind,

all tortured twist and bend;

And wooden troops dressed arms apart,

these doors, on guard, extend.

On, on, to twist each hard seized knob,

test each reluctant key;

To beg a bright familiar room,

that still remembers me.

 

With arms outspread to take me in,

all fold in its embrace;

Oh! Let me hold between my hands,

one full remembered face.

To know the hearth that embers there,

and bathe within its glow;

Beg gaze upon my grandchild’s face,

and breathe “I love you so..”

Or would that every kindly soul,

that smiled with love on me;

Might not, all gaoled, ‘hind dead-locked doors,

forever strangers be…

 

When in that demon’s maze I found,

all in his khaki suit;

My dearest love made young again,

my daring young recruit.

Rose young from under Flanders’ field,

and home the dreadful war;

Come steadfast ‘cross these work worn years,

to free my mind’s locked door.

So know you when I sightless stare,

my senses, thoughtless, flown;

Though lost your vale of tears my love,

that I am not alone…

 

‘Sullivan the Poet’ 
 
“Verse – Perverse & Obverse..”

***
2 Poets Laureate — New Westminster Poet Laureate Candice James and Canadian Parliamentary Poet Laureate Fred Wah at Royal City Literary Arts Society Setp 22, 2013 membership drive
Candice James
***

Poet Laureate, New Westminster, BC

President, Royal City Literary Arts

Honorary Professor International Arts Acadamy, Greece

Board Advisor, Interantional Muse, India

Board Advisor, Federation of British Columbia Writers

Candice James is Poet Laureate of New Westminster, B.C. and President of Royal City Literary Arts Society. She is a poet, musician, songwriter and author of six poetry books A Split In The Water (Fiddlehead 1979);Inner Heart―A Journey; (2010), Bridges and Clouds (2011); Midnight Embers–A Book of Sonnets (2012); Shorelines-A Book of Villanelles (2013); and Ekphrasticism (2014).   Websites: http://saddlestone.shawwebspace.ca   and  www.candicjames.com

***

editor@artvilla.com
robin@artvilla.com

www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Share and Enjoy !

Shares

CREME BRULEE. Poem. Paul Strohm.

 

 

I’m going to Paris!

Can you believe it?

Paris, France of all places.

It’s where the French people live.

Mister Tom says I’m to become a chef.

That’s the French word for cook.

Think on it,

I am going to be a fancy cook.

Mister Tom says I make a good cup of coffee,

Now I am going to make cafe!

Mister Tom says I’m to get money for my work.

I have read his garden book.

Yes I can read! When?

Since I was a child.

Mister Tom thinks his people should be educated up.

And now I’m to Paris,

Going to Paris with Mister Tom.

I’m going to be a Chef.

I’m going to Paris, France.

***

Paul in Army Dress-1

Paul Strohm is a free lance journalist  working in the Houston, Texas area.  His poems have been published in a number of print and online literary journals. He is married to a HS English teacher who hates contemporary poetry,which makes for a happy meeting of the two  minds.  Paul has only one full frontal photograph of himself on his IMAC.  He loves this photograph because it symbolizes the constraints of the culture he lives in.  The hat was one size fits all.  So everyman had to use it for his official military ID photograph. However, the wife says Paul has a big head.

***

robin@artvilla.com

editor@artvilla.com
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

www.artvilla.com/plt


Share and Enjoy !

Shares