Enduring the anguish of thinking… A Poem by Richard Lloyd Cederberg

enduring-the-anguish-of-thinking

 
“There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian melancholy.” (IN MEMORY)
 

 
How silently
And stern these
Straining days pass,
Where, at times, in open tyranny,
Scattered thoughts scramble
For measured application…
 
O dismay,
Each day
Embracing (the
Great word ‘WAIT’),
This (at times) tragic fate
Impelling the mind to reengage
With something other than
A wearied wide road
Worn smooth…
Another fluster putting glory on
[Hoping] to rediscover where
Newness is apparent, and where honest
Happiness is more than a shadow of things past…
 
Throughout life
(I’ve) known thinking
That piled-up (at times)
Like a day’s dead sanctities;
Thought-quakes pricked with panic –
Like vexed birds flailing on windowpanes –
Thoughts – in rising currents wild with leaves –
Trembling in trepidation at the tumults of the day,
But clinging to where Earth and Heaven meet crying:
O Burning Lion – Creator, from whom flows
The substance of all fresh thinking;
Help me bear this anguish…

    (II) AN APPEAL…

O breath of life…
Breathe on this mind that broods
(At times) so helpless and unnerved…
 
…From the utmost corners,
O divine breath,
Command my lassitude
To drift from me like a whisper
 
Preserve me from these penumbras
Where despair shrieks in the belly of clouds;
 
And, where from all dark-lipped furrows,
Hubris strolls in chatoyant silk
 
…From the four winds come,
O breath,
To breathe upon
These outworn motivations,
That this slain heart could rise up
To write rather of life than of death
 
… From the uttermost parts,
O breath of life,
Breathe on me that I might suspire
As an Eagle stirring its nest;
Hovering over its young;
Spreading forth its majestic wings
To carry each of them up to the high-places;
For it is your breath (alone) O God that sustains me…

 
 
richard lloyd cederberg
 
10/16
 
“Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Genesis 2:7
 
 
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BIOGRAPHY (10/2016) – Richard Lloyd Cederberg
 
Richard is the progeny of Swedish and Norwegian immigrants. He was born in Chicago Illinois. Richard began his journey into the arts at age six. For twelve years he played classical trumpet. But then, the British incursion of music (Beatles and the Dave Clark Five) influenced him to put down the trumpet to take-up acoustic and electric guitar, and, to write songs and lyrics. He toured professionally for ten years. In 1995 Richard was privileged to design and build his own Midi-Centered Recording Studio ~ Taylor & Grace ~ where he worked diligently until 2002. During that time he composed and multi-track recorded over 500 compositions and has two CD’s (‘WHAT LOVE HAS DONE’ and ‘THE PATH’) to his personal credit.
 
Richard’s interest in writing continues. His poetic invention confluxes integrative elements: history, parlance, alliteration, metaphor, allegory, characterization, spirituality, faith, eschatology, art, and subtext. Avoiding the middle-road; he takes advantage of diverse poetic anatomies including: Rhythmical, Poetic/Prose, Triolets, Syllable formats, Story-Poems, Freeform, Haiku, Tanka, Haibun, and Acrostic. Richard’s work has been (and is) featured in a wide variety of anthologies, compendiums, and e-zines including: Poetry Life and Times, Artvilla, and Motherbird. Richard was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.
 
Published books include:
 
The Monumental Journey Series (adventure/mystery/historical fiction) 1. A MONUMENTAL JOURNEY… 2. IN SEARCH OF THE FIRST TRIBE… 3. THE UNDERGROUND RIVER… 4. BEYOND UNDERSTANDING. A new adventure/thriller, BETWEEN THE CRACKS has been published. A new eschatological drama – AFTER WE WERE HUMAN – is being written. Follow the lives of several friends as a new race of ageless multi-dimensional humans comes back to Earth with their Creator to rule and reign for 1000 years.
 
www.authorsden.com/richardlloydcederberg
 
www.richardlloydcederberg.com
www.christianstoryteller.com

 
 
 
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Key of Mist. Guadalupe Grande.Translated.Amparo Arróspide.Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
goodreads.com/author/show/Robin Ouzman Hislop
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
https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop
http://www.innerchildpress.com/robin-ouzman-hislop.All the Babble of the Souk

Dry Day. A Poem by Anurag Verma.

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The wine shop says that it’s a dry day.
A Sikh God was born
about 900 years ago
and all alcohol shops are closed today
to celebrate his birthday.
 
God does it again.
God doesn’t want you to have a good time.
God doesn’t want you to celebrate your tragedies.
A man on this foggy night is
cutting through the chilly winds
of the capital city,
one shop to another
in search of a beer,
to gulp down his loneliness
with a pack of chips
but no!
God does it again.
 
God wants you to suffer,
like a bug inside a cobweb.
God doesn’t want you to do
nothing.
To do nothing in the world
so restless
and fast
is something.
To drink beer at home
on a Monday
afternoon is a statement
of protest against
capitalism,
mad speed
and career.
But no!
God does it again.
 
I walk on the streets and see
some more people like me,
in search of a beer.
Together we walk
like revolutionaries on a mission,
but soon
everyone gets dispersed
in different directions
like revolutionaries on a mission.
 
I am outside a bar
reading the menu
when the bouncer
comes near me
and says
“No sir. We don’t allow
people wearing slippers
in our bar. ”
I take a U-turn and
walk back wearing the same
slippers, of 9 number
half-covered with mud
and rest in sadness.
 
I see an expensive bar,
where ladies with great legs,
smelling of good perfume
and men dressed in fine attires
Smelling the good perfumes
of the ladies
Sit together,
chat
and laugh.
 
I enter it
and order the least expensive beer.
 
If you want to know
the real taste
of beer, you should
drink it on a dry day.
One gulp goes down
and its feels like
a pink flower
blooming near
your intestine.
 
Sitting alone,
I take out my note book
and decide
to write a poem
so as to not feel guilty
about spending so much
money on a single beer.
 
This poem costs 300 Rupees!
 
 
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Short bio
 

I have done my Masters in Arts and Aesthetics from Jawaharlal University ( JNU , Delhi ) , India . I completed the Filmmaking course FTII, Pune, one of the most reputed film school in Asia. . In past I has assisted experimental filmmakers .Some of my have been shown to various film festival across the world.
 

I have a deep interest in poetry writing/reading . Mundaneness of life and finding the sense of humour in tragedy is something which interests me and is something which I try to reflect in writing.
 
 
 
 
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goodreads.com/author/show/Robin Ouzman Hislop
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
https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop
http://www.innerchildpress.com/robin-ouzman-hislop.All the Babble of the Souk

Poems with Art | Poems by M. Earl Smith | Art by 3valynn

poems-with-art

M. Earl Smith, is an undergrad at the University of Pennsylvania.

He brings poems that were paired with abstract paintings composed by a three year old artist who works under the pen name “3valynn”.  You can view her artwork and the book HERE.

Violet Frenzy

 

Violet Frenzy

The drums sound the song

Of battle, intense, inviolate

Caught in a storm of color

A frenzied storm of violet

An enemy thus unseen

Blind to the naked eye

What is this that should be?

Our destiny we cannot deny

So on the brave soldiers march

Into the shroud of darkness

Mindless to political demarche

The time is upon us

This war, however

Is not built upon hate

Only love, now and forever

Shall be humanity’s fate

Some battles are fought

Over space, resources and land

Some people are sold and bought

For whatever the world commands

But this is a tale of joy

A poem of unrequited love

There is nothing in the deep violet

That can force this undone

Diamond Candy

Diamond Candy

Every girl’s dream

A jewel that she can bandy

A woman’s best friend

A piece of diamond candy

The light refracts the jewel

Fracturing the light about

Show it to all her friends

Her diamond candy she will flout

Pink and blue the colors

That tell us who we are

Yet every girl knows

Diamond candy shines like a star

White line, twisting path

Of which we must explore

Every girl begs

Diamond candy, give me more!

So if you want to know

A way to a girls heart

You have to know her favorite

Diamond candy, thou art!

Primary Ambition

Primary Ambition

The dawning of a new day

A chance to start anew

The path of a middle way

Colors, fresh and true!

Paint touches canvas

Giving us something fresh

No need to have planned this

Art put to the test

Each color with a meaning

This art, pure emotion

Creativity through is seeping

A muse that demands devotion

This art, an unnamed feeling

Joy and serious, true

An artistic endeavors dealing

A talent held by few

There’s no way we can know

An artist’s true intention

One thing for which we must go

Is their primary ambition

Snow Queen

Snow Queen

Her title

Betrays the trust

That her subjects have

In her

To do her best

To care for them

To protect them

To do what’s right

To do what’s fair

To do what’s just

So, the snow bears down

Blanketing the land

In a sheet

Of the purest white

It does so

Only at her command

So that the children

Can play

In snowdrifts

As high as city walls

And spend their day

Lost

In a cloud of white

Summer Daze

Summer Daze

Summer daze

Bright color craze

Try to change

Trying to say sane

Colors love me

Orange and peach cry

So in love

With the summer sky

Summer daze

Covers the town

No chance to laze

The king needs his crown

Makes me happy

Makes me free

I can’t wait to see

What it’s gonna be!

Summer daze

Lights up my eyes

Makes me smile

As the evening dies

Come tomorrow

It’ll return again

Then we’ll be

Off to Neverland!

Streamers

Streamers

The ticker-tape parade

Rings in the new year

Time to celebrate a year from another day

The air full of streamers

A joyful celebration

Of a time a year ago

A time for utter elation

As we await the future to unfold

The colors fill the air

As the party carries on

Life is all but fair

As we sing that ole happy song

Hugs to go around

As we love our fellow man

A bright, joyous sound

As life, it seems, starts again

So let’s ring that old bell

And gather once again

Sing it over every hill and dale

The new year has began!

CONNECTION UNMADE. A Poem by John Grey

 

It’s a long long night –
 
we bypass attraction on the way
to indifference -.
the beer is flat,
the bartender won’t refill our peanut bowl
 
nothing left to say
moves on to staring in each other’s face,
wondering what it takes for two people
to find even the merest attraction
in each other
and why the alcohol-fueled
loss of inhibitions is no help –
 
we’re just two different people
and, for all the liquor,
all the come-ons in the world.,
we’re fated to remain that way –
 
but I say, “It was nice talking to you”
and you reply, “the pleasure
was all mine” –
 
more hours wasted
on absolutely nothing —
 
sometimes I think
life was never meant
to happen.
 

 
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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 & Poetry Life & Times
 
 
 
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editor@artvilla.com

 
goodreads.com/author/show/Robin Ouzman Hislop
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
https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop
http://www.innerchildpress.com/robin-ouzman-hislop.All the Babble of the Souk