poet

Season of Black. Poem. Sara L Russell

by

 

sara's vampyre

 

For winter I wear black.
not one spark of colour
shall break my mourning for this
season of death.
It speaks of the way I feel inside;
the chill stab of sorrow,
the darkness of hurt long concealed.

There will be no yellow
until daffodils appear;
no blue until the bluebells,
no pink until the cherry blossoms
scatter their petals
over the long-thawed land
to make way for the coming of the goddess of spring.

Black is the opposite of white,
of the flat white snow;
black’s like a sheltered cave.
Let me hibernate in shadow
draw the curtains
close my eyes.
Wake me only when springtime finally arrives.

***

 

 
sara russell
 

Sara Russell Thanks Robin, Rebekah, Rab & Val… this poem was originally written in 2011 because I never liked the season of winter and suffer from S.A.D., but since the tragic death of my sister this year (early December) it seemed to fit my mood, to post it again online. Trying my best to have a normal Christmas… of course you never know when things are really actually OK until suddenly they’re not, and someone special is gone forever.

***

AKA @pinkyandrexa Poet, Artist, Cartoonist, Goth, Time Traveller. Friend of cats everywhere. Former Editor of Poetry Life & Times. … 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. http://paper.li/pinkyandrexa/1321389290.

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 as featured in the recent publication of the anthology of sonnets Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. Friesnen Press Ottawa Canada Edited by Richard Vallance.
 
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World by the Arse (A Sermon).Poem.Karen Springer.

by

 

Yepper,
–and they certainly do!
Now listen up,
I did not say “ass”
so this isn’t a vulgar poem
but we are talking
an ancestral home
(O.K., thirty-eight years
is close enough)
almost totally rehabbed,
hers and his caddies
with matching vanity plates
(Yes, there IS a doctor
in the house.
“What kind?” folks ask.
Who the hell cares
besides other insecure doctors?)

Moving along,
Social security is their pin money
And, you’re right,
their place at the shore
is in the cheap seats
but it’s on the water,
in the woods
and twenty years paid for.
The unintelligent and lazy
are wary of them.
Still, they are admired
by reasonable, hardworking individuals
because they are the validation
of what is fair and good.
2.

Indeed, they are
a fine and generous couple.
Her weaknesses
are his strengths
and, of course,
vice versa.

For so many years
they struggled
through the vagaries
of her semi-profitable career,
hung in there
when the stock market
went ever so way down
took, and are taking, care of their
senile old moms,
(and ten stray cats)
as they
secularly humanistically
hug trees
and subscribe to
Mother Earth.

You bet,
those sweet bastards
have a tight hold on
the glutei maximi
of our great planet
and they deserve
that firm, unrelenting grip.
Amen, my friends.

Karen R. Springer

BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF KAREN R. SPRINGER

Karen has been writing poetry since the age of ten. She has three, as to date, unpublished anthologies:
101 Speakings of the Giddy Gypsy, High Noon and My Pistol’s Smoking, and Getting There.
Much of her energy for the past forty years has been devoted to her career as an administrator in
several southern New Jersey school districts where she served as superintendent and/ or principal.
Her degrees include a BA and MAT in Music; as well as an MA and Ed.D in Public School Administration.

After her formal “retirement” from public education, Dr. Springer served as Senior Director of Academic Affairs at thecollege level, an award winning after school/summer administrator in an urban setting; as well as Head Master of a private school. She is currently an education consultant who lives happily with her husband of 41 years. They both enjoy their rustic summer home in the woods at the Jersey shore. She also loves going to the opera; as well as singing it. Karen has recorded a CD of her original song entitled, “Bipolar, Brite, and Blue”.

This feisty lady summarizes herself in the opening quatrain of her poem, “The Good Ol’ Girl”:

I’m just a simple good ol’ girl
who drinks her coffee black
Sips scotch as strong as iodine
and drives a Cadillac.

Email:docsterpoet@comast.net

webpage: www.docsterpoet.com
 
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Killing the Tigers. Poem. RC de Winter

by

1A SPRING EASTER TWIT AVI





there are not many
like me left in the world
fierce loners
wishing only to be
free to live the life
we are meant for

not long ago
we roamed
unmolested
scorned by some
ignored by most
but free - free!
wandering at will
on the periphery
of homogenization
able to live
by our talents
and our wits

then quietly
the roundup began
the truthtellers
first followed by
the crazy the poor
the sick the old
and all the others
who could not be cogged
into the great machine
built by the
worldwide worshipers
of mammon

my glorious fur
matted and dull
from being confined
in this small space
(prescripted by
bureaucratic souls
in bespoke costumes
paid for in blood
sucked from slaves)
with ragged claws
i tear at invisible bars
that separate me
from my natural terrain

if i were free to find
the empire poachers
who boxed me up
it would be
a fierce quick end
for those abductors



but dawn comes

and with it

great gray tumbrels

to carry us


useless scribblers and daubers

dangerous malcontents

prophets and nonbelievers

away


© 2013 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved


 


RC deWinter is a photographer, digital artist, poet, essayist and singer-songwriter currently living and working in Haddam, Connecticut. She has been shooting photos for over 25 years, using both traditional and digital SLR equipment. Her digital work is created using a variety of software and includes oil paintings, watercolor sketches and drawings. 


Her work has appeared in print, notably in Uno: A Poetry Anthology, Pink Panther Magazine, Arts Creation Magazine, The Sun Magazine,2River View, Poetry Nook, Garden Tripod and The American Muse as well as in many online publications. 


In additionto her personal online portfolios, Ms. deWinter’s art is exhibited on of several internet-based showcases, including The Trillium Gallery, Saatchi Online, ARTbracket, The Art for Cancer Gallery, Copperflame Gallery, b-uncut and Artists, Writers and Photographers in the Raw. ABC has licensed several of her paintings to be used as set decor on the television series Desperate Housewives.


Ms. deWinter is honored to be the first digital artist invited to exhibit her work at an October 2011 solo show the Arts of Tolland Gallery in Tolland, Connecticut.




 




 

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Transitus Veneris. Poem. Audio. Howard D Moore.
		

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Author Notes




Hear it read by the author- Soundcloud


http://snd.sc/L3SJFQ


***


the calculus of certainty






upon a rotational spin,


 a speck in space and time


 such vast circumstances


 reduced to the precision of man-made clocks;


 we see beyond sight


 reckon beyond our reach, measure


 vague ponderables–


 reason is a lever, long enough


 to heft the weight of time


  


 and Venus


  


 so few days apart after so many years in wait


 love and loss, heart filled, heart empty


 when life is a day glowing like the Sun


 from rise to setting , to the spike of light


 wisped away,  last hiss of a candle


 pinched to blackness by the sea.


 When you sit near stars that love us from afar


 when you are Love, when I want you near


 yet you are distant and the end of day


 comes to clear the slate I have been given.


 When you travel across the space of my heart


 and life lifts away, into the space of


 mysteries without solution


 when you are yet Love, and I


 am soon gone; 


  


 and Vee-nus!


  


 a name so old, it brings the face


 of forgotten Gods, when


 ruins were young, when an ancient word


 finds new dark-skinned divinity, those curved stone


 statues blush envy.


 On pavement filled by busy feet in day,


 quicker steps in neon red night and


 Latin beats, rappin’- booty shakin’


 blue jean seams stretched to the point


 of sheeeeer delight!


 When a smile is a deep invitation, ohhh so fine


 in the haze of wine and smoky laughter


 She is Love in store-bought hair, half a skirt


 deep mascara stares and flirts, a stroll


 that melts the Saint within man


 and waist moves that mans-up the boy


 Muse-ic makes the hips roll, waist


 revolve- an orbit of bends and side- to- side  slides


 a blouse that wears only part of her…


 She is a certain kind of Love for few who dare


 for every wish of  tropical air without cares


 oblivion becomes  a thing far, far beyond


 some hours, some sweet sweat,  heavy breaths,


 and wanting…“Venus…Baby…”


  


 “come cross the flo’ with me…”




***


New year 2012


***


Bio


Howard D.Moore resides in Detroit, MI., USA.  He is a writer and government relations  consultant. His professional, educational  background is in law and public policy. He writes poetry, political and social commentary blogs,  literary styles in fiction, poetry, prose,and Eastern forms . He has published two books of prose, and several magazine articles  and anthologies. His current projects include a novel, and a book of poetry expected in January, 2014.




—

 

Nothing moves so fast as your future becoming your past






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Could I But Show You.Poem.Sonnet.Corey Harvard
		

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***

Could I but show you how a word can grow

into a thorn that lodges deep within 

the softest places of the hardest men,

you wouldn't be so quick to let one go.

In silences, defenseless and alone,

security and self-esteem descend;

ambitions cease and aspirations bend

in victims of a fatal verbal blow. 


 


If I could show you how a word can rise —


bring laughter, bring excitement, bring rapport,


bring nations out of poverty and war —


perhaps your speech would seek a different guise.


What problems of this world could be deterred


if we revered the value of a word?




***


Corey Harvard Image


Corey Harvard  from Mobile, Alabama, (B.A. English & Philosophy, University of South Alabama, 2012), is a young American musician, pianist, vocalist and poet. He began writing verse at age 10 and music at age 12 when his parents bought him a keyboard. He went on to win his 8th grade talent show by performing an original song. Since then, he has published poetry and prose in journals including Tales of the Talisman, Pirene’s Fountain and Sense Magazine, and he has also been featured in Alabama’s prestigious Literary Mobile, an anthology of established (historical and contemporary) southern writers. He has served as associate editor of Sonnetto Poesia and Editor-in-Chief of Oracle Fine Arts Review. In 2009, he was a Pushcart Prize nominee.


***


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Let the Sun set on me.Poem. Bhuwan Thapaliya.
		

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Virgin dry is my throat

 and anaemic the veins


that supply my semen

 to your embryo.


I cannot ejaculate

 a lover’s warmth in your womb


nor can I grab your breast

 as they grasp the deity’s forehead.


The lips of the overhead sky bulb

 are seeping the blood out of me,


and my tongue

 is parched and lonely.


Let the sun

 set on me.


Let its crimson sweat of ferocity

 spill all over me.


My heart is ready

 for the chill of the darkness.


I put my best shirt on

 and wait for a bride of the light.


Let the darkness

 rise from me,


the darkness that conceals

 the bruises of the light.


 

 

 


Bhuwan Thapaliya works as an economist, and is the author of four poetry collections. Thapaliya’s books include the recently released Safa Tempo: Poems New and Selected (Nirala Publication, New Delhi), and Our Nepal, Our Pride (Cyberwit.net). Poetry by Thapaliya has been included in The New Pleiades Anthology of Poetry and Tonight: An Anthology of World Love Poetry, as well as in literary journals such as Urhalpool, MahMag, Kritya, FOLLY, The Vallance Review, Nuvein Magazine, Foundling Review, Poetry Life and Times, Poets Against the War, Voices in Wartime, Taj Mahal Review, and more. 


***

Bhuwanthapaliya picture

Author

Our Nepal, Our Pride

http://www.amazon.com/Our-Nepal-Pride-Bhuwan-Thapaliya/dp/8182531152


***


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A Hard Rain. Poem. Candice James
		

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A hard rain pelts down

Graying the sky to charcoal

The Quay is deserted,

And somehow out of key.


I stand at the guard rail,

 Collar pulled tight,

 Staring at the cold river.

 The wind whirls and swirls

 Inviting the river into its frenzy.

 The river resists, then slowly submits.

 Small ripples at first

 Cresting to waves;

 Synchronicity somehow present

 In this simple chaos.


A young girl

 In a pink fleece Parka

 And well worn Mukluks

 Passes by;

 Her eyes as vague

 As fading winter sparks


The day dissolves


Night chews on the last remnants

 Of a non-descript twilight.

 Appetite sated,

 She licks her lips

 And the thunder rolls

 In the bruised atmosphere

 Of a hard, hard rain


 


 

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.candicejames.com


 


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Downtown Waco. Midnight. Heidegger Looks at the Moon. Poem. Sonnet. R.W.Haynes
		

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The Bush Library really should be here,


For each dead city needs a laugh or two,


A little something so the skeletons can jeer


On nights like this when there’s little to do


And nothing to haunt but the haunting lack of hope


Where words are born to sputter anxiously


Toward brief life in some half-bungled trope


Irrecoverable etymologically.


Is there another cyclone on its way


To re-mix this desperation here?


To make words and deeds mutually obey


A dim correspondence–never more clear


Than the misshapen moon cruising so high


Over the Brazos in the hopeless Waco sky?


***


On the Savannah River 2013


***


R. W. Haynes has taught literature at Texas A&M International University since 1992.  His recent interests include the early British sonnet, and he is completing a second book on the Texas playwright and screenwriter Horton Foote (1916-2009).  In his poetry, Haynes seeks to celebrate life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness without sounding any more dissonant notes than he has to.  In fiction, he works toward grasping that part of the past which made its mark on his generation.  He enjoys teaching drama, especially the Greeks, Ibsen, and Shakespeare, and he devoutly hopes for a stunning literary Renaissance in South Texas.


***


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