poet – Page 38 – Poetry Life and Times

Shine. A Poem by Irsa Ruçi Translated by Silva Daci

July 26, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

I.
Hear to the cicada’s song, my dear, hear it
Some words they mutter to spring
And feel their whisper to the leafs
To the mornings’ dew
So tell me:
Was this world made to be savage?

II.
Oh, what sins did we give to this earth
So that our own tear weighs in powerless
At traces that froze in oblivion
The lost sinner
We…
Guardians of Hope

III.
One day we will get away
In a path there’s no coming back
For sure I’ll carry behind only regret,
Why we weren’t enough in this greedy world?
And the forgiveness
We were eager to get it
When one day even our soul we’ll see it
Stripped from our bodies.

IV.
O tell me that nothing is true
That the poet’s words are thatch stalks
That would be fired by one single match
And I, my last line I’ll give to the Human;
For he prays in the sin’s mercy
And in his life never lied to himself

My last line I’ll save it for the Human…

Irsa Ruçi is an Albanian Writer, Speechwriter and Lecturer. She was born in Tirana (Albania), in 1990. Her books of poetry include Trokas mbi ajër (poems and essays), 2008 and Pështjellim (poetry), 2010.
She has been published in anthologies: Antologji, 2007; I kërkoj agimit vesën, 2008; Antologji poetike “Kushtuar dashurisë”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Udha”, 2014; Antologji poetike, 2014; “Malli dhe brenga nga distancat”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Qyteti”, 2014; Poeteca, 2015; and her works has appeared in a number of print and online national and international magazines, including Sling Magazine, Issue 5; Ann Arbor Review, Issue 15; Poeteca Magazine, Issue 35; Aquillrelle Anthology, 2015; Aquillrelle Anthology, 2016; Metaphor Magazine Issue 5; The Commonline Journal, Issue 4/22; A New Ulster poetry Anthology, April 2016; Best Poems Encyclopedia; Issuu April 2016; In Between Hangovers, May 2016; BLUEPEPPER, May 2016; Duane’s PoeTree, May 2016; CREATIVE TALENTS UNLEASHED, 8 May 2016, Tuck Magazine, 12 May 2016; Whispers… 2016; Dead Snakes Magazine; – RANDOM POEM TREE, 13 May 2016; RANDOM POEM TREE, 16 May 2016; In Between Hangovers, 14 May 2016; In Between Hangovers, 24 May 2016; SCARLET LEAF REVIEW, May Issue; Ashvamegh Magazine (Ashvamegh Indian Journal of English Literature), The Beatnik Cowboy, 19 May; Dissident Voice, 22 May; Joomag, May 2016; Bear Creek Haiku, May Issue; Dissident Voice, 29 May etc.
Among many awards, she has received the first prize in poetry, in competition “Anthology 2007”, as the best poet in Albania.

Bio:
Silva Daci was born in Tirana (Albania), in 1996. She is student of English Major, at the Faculty of Foreign Languages, in the University of Tirana. She is an activist in some social cooperatives and she likes to be part of social and cultural activities.

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CHILDLESS. A Poem by John Grey

August 5, 2016July 21, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

What’s her name again – Deirdre Lyn.
She goes to law school. She plays field hockey
Summers spark with
the sheer will of her being.
Septembers are softer now
than a head on a pillow.

But then I feel your stomach
and you shake your head.
A tear emerges from your right eye,
the closest your body ever comes
to giving birth.

So I must watch over her
with my eyes shut.
Nail my lips together
to encourage her dreams.
Squeeze her to my chest
until she’s thinner than
the shirt I wear.

Deirdre Lyn – she comes to me in a dream
and says she’s met someone.
Yes, she met me.
And no one else ever.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review. To view more of his work www.motherbird.com & www.artvilla.com

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DAMP. (a poem after the rains) by Akor Emmanuel Oche

August 5, 2016July 21, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

After the rains
come the drain of a white washed
road–sepulchers
of pungent oozing paths.
Cossy skins blended
in tar pigmented melanin,
mock the innerbeing,
telling her she is wet,
telling her she is clean.
Only fire tests the truth of things.
Soon the road evapourates
the reminants of her hidden self,
and the skin
whispers the truth
of its self- dark,dirty,blue-
-in avarice for the subtle touch of water,
to purly through the body through
to the spirit.
After the rains come the real water.
Spinning the soul in spree.

Akor Emmanuel Oche is a Nigerian poet,critic,essayist and thinker.
Connect with him on facebook by searching his account by his name.

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The Sudden Drizzle. A Poem by Bhupender K Bhardwaj

August 5, 2016July 11, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

The sudden drizzle that brought long-sought fulfillment
To the scorched shacks of the country masses
Knitted the serrated peak and the neglected pavement
Into an aquamarine fabric under whose grace wild asses
Brayed with glee. The rusted generator attached
To the cola factory hummed loudly and brought
Back memories of the dull headaches which once latched
On to you. But these were phantoms of imagination which caught
You unawares, lost in the coerced stillness induced by your drab work
That ate you up slowly, constricting your vision
Beyond which strong-legged peacocks continued to jerk
Their crested heads in unison with the swaying trees that season.

Later, the sparrow-squeaks and the marketplace shouts
Which came up the verges were glinting arrows that quelled your doubts.

Brief Bio: Bhupender K Bhardwaj, an IRTS officer, 27 years of age works with Ministry of Railways, Government of India. He has been composing poetry since the last few years. His influences are Derek Walcott and Seamus Heaney. His poems have been published by Mad Swirl, Indian Review, The Galway Review and Kingston Creative Writers’ Blog. Also, He was recently longlisted for The Toto Awards for Creative Writing 2016 in the Poetry category.

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LIES AND RETRACTIONS. A Poem by David Spicer

July 4, 2016July 4, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Norway is cold to any sentient tramp
or a chorus of hyenas that yawn
and sneeze around a chicken house
stinking of ghosts and rotten
pomegranates. Its windmills are beautiful
in the pastures, but I need a zippered
leather coat to cover the skylark tattooed
on my chest. I couldn’t invent this:
I have poor posture from shaking,
my body needs a sunlamp. No, I retract
the above lies that aren’t worth two euros.
I’d fly pennants and banners
for the frigid land. Or release balloons
into the happy sky. I love the fish,
blown glass, and police who don’t
surround or harass me. Plenty of shade
to sip chardonnay by, and next summer,
when warmer weather tricks this cancer
to die, I’ll toot my own horn again
and teach Tolstoy to the children.

David Spicer has had poems in Yellow Mama, Reed Magazine, Slim Volume, The Laughing Dog, Jersey Devil Press, The American Poetry Review, New Verse News, Ploughshares, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead Snakes, and in A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism (Salo Press, 2016). He has been nominated for a Pushcart, is the author of one full-length collection of poems and four chapbooks, and is the former editor of Raccoon, Outlaw, and Ion Books. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee. For futher views of his works see Motherbird.com & Artvilla.com

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Counter-factual History Poetry by Christopher Barnes

October 28, 2020June 25, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

See-Saw Then Reel

A fault-line deforms the lark’s sunrise.
Frisco unpents itself, shop-soiling a minute.
Gloating flames cackle for days.
Survivor tents fidget on city-plan lawns.
In a leap-the-queue food line
Kermit the frog recovered his whereabouts
At the brink of intact terrain.

Flash Gear

Foot-long tresses, plum and tangerine blouse,
Ink-smudge breeks – Admiral Horatio Nelson struts.
Carnaby St. is a kinetic three blocks.
In Lord John’s portal he rib-digs Joe,
Land-pirate to a clutter of pharmacies,
Shopping list: four honeypots – French Blues.
Currency for peacocks is revels or frills.

Hereafter Chimneys

Reactors superheat uranium,
Hatching plutonium – a fume,
Radioactive cast-off.
Julius Caesar grits teeth,
Ashens at Windscale’s pockmarks
On a thickset graphite shell.
Blue-bag flames peck
At a moody critical mass.

Blood-Stained Pillow

Anne Boleyn disentangles prompts
On the Washeteria’s speech bubbles.
Self-run gearing is eco-affirmative.
Her duvet and pillows outline jauntiness
Quickened by a hyperallergic gargle,
Phosphate deficient.
The dizzy-bouquet whiff
Spins and hour into memory.

Lour In Popping Eyes

Dressed-to-the-nines rose-fresh theatre.
Jedward cradle themselves
In a pomp-splash box.
The snorty edge flurries this raised curtain.
‘Rites Of Spring,’ blurts gabbley lips.
The twins dislocate nerves.
Bob-up canes, set-against fans in an uproar.

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 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.

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

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. 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) see http://www.researchconstellation.co.uk/ . I co-edit the poetry magazine Interpoetry

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Now, Don’t Tell. A Poem by JD DeHart

June 25, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Our voice, the party line,
the wrinkled cord
of what telephones used to be,
whispered, hush-hushed voices
spilling bits of story,
lead poisoning, an explosion,
an “I have it on good authority,”
and even a “I can’t believe that,”
all followed by
“Now, don’t tell anyone
I told you.”

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard.

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Rising. Poem by David Chorlton.

June 11, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Dear Robin,

I hope you’re well and enjoying springtime. We have old friends here in Arizona, one of whom is a well known sculptor whose work is in several public locations. He is John Henry Waddell, now in his nineties. He has recently finished a large scale work, Rising, which we got see on a recent visit. I wrote this poem about Rising, and think it works best with the picture of the sculpture, so I thought of your format. The figures are in relief and in an ideal setting would be set on the side of a tall building.

for John Henry Waddell

So many windy spirits here
leaving their routines behind
at the kitchen stove, the desk,
the production line at which
they work a living from monotony
and after years with gravity in charge
they suddenly believe in birds
more than in following instructions.
The first ones up

reach for those who follow,
while some look around
from above the traffic and the building sites
and wonder why it took so long
for this to happen. As it tilts away
the ground now seems
unlikely as a base
of operations, marked as it is
with boundaries and borders
and pocked with the craters
from conflicts that continue

without ever having begun.
It’s like forgetting what happened
today, this release, and remembering
all the days before it
back through time. It’s like
swimming out of water,

like turning into music.

David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems have appeared in many publications on- and off-line, and reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. His most recent book, A Field Guide to Fire, was his contribution to the Fires of Change exhibition shown in Flagstaff and Tucson in Arizona.

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