Shadow Land. A Poem by David Chorlton

 

The jaguar’s a deity
running away from those who believe in him.
 
He blends in with the mottled light
that falls on rocks,
turns to breath passing through long grass,
and guides himself by memory
 
across territory he knew
when he moved in a different body
 
centuries before
it was settled and mined and divided.
He is so bright now
as he descends from a ridge
 
the land is the shadow he casts.

 
100_3161
 
David Chorlton was born in Austria, grew up in Manchester, England, and lived for several years in Vienna before moving to Phoenix in 1978. Arizona’s landscapes and wildlife have become increasingly important to him and a significant part of his poetry. Meanwhile, he retains an appetite for reading Eugenio Montale, W. S. Merwin, Tomas Tranströmer and many other, often less celebrated, poets.

 
 
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Fruit of Insulin. A Poem by Mark Antony Rossi

die hard
the diet
that turns
urine red
 
watering
grape-stained
bones
of the dead.
 
sugar sweeter
than young women
unwed
 
is far kinder
than reason
spoon-fed
 

 
MRossi
 
Mark Antony Rossi’s poetry, criticism, fiction and photography have appeared in The Antigonish Review, Another Chicago Review, Bareback Magazine, Black Heart Review, Collages & Bricolages, Death Throes, Ethical Spectacle, Gravel, Flash Fiction, Japanophile, On The Rusk, Purple Patch, Scrivener Creative Review, Sentiment Literary Journal, The Sacrificial ,Wild Quarterly and Yellow Chair Review.
http://markantonyrossi.jigsy.com

 
 
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Warm. (Series 7/8/9) Poems by Darren C. Demaree

 
WARM #7
 
 
I took a turn
into the outskirts
of the assumption
 
that each darkness
is a cool pool
waiting
 
for my warmth
& I got burned
many times
 
by the thick life
that never dies
in that world.
 
I left
whole years
in those places.
 
 
WARM #8
 
 
I look twice
at the pinch
of away
 
& away from
me. I am
taken by
 
how often
I long to be
the collision.
 
 
WARM #9
 
 
All over again,
I talked about birth
as flight,
 
but to take the air
& the wind
at the same time
 
takes maturity.
We crawl
though every inch
 
of the warm
cascade before
we ever look up.
 
We shake
for decades
after we stand.
 
 
Darren C. Demaree
 
“Darren is a dangerous dreamer, concocting love poems to his home state, and pastorals to his true love. But there’s always something more beneath the surface: sex and violence, villainy, mutilation, uneasy redemption and troubled ecstasy. These poems are pins pressed deep in the disfigured heart of America. They work a dark magic on the reader — they’re unsettling in necessary ways.” Christopher Michel
 
Darren-C.-Demaree
 
My poems have appeared, or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including the South Dakota Review, Meridian, The Louisville Review, Diagram, and the Colorado Review.
 
I am the author of “As We Refer To Our Bodies” (2013, 8th House), “Temporary Champions” (2014, Main Street Rag), “The Pony Governor” (2015, After the Pause Press), and “Not For Art Nor Prayer” (2015, 8th House). I am the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology.
 
I am currently living and writing in Columbus, Ohio with my wife and children.

 
 
 
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Whispering Noose. A Poem by Adam Levon Brown

 
 
The noose perches

above the mold

ridden door, waiting

for all to play

its game

of Thanatos
 
 

Swinging

pendulum

of fate’s

design
 
 

Slip knot

tied with

blistered

hands
 
 

Calling

to the

inner voice

to squelch

the remains

of a life

once celebrated
 
 

Rotting, festering

Heat fever dreams

of cooling dread
 
 

The dead await I
 
 
Adam Levon Brown (ii)
 
 
Adam Levon Brown is a poet and author residing in Eugene, Oregon. He has one published poetry book out, Musings of a Madman, which is a collection of poems made to enlighten and inspire the reader. Adam attributes his love of poetry to the many great poets he discovered in the school library during his formative years. He enjoys listening to political hip hop music and is a political activist himself.
 
 
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Stay Close. A Poem by Rehan Qayoom

 
Stay close to me
My killer, my cherished, stay close
The moment the night crawls
The black night crawls having drunk the blood of the heavens
Carrying a musk balm, carrying a diamond lancet
Arrives mourning laughing, singing
Arrives clinking the crimson anklets of pain
The moment when hearts drowned in bosoms
Begin searching the path of hands hidden in sleeves
In Anticipation
And the regression of wine too like children-sobbing
When the peevish agitated ocean doesn’t divert when diverted
When no precept is made when made
When nothing goes
The moment night crawls
The moment the dwindling, dreary, night crawls
Stay close
My killer, my cherished stay close to me

 
After Faiz
 
 
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Rehan Qayoom is a poet of English and Urdu, editor, translator and archivist, educated at Birkbeck College, University of London. He has featured in numerous literary publications and performed his work internationally. He has published 2 books of poetry and several works of prose.
 
 
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For Dylan Thomas. A Poem by Scott Hastie.

 
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
 
 
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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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