For Dylan Thomas. A Poem by Scott Hastie.

Dylan Thomas

 
Given all we are born to
In this gorgeous sunlit bower,
Whatever bonds we forge,
Even as charmed infants,
Or the more teasing passions
We might uncover later
In this deliciously viscous,
Verdant world,
They all come from this.
 
Our chance of flesh and blood
And there’s no coming back
From that,
Nor should there be.
 
For any alternative
Would be impossibly dry,
Like dancing endlessly
With tattered ghosts
Decomposing
Before your very eyes;
The defeated drunk at the bar,
A broken hearted
Chalice of dreams,
As dry as dust…
 
God knows though!
Tis precisely
Such a luscious procession
Of fruitful opportunity
That keeps us aglow.
 
So, as one long,
Lazy summer’s day
Chases on another,
Let us indulge ourselves
As kings and queens of the moment.
 
Quaff deeply of all that is on offer
And in loving increments
Fill our vessel to the brim.
 
And surely,
Better by far to live like this?
As if without a care,
In good faith too,
Whilst our spirits are still eager
And bodies abundantly charged.
 
Knowing that when these,
Our glorious days
Have been and gone,
Then to sleep contentedly
With angels
Is all we could ever wish for.

 
 
Scott Hastie Poet
 
 
Scott Hastie is a successful British born poet and writer, who has been has been commercially published in the UK for over twenty years now. He currently has seven titles in print, including a novel and three collections of poetry. In recent years, the spiritual tone in his maturing poetic voice is starting to draw increasing acclaim from a worldwide audience, especially in the U.S. India & the Middle East.
 
 
Scheduled for global release, in both e & print editions this September, Angel Voices which includes featured poem ‘Graced” is by far his most substantial collection of poetry to date, featuring over 40 brand new poems never before seen, either in print or on the net. This title builds much more on the mature poetic voice that first began to emerge in Scott’s previous title Meditations and also features ALL readers recent favourites, as showcased on his popular website. For much more info, some spectacular advance reviews for Angel Voices , , as well as pre-pub order options , also go to www.scotthastie.com
 
 
Other links:
 
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Tenochtitlan. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop.

 

Who is to say?
 
O Tenochtitlan, lake city
of floral rooftops, white washed walls
trim green gardens, aqueducts
& clean swept alleyways
 
that you should fall
 
to ruin
to colossal wreck.
 
Your God’s cruel laughter
ruler of havoc, chaos, destruction
that final mockery
you knew too well
to shelter from
city of magic, bathed in blood.
 
*
 
Who is to say?
 
An Aeon
 
a fated sun in its fifth heaven
the prophecy must be fulfilled
 
when they came with their plague, their lust
to tread your sacred warrior
blood matted hair, immersed in feculence
en plein air of unassuaged sacrifice, into dust
not a death of feathers & flowers.
 
*
 
Who is to say?
 
As you tossed your hapless
victim’s corpse, gouged heart devoured
on the sacrificial stone slab, down
the great pyramid steps to the suffering poor beneath.
 
Your captive, who was your self
whose steps you’d rehearsed, unto their final agony.
 
Whose flesh, prohibitive for you, you must share
in scattered pieces on the base maize porridge
in your neighbours’ clean kept homes

      but not to the wretched poor

the phantom watchers, who must only crave for more.
 
Who is to say?
 
that you thought of tomorrow
that it belonged to the deed
what it was to be human.
 
Not so, your new world order conquerors
who raised to the ground & levelled all before them
until nothing remained.
 
Your conquerors, who thought only of tomorrow.

 
***
 
Tenochtitlan, great lake city that for two centuries was the capital of the Atzec empire, built by the warring Mexica tribes of the Atzec peoples & destroyed by the Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes in 1519.
 
Italics. Ozymandias. Percy B Shelly.
 
Italics. Inga Clendinnen. Atzecs

 
***
robin2705
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop, born UK, graduate in philosophy & religions, has travelled extensively throughout his lifetime but now lives in semi- retirement as a TEFL teacher and translator in Spain.
 
Robin was editor of the 12 year running on-line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. In 2013 he joined with Dave Jackson as co-editor at Artvilla.com, where he presently edits Poetry Life & Times.
 
He’s been previously published in a variety of international magazines, which include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N. Carolina), The Poetic Bond Volumes (thepoeticbond.com) and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes an international Anthology of Sonnets. His recent publication of collected poems All the Babble of the Souk published Aquillrelle.com is also available at Lulu.com & Amazon.com.

 
 
 
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Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk. Collected Poems. Robin Ouzman Hislop.

Review of All the Babble of the Souk by Richard Vallance
 
If “All the Babble of the Souk” is anything but memorable — as it surely is — it is so because of its sweeping portrayal of the tumultuous market that is humankind. The “babble” of this bazaar is that of all the markets in the world — irrespective of nation, language, culture or race or for that matter, at the symbolic level, of any manifestation of our nature, be it “good” or “evil”, which are not opposing psychological or spiritual states as all too many naïvely imagine, but rather their subtle blending in our psyche. There is no suggestion of the presence or absence of God or a “god”. It is irrelevant. There is just humanity.
 
The poems, mostly quasi free form, some of them highly reminiscent of haiku, range from very short to a few pages long. Except for one poem and one only, Scale Free, in which we come face to face with some of the most beautiful imagery in the entire collection, and I quote:
 
A cuckoo taunts
high in the mountain
where are you?

 
there is not a single question to be found in the rest of the book. All the rest of the poems consist only of statements, some of them brief, others rather too long for my taste and some even downright convoluted. When this approach to poetry composition is carried to its extreme, it can and sometimes does result in the overly prosaic. That is the only real quarrel I have with this collection. Fortunately, there are only only a handful of poems which are painfully prone to the prosaic. Among these are Mannequins, the whole series Maps 1,2,3,4, The Prisoners, Non Linear and in particular Rust (which reads more like a scientific tract than a poem), none of which have any real appeal to me.
 
The rest of the poems run from agreeable at the very least to the truly amazing. Among those poems agreeable to the mind and/or the ear I count: Passage, At the Party, Here Comes the Moon, Multiverse, The Pine at the Summit and Wind upon a River. Others like these will more or less please the reader. But as everyone knows, we all have our own preferences for the kinds of poetry we like. The poems which appeal more to one person appeal less to another. The aforementioned choices are merely my own.
 
Next come poems which display remarkable talent, such as: After Dylan on the Ninth Wave (which I for one particularly like), Africa North (haiku-like), A Witch for Halloween (in which we find some of the most striking chthonic imagery in the book), Core (commendable for its brevity, economy of verse & imagery), Entanglements (haiku-like), Sequence 1 & 2 (haiku-like) and Story of a Rose.
 
I have a marked preference for the poet’s haiku-like poems. Haiku have always strongly appealed to me. In fact, I myself, along with Robin Ouzman Hislop and so many other truly talented haijin, have composed a considerable number of poems of this nature, many of which were published in the print quarterly, Canadian Zen Haiku (2004-2010), which is now out of print. Brevity is the soul of wit, and indeed of the memorable. It is Robin Ouzman Hislop’ s more compact poems which please me the most. There are exceptions, poems which are not haiku-like or are somewhat lengthier. There are some truly memorable lines in these poems. For instance, we have:
 
from Africa North:
A winnowing canvass tosses corn
and
... as fireflies in the blazing day.
and finally
In the gloaming a solitary reaper reaps its shadow.
(Reminiscences of Wordsworth’ s, The Solitary Reaper, one of the most astonishingly beautiful poems in English.)
 
from After Dylan on the Ninth Wave, there are a considerable number of memorable lines, which you can explore for yourself. The poem is not quite up to Dylan Thomas… a very tough act to follow!
 
and from Core:
reaching my eye’s peninsula

sudden scene, solitary strand
 
All of the poems in this class pleased me a great deal.
 
Now we come to the downright brilliant poems, of which there are naturally only a few. I might as well cite them all. They are Scale Free ( a series of haiku-like lines & almost pure haiku), A Split Second Later’s Late, Laminations in Lacquer, Lucky Hat Day and Red Butterflies, all of which had a powerful psychological and spiritual impact on me. Here are just a few of the lines from these truly remarkable poems which really struck me, and I mean really —
 
from A Split Second Later’s Late:
… a serpent’s spit according to legend.
 
from Laminations in Lacquer, the gripping lines:
Fireworks like a diaphanous lithograph
print an emblazoned sky
on the craggy mountains of the night
where comets play at kites
& glistening the eerie beak hisses.

 
and from Red Butterflies, where we find some of the most highly inspired, truly imaginative lines:
but as a collage on shifting sands…

A sword brazed in a fire
that does not distinguish
between the battle
& the field.

 
I believe we can safely say that the poet has achieved a level of poetic style and content which can hardly disappoint. Some of the poems in in “All the Babble of the Souk” remind me of T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland”. Perhaps the most striking feature of this volume is the poet’s portrayal of humanity, which deprives us of any escape from the darker, more insidious depths of our human condition. The most striking imagery in the entire collection forces itself on the least flattering trait of of our nature, our tendency towards — I might as well say it flat out — bestiality, which leaps to the fore in the poet’s all too frequent comparison between homo sapiens and apes (King Simian, seeking simian), gorillas, baboons and other fierce beasts of that ilk, all the way to neanderthals, Australopithecus and the odious nocturnal lupine, the proverbial werewolf. Lines such as: the hairless ape, go ape, going bananas… all mercilessly zero in on our ape-like nature bedeviling our s0-called civilized veneer.
 
There is also frequent reference to eating meat, and being eaten (we grow the meat we eat, those she didn’t eat alive, children simply to feed her, how they like human flesh, to be consumed by hell), all the way through to witchcraft and Zombie imagery. The dreadful presence of these creatures of the night inexorably lurks just beneath the thin veneer our blasé urbanity.
 
To cut to the quick, the most memorable qualities of Robin Ouzman Hislop’s poetic gifts are his penchant for economy of lines and the puissant imagery of the chthonic. Where these features dominate any poem, they impel it towards the nonpareil! Such poems soar. When it works, it works supremely well. As for the rest, there is much to please the reader.
 
Overall rating: 3.75/ 5
 
Richard Vallance

 
 
Richard Vallance
 
 
Richard Vallance, meta-linguist, ancient Greek & Mycenaean Linear B, home page: Linear B, Knossos & Mycenae, https://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com
 
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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.
 
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To-uncaring. A Poem by Tatjana Debeljački

 
Lost in the grey loneliness.
 
Cognition intruder – rustling from the mind.
Unclear thread, passionate, cruel, is awaken.
The fruit is not conspiracy.
The lunatic, genius of silence!
Get closer to the unspoken.
The analysis of reason- slavery!
During walking, visible shame!
Exciting autonomy,
Opened door, the windows,
 
Draft!
In the mist the stairways
Leading to heaven.
Paralyzed conscience,
Portable mirror.
In the plural against the fluency,
Conducting, behavior,
 
And admit the guilt.
The line connecting,
The road to the spacecraft.
We walk on by in dishonor.
Bronze woman,
Brass man!!!

 
 
Tatjana Debeljački,
 
 
Tatjana Debeljački, born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. Member of Association of Writers of Serbia – UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia – HDS Serbia, HUSCG – Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, member of Croatian Writers’ Association- HKD Croatia since 2009 and a member of Poetry Society ‘Antun Ivanošić’ Osijek since 2011, and a member of “World Haiku Association“ – 2011, Japan. Union of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin Belgrade. Member of Writers’ Club “Miroslav – Mika Antić” – Inđija 2013, Writers’ Association “Branko Miljković“ – Niš 2014, and a member of Japan Universal Poets Association (JUNPA). 2013. “Poetic Bridge: AMA-HASHI (天橋) Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996; collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”, published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-EN with music, AH-EH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008.”HIŠA IZ STEKLA” was translated into Slovenian and published by Banatski kulturni centar – Malo Miloševo, in 2013 and also into English, “A House Made of Glass” published by »Hammer & Anvil Books» – American, in2013. Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages.
 
 
 
 
 
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Navigator. A Poem by Wanda Lea Brayton in Memory of Darcy Trie.

 
.your shining almond eyes
consumed every peach in the orchard
without ever bending a bough
 
everything you’d ever need
fell gently into your hands
curled contented at your feet
lingered long within your heart
 
sunrise caught you wide awake and dreaming
moonlight streamed through your fingers
creating beauty from an empty page
 
warm currents surrounded you
summoning your seductive smile
wind and water reaching
 
for your inevitable shores
you were your own planet
discovering unknown galaxies
we were your satellites
 
drifting in apogee
tossing starseeds at us
you’d laugh
a solemn memory still resonant
within this wilderness
 
boldly echoing throughout day’s eternity
murmuring deep inside this infinity of night
 
a delightful song in the making
a brilliant story still waiting to be told
 
 
Editor’s Note Nicole Hanna, Darcy’s friend since high school (23 years), developed a website for Darcy’s poems, short stories and novels – here is the link for it: http://www.e-darcytrie.com/
 
This further link gives access to her own poetry site & the date of her birth and death as October 1975 – January 2016. http://www.allpoetry.com/onerios13
 
In the words of Wanda lea Brayton: Again, thank you for your request and thank you for wanting to pay tribute to one of the finest poetic minds I’ve encountered in my 57 years on this planet. I could always count on Darcy (onerios13) to provide me with inspiration and enlightenment. I’ve known her since 2004 and she became a very dear friend of mine; she is deeply missed by many others, as well. I believe we’ll be seeing each other again one fine day and will recognize ourselves as kindred spirits, just as we did in this lifetime. I have also started a list to add poems written for her by others and contests held in tribute for her; here’s the link for it, if you’re interested. I’m adding to it as I find them. http://allpoetry.com/list/588544-Darcys_Genius_-_In_Memory_of_onerios13
 
Wanda Lea Brayton after wedding
 
 
Wanda Lea Brayton is a lifelong scholar, a prolific poet and a former college librarian who has been writing poetry since 1973 and columns since 2004. She’s done extensive editorial work and has assisted others with editing, compiling and promoting their own manuscripts. She married a brilliant writer in April 2009; they’ve disproved the theory that two artists cannot live together in harmony, let alone with only one computer between them. Her poems have been published by Clackamas Literary Review, Main Street Rag, World Poetry, Hudson View Poetry Digest, The Pedestal Magazine, Poetry Life & Times, Oak Bend Review, Aquillrelle, Stone Voices and other anthologies. She is a featured poet on a number of websites. A large volume of her poetry is available, titled “The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton”.
 
website: http://wandaleabrayton.blogspot.com/
 
Various links: Allpoetry author’s page: (member since June 2004) http://allpoetry.com/WandaLeaBrayton
 
Allpoetry columns link: http://allpoetry.com/columns/by/WandaLeaBrayton
 
Book: “The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton”
(8 1/2 x 11″, 556 pgs, approximately 1500-2500 poems, print and pdf)
http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-echo-of-what-remains/16114406
 
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You drowned tonight. A Poem by Sheikha A

 
 
oh moon, did you stop a while
to consider, what of the ocean?
How is he to bear your weight
in his liquid, unformed arms?
He ripples over you, trying
to bring you back to life, but
you lay unbreathing, torpefied
like possums in presence
of hunters.
 
 
The night will bring you none
of the justice you seek;
there will be no incarnations
of your plight or adversaries,
your voice will beat like stones
against deadened walls
of overused mercy.
 
 
The sky goes about its job,
unaffected, by your call
for trial, you have jumped
in vain. Did the stars not tell
of the written book?
The clouds have gathered
over your dimming body;
 
 
the ocean roars at the sky,
his enormous waves gush
like a whale’s death song
for pity. The clouds open,
throwing back the waves
into his inlet as you drown
deeper into pitless realities
of a wasted suicide.
 
 
entropy
 
 
Sheikha A. comes from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her work has appeared in numerous magazines, ezines and anthologies and hopes for her work to be read and discussed widely. More of her work can be found on her blog sheikha82.wordpress.com

 
 
 
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Checkmate. A Poem by Tony Martin Woods

 
foto-republica-1
 

 
In the night,
in the solace of her workshop,
the insurgent artisan prepares
for a final game of chess,
as she whittles away chips
of cherry tree wood
giving unpredictable shapes
to a new set of pawns,
 
who will liberate horses,
draft their knights in,
occupy towers,
mate with kings, bishops and queens,
until they all put behind,
overwhelmed by sacred orgasms,
the rules for their calculated movements,
the protocols for their predatory aims.
 
 
This is a literary translation by the author of his poem “Jaque mate”, featured in the book Los viajes de Diosa (The Travels of Goddess)
 
Copyright © 2015. Tony Martin-Woods (A.M.A.) All rights reserved

 
 
tony republic
 
 
Tony Martin-Woods started to write poetry in 2012, at the age of 43, driven by his political indignation. That same year he also set in motion Poesía Indignada (Transforming with Poetry), an online publication of political poetry that he edits. Tony is a political and artistic activist who explores the digital component of our lives as a means to support critical human empowerment. He is also known in the UK for his work as an academic and educator under his non-literary name. He writes in English and Spanish and has published his first volume of poetry Los viajes de Diosa (The Travels of Goddess) 2016.
 
 
 
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“Now” & “Silent Habitation” Poems. “Scavenger–Holding the Earth” by Johnston, Anowe & Kaminski

Melissa D Johnston-scavenger-150 ppi
 
“Scavenger–Holding the Earth” Melissa D Johnston
 
 
 
Now
 
in a wry humorous light
i grow older than i was
a pinch of a breath ago
 
the preciousness of every day
fades with each passing thought
with every coming and going
of a crow cawing at my broken window
 
farther and farther i drift into eternity
drift through the fallow fog
that has hidden my share
of existence and identity
 
there’s a despair standing astride
the threshold of my soul
what ceremony of words or deeds
like a daunted wind could blow
this bodily heap of tragedy…
 
God
’tis your hand that owns
the knife and cocoyam
 
–JK Anowe
 
 
Silent Habitation
 
’tis your hand that owns
the flesh i now inhabit
bones and skin
 
sometimes seem more
like an affliction, body
a weight upon the spirit
instead of habitation
 
why does my soul
insist on traveling these
roads alone, where trees
are bare of blossom
bare of leaves
 
empty of chameleons
of birds and birdsong
 
God
’tis your hand that strums
the small notes from their
throats
 
–Laura M Kaminski (Halima Ayuba)
 
 
JK Anowe was born in Nigeria in 1994. He’s presently a degree student of the department of foreign languages in the University of Benin, Nigeria. He speaks English, Igbo and French. He is finalizing his first full-length poetry manuscript.
 
 
Laura M Kaminski grew up in Nigeria, went to school in New Orleans, and currently lives in rural Missouri. Her most recent interview, at THE STRONG LETTERS, can be read at https://waleowoade.wordpress.com/2016/01/02/laura-m-kaminski/
 
 
Melissa D. Johnston is an artist, writer, and recovering academic. You can see more of her work at http://melissadjohnston.com/

 
 
 
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