Robin Ouzman Hislop and Antonio Martínez Arboleda Transforming with Poetry

 
The poets read their work in “Life, Books and Songs”, which took place in Casa Colombiana, Leeds, on 30 March 2017. Antonio introduces poems in English and Spanish, some of them from his book “Los viajes de Diosa” (2015) (The Travels of Goddess). https://www.facebook.com/losviajesded… Robin Ouzman Hislop reads extracts from “All the Babble of the Souk” (2016), written in Spain, England and Morocco. https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2…

 

Vamp Queen Rocks Morbid Fandom. A Poem by Peter Magliocco

 

They do not bless the rose but the thorns
hanging over her portrait
tonight in your gallery of squalor,
your face hidden by chiaroscuro
blemishes from a performer’s life:
Oh those wrinkles & shriveled crevices
 
Now adorn the snake’s mottled skin
a thousand fingers brusquely trip
the malice of broken bones over
your elusive figure the drum sways
thinking of all those closeted skeletons
third world victims rise from gravestones
 
To dance at the Rock concert for peace
& a justice they never got living
in humanity’s truncated evolution.
Their dusty clothing reeks of decay,
little children hold noses watching
this massive dance of desperation
 
As Tove Lo sings them finally to sleep
the night watchman rubs his eyes
while cleaning crews grimly vacuum
the lost sounds of silent bodies,
the peaceful concert now
forever over, at last.
 
 

 
 

— Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where he occasionally edits the lit-zine ART:MAG. His speculative sci-fi novel The Burgher of Virtual Eden is now available in all the usual places.

 
 
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Key of Mist. Guadalupe Grande.Translated.Amparo Arróspide.Robin Ouzman Hislop
 
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DINING WITH THE DEAD. A Poem by Eddie Awusi

 
This is where i have come to dine.
Postmortem hanging on the menu.
A plenipotentiary of the services of worms.
Hot chitter chatter
Of stern looking trolls, pervade the enclave.
They belched after a meal of death.
Yawned and belched again, a fever in Yiddish.
Gazed at me, a clandestine intruder.
No chatter of humans, but muted conversations
Of mouthless ghosts.
Gastric acid running at the guts.
Then I knew it was the wrong company.
 

 
Eddie Awusi is a published poet from Delta state of Nigeria. He has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies. The latest being Dandelion In A Vase of Roses.

 
 
 
 
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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
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Holes. Poem by Michael Griffith

 
Rudderless boat
Butcher, Baker, Prostitute, LLC
Should a storm wash them ashore
Deserted island,
At least they’ll all have someone to eat.
 
The flies demand their lord,
Though a lady will do just as well
So long as her promi$e$
Ring true enough
And their multi-eyed glare she can meet.
 
The boat leaks
The three try to plug the holes
Try to keep it afloat
For this island Earth
Needs them powder-dry and smelling sweet.
 
The land they came from
Is the land of their fathers
And mother Liberty is growing smaller
As they float off in their Sea of Words
And fill the holes until one will die in the heat,
One will die of deceit,
And one will rule over the flies.
 

 

 
 
Bio: Michael Griffith began writing poetry after a life-changing injury as a way for his spirit to heal as his body recuperated. His poems have appeared in Haiku Journal, Dual Coast Poetry, and Ripen the Page, as well as other online journals. He resides in central NJ. https://michaelgriffithwordpress.wordpress.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

SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL (i – iv) Poems by Lyn Lifshin.

SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL ALMOST SUICIDAL
 
how it glazes,
seals what’s a stain
in like dirt under poly
so each foot print upstairs
glides over scars. The
cold drifts, makes a
maze of walks, tunnels
where knives could be
pointed like icicles over
the door way. No ballet
dancer with electric
pointed shoes, or a tutu
of fleece could warm
her. So slippery, her ankle
snaps while in the night
diesel trucks collide
with over turned 12
wheelers under her hair,
their undersides twitching
in smoke like zapped wasps
 
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
 
gerrymandering what’s slippery into space she can’t
avoid, every part of her’s a junkie going
cold turkey, starved for heat. She shakes, a
blue spreads over her. She dreams
of bougainvillea, gardenia, figs. White’s
the color bandages, diapers, feet of the dead.
She wants jades, tourmalines, sapphires, rubies
jags of flame and teal, a gypsy swirl, castanets.
No more colorless dirge of snow burying, disguising,
but heat, a jungle rain where skin smells like
skin and locusts hum toward dawn, a gladiolus
wind, thighs luminous as bones dipped in
tinsel and glitter
 
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
 
fangs of ice, too cold
for even blues to breathe.
White suffocates, a town
buried behind her wrists.
Roofs collapse, cars under
mounds like bodies the
ground was too hard to dig
into left on battlefields.
Ice crystals freeze in the air,
a halo of edges, a tilt to one
side, a falling into the daze,
into the flare of light as
glass splatters, could
blind her for good
 
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
 
possibilities, freeze dried,
zapped, trapped like crystals
poisonous as HIV virus twisted
to a halo. She moves and it
moves with her, a too heavy
cologne heavy as guilt. Ease,
already frayed, freezes in the
shape of splinters. She feels
that brittle, feels herself running
toward a fire only her feet are
glued to glass. She’s a spun glass
rose bud vase in the car for days
hot water is poured into and
she cracks
 
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
 
isolates, a moat of
colorlessness, barb
wire of ice. She tried
to pull from the house
of cold, but the cold
seers, burns where
she’s pressed. Scars.
The snow terrifies.
Where she stands,
too slippery to hold
her and the roof’s
about to bury her in
bed, catch her screams
like lips in lava

 
 
GROLIER BOOK STORE, CAMBRIDGE MASS
 
 
Lyn Lifshin has published over 140 books and chapbooks and edited three anthologies of women’s writing including Tangled Vines that stayed in print 20 years. She has several books from Black Sparrow books. Her web site, www.lynlifshin.com shows the variety of her work from the equine books, The Licorice Daughter: My Year with Ruffian and Barbaro: Beyond Brokenness to recent books about dance: Ballroom, Knife Edge and Absinthe: The Tango Poems. Other new books include For the Roses, poems for Joni Mitchell, All The Poets Who Touched Me; A Girl goes Into The Woods; Malala, Tangled as the Alphabet: The Istanbul Poems. Also just out: Secretariat: The Red Freak, The Miracle; Malala and Luminous Women: Enheducanna, Scheherazade and Nefertiti. web site: www.lynlifshin.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