Poets

That’s Why I Write. Poem. Kwame Write Aidoo.

February 11, 2019October 26, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

‘That’s why I write’

My ink flies far when I Orville write..
[That’s why I write]
It’s ideal to open up and let the brains breathe right..
[That’s why I write]

Oprah talks, Brad Pitt acts, I write!

Weird would the world be without writers..
Like Martin’s assassination story without snipers.
What? No Bible revelations?
No Readers’ digests?
No Quran quotes?
No Daily graphics?
No music magazines?
not even Kama sutra notes?
[That’s why I write]

I don’t tittle-tattle, I’d rather scribble-scrabble
Gossips are short-lived so let my pencil prattle
Poetry paints the state of affairs, affairs of the state
So why keep a glutton crayon by a starving slate?
[That’s why I write]

Born was I the same year noble Soyinka took Nobel award
My manger must have been brushed by his white hair wand..
Toddling, I watched Efua Sutherland weave ‘Anansesem’ with her palm,
Pondering why Kwaku Ananse hid a calabash of the whole world wisdom.
[That’s why I write]

But trifling is the written when never read..
Could we have the Passover without the bread?
So read Shakespeare’s or Blakes’s! Atukwei’s Ama’s
If you’ld read none, inspire…

…………………………………………………….

Kwame’s love for wordplay has earned him online publications, awards from the Scrabble Association of Ghana and a couple of nicknames including Write. He is a nominee for the International Best Amateur Poet by World Poetry Organisation, a biochemist working as a health & safety consultant who believes that freelance writing, spoken word and rap are not only rich arts but tools for educating and inspiring people. Kwame Write founded Inkfluent which produced Vocal Portraits; a spoken word compilation that brought together 15 artists from 3 continents: Africa, America and Europe. When he’s not with the pen, he’s most likely playing beach soccer or making new friends over a bowl of fufu and palm wine. You can visit him at http://kwamewrite.blogspot.com/ and https://soundcloud.com/kwame-write-1

LINKS:
Twitter: @kwamewrite
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aidookwamecharles

***

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MY HEART IS AS… (2002).Poem. Robin Marchesi

February 11, 2019October 24, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

My heart
Is as
The old
West pier
In Brighton.
It has been stripped down,
To bear minimum,
The structure crumbles,
Winds, Rains and Tides,
Have wrecked
Once noble
Steel girders.
The Penny arcades,
Little lights and joy rides,
Have passed into history.
Only the starlings, black clouds,
At sunset,
Visit.

My heart
Is as
The old
West Pier
In Brighton.
Shrouded in darkness,
Awaiting collapse,
It is old enough,
To remember
The little boy,
Who once played,
When the Pier
Lived,
And both made dreams,
That are now,
The Property
Of Ghosts…

Robin Marchesi, born in 1951, began writing in his teens, much to the consternation of his mother, the sister of Eric Hobsbawm, the historian.

In 1992 Cosmic Books published his first book entitled “A B C Quest”.

In 1996 March Hare Press published “Kyoto Garden” and in 1999 “My Heart is As…”

ClockTowerBooks published his Poetic Novella, “A Small Journal of Heroin Addiction”, digitally, in 2000.

Charta Books published his latest work entitled “Poet of the Building Site”, about his time working with Barry Flanagan the Sculptor of Hares, in association with the Irish Museum of Modern Art.

He is presently working on an upcoming novel entitled “A Story Made of Stone.”

http://www.amazon.com/A-Small-Journal-Heroin-Addiction/product-reviews/0743300521

http://www.illywords.com/2011/09/down-the-rabbit-hole-a-glimpse-into-the-wonderland-of-barry-flanagan/

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The Insomniac’s Prayer. Poem. Video. Sara L. Russell.2000

March 27, 2015October 23, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

The ripening berries
Summer’s last blaze
when her breath is of jasmine
and phlox is her sigh
Let me dream then,
of summer
and float through the haze
peaceful breath
bed of poppies
ceiling of blue sky

Let me float
like a feather
in the arms
of the breeze
Let me drift
like a leaf
on a tide, upstream
with the murmur of water
the soft hum of bees
in a garden
in peace
in sleep
in a dream

Send me love’s angels
to watch at my bed
golden of voice
and silver of wing;
two at the far corners
two at my head
with my dreams
all of heaven
when softly
they sing

Send me a light
that can never grow dim
love, like a candle
to lighten my heart
empty my mind
of each worry and whim
and the ghosts
of nights demons
that tear me apart

Till I float
like a feather
in the arms
of the breeze
and drift
like a leaf
on a tide, upstream
love make me wise
through life’s cruelties
sleep dry my eyes
make me still
let me dream.

***

AKA @pinkyandrexa Poet, Artist, Cartoonist, Goth, Time Traveller. Friend of cats everywhere. Former Editor of Poetry Life & Times. Founder of http://thevideopoets.ning.com/ … See also http://creativethinkersintl.ning.com/profile/SaraLouiseRussell plus over a million poetry links online.

***

Sara Louise Russell , whose internet name is “PinkyAndrexa”, is a UK poet who has earned a well-deserved reputation as a highly respected twenty-first century poetry publisher and poet. She was the founder and Editor-in-Chief of Poetry Life & Times, one of the world’s premier poetry E-zines, which ran monthly from 1998-2006 under her tutelage. She has always been in on the scene with graphic design, animation, 3D art, web design, sign writing, photography, film and poetry recital videos. Sara is founder and current editor of Paper Li. Poetry Lifetimes and the online Ning network The Video Poets. Her poetry has been published in Artvilla, AuthorsDen, Hello Poetry, The New Pleiades Anthology of Poetry (Describe Adonis Press, Ottawa, © 2005), Sonnetto Poesia, Word Machinist and more, as well as in several e-books by Kedco Studios Inc. (USA). Her skills as a sonneteer are particularly remarkable.

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Sitting at Home. Poem.John Horvarth Jr

March 27, 2015October 20, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

The slow long twist of the crowd toward its burden

Of vacant street and empty homes loud with tedium

From six-ish Eyes on News until cynical midnight comic.

The long slow twist of breadwinners’ faces half in panic

Over what’s for supper and afterward dialog unrehearsed,

Unscheduled, unexpectedly possibly leading into sex or

Negligee fantasies of we were once young, pretend for

Awhile we are still young with hard skins tanned

Like grapefruit you and I lavish in love in our bed

At our ripeness and rightness of pealing for juices.

The slow long twist of the crowd toward boredom

Of suburbs and stagnant traffic of women frantic

In their coffin cars to arrive at home before him,

To greet husband as if all day spent alone at home

Not wet between thighs from grocerystore bagboys,

Flirtations with delivery men brownshirted strong

With box gifts from dial-up-goody channels, some

Actually will talk to them, pick up a phone, chat

Like old friends reacquainted, then order a trophy

For the mantel, to remember delivery, her credit

card number surrendered, she signs for the memory.

The slow long twist of the crowd moves slowly along

Alongside yellowslip riots of kids driven from school

To their blank torments of TV. All of them, all of them

In the slow long twist of the crowd toward its tedium.

Why do they go home–cocooned at office–in boredom.

They love the private mob of familiar pain.

Hi Honey, what’s for dinner, not that again.

Southside Chicagoan and second-wave immigrant John Horváth Jr. now lives in Mississippi; he has published his poetry nationally and internationally since the 1970s. “Doc” Horváth has taught creative writing, literary criticism, and theory. Having been an online mentor to new and emerging poets, in November 1997 he published and now edits poetryrepairs.com [www.poetryrepairs.com], a zine dedicated to promoting contemporary international poetry.

“Veteran of two wars, retired Professor of English in Mississippi, the poet with a unique and brilliant and cutting perspective of southern culture and religion teams up with talented musicians to produce something quite unique. The language of the Veteran and the south and poetic style with good music.”…..David Michael Jackson, www.artvilla.com

See also: Excerpt from Blues Man Joe from the Album Reverend Terrebone Walker John Horvath Jr. Label The buy link at… http://fb.me/2T11LMNlh

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Eternity Shivers with a Coldness Translated from José Antonio Pamies’ “Toda la eternidad tiembla de frío” by Robin Ouzman Hislop

March 27, 2015October 19, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Toda la eternidad tiembla de frío,

es un plan muerto antes de nacer,

porque la cáscara nutre el vacío

ahondando en el alma de las cosas.

Yo sé que tú no crees en lo baldío

de la flor siniestra sobre el café,

la tarde es para ti como un estío

abrasado de calor contra las rosas.

Traerá Mayo su trasnochado azul,

contemplarás bajo el color nevado

tallos ocres de cuando fuiste oro.

Raíz negra rugiendo en el baúl,

solar sin tregua, sexo desmayado

donde el calor despierta sueños de otro

José Antonio Pamies (España)

Eternity shivers with a coldness

from a plan dead before it is born

because the rind which feeds the emptiness

deepens in concerns of the soul its form.

But you don’t believe in the sinister

wasteland of this coffee’s wild flowers,

evening for you is seen as a summer,

a scorching heat burning against roses.

May will yet come in her outmoded blue,

you will watch beneath a snowy colour

before when you were gold, stems of ochre.

Black roots twisted in the wooden trunk scream

on a relentless ground of sex fainting

where the heat awakens another’s dream.

Translated from José Antonio Pamies’“Toda la eternidad tiembla de frío” by Robin Ouzman Hislop

José Antonio Pamies (Alicante, 1981―) Finalista del III Premio internacional de poesía 
Andrés Salom 2005 y del II Premio de la editorial poesia Eres Tu 2010 con Las Ruinas 
de la Aurora. Ha publicado Campos de hielo (Babilonia, Pliegos de la palabra nº 3, 2012) 
y Afonías (finalista del XXVI Premio Gerardo Diego de Poesía), así como poemas en revistas 
y numerosas antologías. Reside en Madrid, donde realiza estudia Teoría de la Literatura y 
Literatura Comparada.

José Antonio Pamies (Alicante, 1981―) His early poetry collection Las Ruinas de la Aurora was a runner up at the III Andres Salom International Poetry Award in 2005 and the II poesia Eres Tu Publisher Award in 2010. He has published Campos de hielo (Babilonia, Pliegos de la palabra nº 3) and Afonías― a runner up at the XXVI Gerardo Diego Poetry Award. He currently lives in Madrid, pursuing studies in Theory of Literature and Comparative Literature.

This sonnet together with its translation appeared in The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Exciting new sonnet anthology edited by Richard Vallance now available on Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1lIL0jF BN ID: 2940148833628 Publisher: FriesenPress Publication date: 11/20/2013 Sold by: Barnes & Noble

Robin Ouzman Hislop (UK) Co-editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. (See its Wikipedia entry at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/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, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at http://www.thepoeticbond.com and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: http://bit.ly/1lIL0jF. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.robin@artvilla.com and you can also visit Face Book site at www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

Riverside Walk Poems.(6).Continued. Christopher Barnes

February 11, 2019October 17, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

(i.)

Mega-Mart Rebellion

The automatons have broken traits

A shelf-crammer clicked out light.

Discrepancies don’t shift.

Impersonal manikins tackle the force of argument

Ineffectually becoming a movement. Earless

The Bully’s entrenched behind contrivances.

Tonight I’ll elect to dream – heart-sinking hero

In nauseous unprofitableness behind racks.

(ii.)

Lit From The Bottom

Spite is wrangled.

Immortal is your stress, harpingly distinct.

No wind-up’s in vista. Smalt,

Incandescence of landlocked pool

Reveals air’s secrets. A Gunshot. Dandelions

Dumb-show vehemently

Over ruins.

(iii.)

Contemplating Suicide Bridge

A churlish, unavoidably sorry-sight,

Parody of me,

Shaved before noon. The blunt cloudburst

Prophesised was pettifogging.

A few weeding tingles bristle

Roughened at arms-length. A skirmishanked

Corrugation of the applicability

Implicating hand, skill.

(iv.)

Offshore Monkey Tricks

Tom, Dick nor Harry’s the missing link,

Dead reckoned, at cross purposes. (Tip-top shares shaft.)

Picaroons muscle-grip.

Grudge – no man-o-luck’ll scan you

For faith-pinning by his false witness.

Anticipated untruths clot in your head,

A problem of sober provocation.

‘We’ll lip-homage our liabilities

And salt-wit say – you’re speaking now.’

(v.)

Riverside Walk

Contours tumble, shifting – a blain in hordes

Peep away. No idiosyncrasy flares here.

Prowling mist smear is slip-slop;

Corner reminiscence – a plain-dealing smile.

The humdrum malevolence?

We too are curbed.

(vi.)

House Arrest Of The Opposition Leader

The bullet-pocked wall. Gales jingling strains.

Firm standing, repudiation –

Viciousness backing dearths. Scupperings.

What did you bargain for?

I’m in a fixed foreboding of undertakers,

Well, so it peeves.

On…

Christopher Barnes, UK. Some bio details…

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 partake 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.

I also have a BBC web-page www.bbc.co.uk/tyne/gay.2004/05/section_28.shtml and http://www.bbc.co.uk/tyne/videonation/stories/gay_history.shtml (if first site does not work click on SECTION 28 on second site.

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. In May I had 2006 a solo art/poetry exhibition at The People’s Theatre why not take a look at their website http://ptag.org.uk/whats_on/gallery/recent_exhbitions.htm

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…see www.myspace.com/queerbeatsfestival 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.

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Far Deeper than a Soul Starves.Richard Lloyd Cederberg.Haiku/Tanka Poem

March 20, 2019October 14, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

***

Being positioned

Between vitality and

The grays of shadows;

This freely expressed life of

Extraordinary colors

Creates full rainbows

With words and desert echoes;

Revealing her path

As an art scholar,

Medieval literature;

One LIVING sculpture

Lamenting loves complexness;

A dragonfly ASCENDING,

Rediscovering

The innocence of dreaming,

Not fully knowing

Her life will evince

The fervent hopefulness’s

Of one seeking TRUTH

DRAGONFLY rises,

In humbleness of spirit,

(Voyaging beyond)

Life’s many unrequited

Gifts given from two scarred hands

Understanding now

Dying as a conversion;

Circling obstacles

Akin to daily regrets;

A cathartic chrysalis

Waiting to be bound

To ONE who emancipates

The LIFE she foresees;

Translucent of an echo;

Far deeper than a soul starves,

Chrystus beckons

As an artificial church decays

***

www.richardlloydcederberg.com

www.authorsden.com/richardlloydcederberg 

***

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Virtual Living. Selected Poems. Gary Beck.

March 27, 2015October 12, 2013 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Virtual Living is an unpublished collection vitally concerned with the growing frequency of 
substituting electronic interaction for physical activity. Gary Beck. www.garycbeck.com

(i.)

Internet Services

Cybersex 
may vex
concerned moms,
prudish wives,
jealous lovers,
social moralists,
but junior,
hubby, 
boy friend,
assorted creeps,
won't catch disease
from small screens.

(ii.)

Exposition

Cities breed illusions,
safety, security,
compelling abdication
of traditional instincts
that once facilitated
hunting, gathering,
agriculture,
survival,
arbitrarily substituting
supermarkets,
cell phone stores,
nail salons,
creating nothing,
reducing paper
to electronic transmissions
requiring devotion
to screens of diversion,
replicating reality.

(iii.)

Accommodation

Permanence,
a mild delusion
for millennia
of insecure
human expectations
doomed by nature
that compels vacating
short-term housing.

(iv.)

Captive Audiences

Securely perched
in front of tv,
future concerns
totally erased
electronically,
direct transmissions
of subtle commandments
to sit back,
do nothing,
anesthetizes viewers.

(v.)

Detached Observers

The Roman Empire collapsed
succumbing to the onslaught
of barbarian hordes,
while isolated monks
in secure monasteries
preserved the heritage
of civilization.
As America declines
dwellers in ivory towers,
electronic custodians
of human knowledge,
cannot conceive
there is no protection
in accessible colleges
from social disorder.

Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director. His chapbook ‘Remembrance’ was published by Origami Condom Press, ‘The Conquest of Somalia’ was published by Cervena Barva Press, ‘The Dance of Hate’ was published by Calliope Nerve Media, ‘Material Questions’ was published by Silkworms Ink, ‘Dispossessed’ was published by Medulla Press, ‘Mutilated Girls’ was published by Heavy Hands Ink and ‘Pavan andother poems was published by Indigo Mosaic. A collection of his poetry ‘Days of Destruction’ was published by Marie Celeste Press. Another collection ‘Expectations’ was published by Rogue Scholars Press and ‘Dawn in Cities’ and ‘Assault on Nature’ are being published by Winter Goose Press. His novel ‘Extreme Change’ was published by Cogwheel Press. His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway. His poetry has appeared in hundreds of literary magazines. He currently lives in New York City .

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