Peter Mladinic’s Schaeffer Poems

(i.)
 
Schaeffer Is Next
 
The next vape, the next corner
To turn, the next day, he drove
To Maidenrock. It was a Saturday.
Schaeffer thinks of the adjective,
Then, next, please, please added
To soften the blow that one is next,
Whether one likes it or not. Schaeffer
Thinks, I’m next. He thinks:
The next vampire film, the next
Trip to Walmart, the next bite
Of the apple, the next diver
To leap from the plane and pull
The parachute string to soften the fall.
 
Don’t sit under the apple tree
With anyone else but Kim Kardashian West
Don’t sit under the apple tree
With anyone but Derek Jeter
With anyone but Taylor Swift
With anyone but a descendent of Clyde
Barrow, with anyone whose surname
Is Lake
Don’t do it, don’t sit there with
Casey Anthony, Susan Smith
Or Charles Manson
 
The next vape, the next hero
The next vampire, the next banquet
The next moment, who knows
Anything might happen:
A river might flood,
A tree might catch on fire.
 
There’s the Rita H angle
How she was glamorous in her voice
Her eyes, her long wavy red hair
Her spangled dress that hugged her hips
Glamorous in her walk in how she moved
Back and forth on stage
Under the spotlight in Gilda.
Then, spin the wheel of time forward,
Say, twenty years and find her
Alone in a room. Dementia
Has taken over.
She is cared for, incontinent
Can’t wipe herself or wash her
Once lovely hair. Oh,
The waking nightmare bird
Perches on her shoulder
That was once bare and aflame
With lust, all of her.
 
(ii.)
 
Schaeffer’s Notion of Beauty
 
Bombs turn a building to rubble,
rescuers find
an arm, a leg.
 
In a mall a maniac fires a rifle,
leaving in his wake
dead children.
 
Hate manifestos
all over the Internet,
in the world there is danger:
 
a racist shoots Satyajit Chandra
at a bus stop
and nothing is done.
 
Still, even now, beauty
is with us.
 
(iii.)
 
Shaeffer Wonders
 
This accident from 1965 astonishes
Schaeffer. He writes: I was far away,
but I can see the broad boulevard,
the side streets of my hometown,
and can imagine the Davis car
blows thoughtless through the Stop
and slams the rear of the Edwards car
 
so that car spins a quick whirlwind
on this Sunday night of light traffic.
The lethal turbulence in this time
before seatbelts flings rag doll-like
Mr Edwards from behind the wheel
out to the street, his head dashes
the curb, instant dead. Mr Edwards’
 
going from his house to Lucille
Desaderio’s split-second stopped
on the boulevard, that two mile drive
disrupted with Lucille who sat close
between Mr Edwards and Chris
his son, both passengers still there
in the gold sedan’s front bench.
 
The sedan’s spinning stilled,
the turbulence quieted, still as death
that intersection. I can hear sirens,
see two patrol cars on the scene,
a yellow ambulance’s red top whirls
in the still night, a badge, his back
to the ambulance, jots with a pen
 
in a pad. The ambulance’s back door
open, the sheeted dead lifted in
and wonder if Lucille that night wore
shorts, sandals, a thin gold cross
on a chain and at what hour Lucille
unhooked that chain’s clasp and
wonder if a red white Marlboro box
 
fell from dash to floorboard, Chris’s
cigarettes. Did he reach for one
and with a Zippo light it? Its orange tip
in the dark glows as the badge jots
with a ballpoint and the ambulance
siren sounding leaves the boulevard
and Lucille and Chris leave, and John
 
Davis, the other driver. I remember
Mr Edwards dove perfectly off a high
board, arrow-straight down into a pool
of blue water rippled with sun rings.
Iron-gray hair, tall and straight, at 47
still athletic, he walks out a door
with car keys in hand, that night.
 

 
Peter Mladinic has published three books of poems: Lost in Lea, Dressed for Winter, and Falling Awake in Lovington, all with the Lea County Museum Press. He lives in Hobbs, New Mexico.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author & https://poetrylifeandtimes.com See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

SHEOL, SHEOL… A Poem by Alisa Velaj Translated by Arben P. Latifi

SHEOL, SHEOL..*
[A gender-free lament in plural]

 
Songs sung to our lands. 
Songs of sorrow, screams, or sheer satisfaction, 
sung on our doorsteps.
 
Songs sung in foreign lands.
To those distant lands. 
Songs sung on doorsteps to those foreign lands, 
or songs of foreign lands on our doorsteps. 
(Everyone will, at some point, live a mental exile)
 
Songs, songs, songs—endlessly; 
after endlessness, yet another endlessness, 
with different songs, 
even though still with the same screams...
 
Nobody even thinks of migrating 
away from your catacombs, Sheol... 
Nor away from your songs, either!
  
*Sheol -the abode of the dead in early Hebrew thought.
  
Translated from Albanian by Arben P. Latifi
   

 
Alisa Velaj has been shortlisted for the annual international Erbacce-Press Poetry Award in UK in
June 2014. 

Her works have appeared in more than eighty print and online international magazines, including: 
FourW twentyfive Anthology (Australia), The Journal (UK), The Dallas Review (USA), 
The Linnet's Wings (UK),The Seventh Quarry (UK), Envoi Magazine (UK) etc., etc., 

Velaj's digital chapbook "The Wind Foundations" translated by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj is published 
by Zany Zygote Review (USA). 

Her poems are also translated in Hebrew, Swedish, Romanian, French and Portuguese. 
Alisa Velaj’s poetry book "With No Sweat At All" (trans by Ukë Zenel Buçpapaj) was published 
by Cervena Barva Press in 2019.

Bio of translator

Arben P. Latifi ̶ born in 1961 in Kolonjë, Albania. A graduate of the History-Philology College, State University of Tirana [1985]; MA degree in English Language Arts & Teaching [Graduation thesis: “A Comparative Analysis of the Albanian Translations of “King Lear” and “Richard III” by Skënder Luarasi.”]Postgraduate studies in Diplomacy and International Trade [1987-88]. Teaching career comprises a wide range of locations [Albania, USA, Oman, China] and age groups [from young learners to adults]. Keen to the core principles of the art of translating and poetryspecifics, his distinct style reflects maximum-level accuracy and faithfulness to the original text message, while flexibly and reasonably going the extra mile to add to original merits via enhancement of cohesive interlingual flow, imagery, vocabulary, musicality…

 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author & https://poetrylifeandtimes.com See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

The Cold Sunset. A Prose Poem by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

It’s been two days that no bird
has been in the sky, the dooryard
so quiet except for the sound of an
acorn just fallen from the oak tree;
my neighbor so empty-headed she
doesn’t believe a word the scientists
say; this day in 2020 she’d rather
put her faith in what that louse has
to say. She sees him as an ornament,
something full and bright, she doesn’t
see under the surface like me and so
many other people do. I fear the worst,
smell the smoke rising of a growing
civil war or revolution having wound
their way around my head and squeezed
themselves inside. My oldest daughter
doesn’t like it either; this morning she
woke up with sleep marks creasing the
side of her face. And I hate what I just
learned on the radio; I bang my head
on a book trying to dislodge yesterday’s
memory. I stand there outside my home
all by myself staring at the cold sunset
above me with hardly a friend because
I like to speak my mind. No one wants
to listen to me except for my father,
the smartest person I know. I’m no
Nostradamus, but the predictions I’ve
made over the years have always rung
true.
 
 

 
 
Bobbi Sinha-Morey’s poetry has appeared
in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain, The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller’s Pond, The Tau, Vita Brevis, Cascadia Rising Review, Old Red Kimono, and Woods Reader. Her books of poetry are available at Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net Anthology in 2015, 2018, and 2020 as well has having been nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2020. Her website is located at http://bobbisinhamorey.wordpress.com.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author & https://poetrylifeandtimes.com See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

Ode to Gargoyles A Poem by James Croal Jackson

Strong Baboon, I lost all sense of language 

                         Duck Angel, blue clouds are turning dark 

Anchored Cheetah, chase my spirit away

                          Smiling Lion, Naked Genie, give your lust & longing

Horned Horse, may one day you breathe flame

                          Lost Dog, you have seen my lover

Furless Cat, may my home become yours

                          Hunchback Hyena, I, too, holler at the edge of a roof

Tender Dove, may you pass these tigers safely

                          Galloping Bat, may we find a bed deep in a cave

 

 
James Croal Jackson (he/him/his) is a Filipino-American poet. He has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and poems published in Perhappened, Kingdoms in the Wild, and Capsule Stories, among others. He edits The Mantle Poetry (themantlepoetry.com) and works in film production in Pittsburgh, PA. (jamescroaljackson.com)
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author & https://poetrylifeandtimes.com See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

 

Isolations. A Video Poem by Maggie Hall


 
 

 
Maggie Hall
 
_______________________________________
Completed: Master of Creative Industries, May 3rd, 2020
 
Recipient: Margaret Olley Scholarship, Friends of the University Art Prize, 2019
 
FABLE: The art and heart of storytelling, April 3rd to 28th 2019, Group Exhibition, Writing, Painting & Photography
 
Life in Three Parts: an autobiography, August 8th to September 1st, 2019, Solo Exhibition, Watt Space, Photography, Sound, Painting
 
Lost & Found: Memory, January 5th to 14th 2018, Art Systems Wickham, Solo Exhibition, photographic Installation
 
Gateway: White Mushrooms & Painted Gods, July18th to August 5th, 2018, Solo Exhibition, Photography & Painting, reviewed in the Newcastle Herald, July 19th, 2018
 
https://www.newcastleherald.com.au/story/5532957/the-mona-lisa-adapted-displayed-in-newcastle-photos/
 
Regular contributor, Studio La Primitive Art Online Magazine: Quarterly, March 2017-2021, ongoing
 
I am an artist who can work in any medium, depending on what is required of my ability. The isolation we have been faced with has allowed for transformative and technological connections between individuals and communities, that otherwise would never have been possible. Intuitive connections that have been transformative and healing, challenging and shifting. This is my song; this is my voice.
 
The spoken verse was written over the past 6 months of isolation. The words came through a stream of consciousness. What is seen in the film is a dancer (myself) dressed in a full white body. In the background, a painting I created which in post has replaced the green screen behind my moving body.
 
I recorded myself reading several poems I have written in a layered intuited fashion. All recordings and text are of my own hand and voice. The background recordings were taken during my travels overseas pre-pandemic change.
 
One recording is not my own. It is the constant metronic sound that threads throughout the film. It is the sound of a ‘Singing Comet’ which I have also layered and adjusted in speed. Below is a link.
https://youtu.be/Tyuhh7759V0
 
I have taken a few lines from ‘Frankie Goes to Hollywood’ The Power of Love. It is clear where this is spoken within the layers of each poetic melody.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Vida. (Life) A Poem by Antonio Arboleda (English & Spanish)

Image: Calle Santo Domingo, Lorca (Spain), showing the house where Antonio was born and his mother, Lucia, in the balcony of their flat.
 
Life
 
To my father, Antonio Martínez Manzanera, who passed away on 28 March 2021
 
You leave behind a trail of victims.
 
How many voices,
unique children
delivered to your light,
did you end up strangling
with your own hands, Life?
 
You kept up the appearances
deceiving those humans
who believed themselves
boundless,
who felt accepted by the matter
of an uncanny universe
that turns out to be
just a sad arrangement
of rough stones and gases,
a universe that enslaves you,
Life,
as its precarious
exotic whim,
forcing you to leapfrog
through chosen planets,
and drag yourself
in travelling theatres
for your vanity,
and your honour,
Life.
 
My thinking carbon molecules,
the impression of my spirit,
are not members
of any ruthless club
of inert particles,
of empty energies,
of graceless big bangs
with no purpose,
with no story to tell.
 
Life,
if there exists a divine mystery,
sweet and tragic,
mother, parricide,
redeeming saviour,
defying the dark,
clumsy ways of physics
that must be you,
Life,
That must be you.
 
 
 
Vida
 
A mi padre, Antonio Martínez Manzanera, fallecido el 28 de marzo de 2021
 
Dejas a tu paso un reguero de víctimas.
 
¿Cuántas voces únicas,
hijas paridas en tu luz,
terminaste ahogando
con tus propias manos, Vida?
 
Tus apariencias engañaron
a más de uno,
que se creyó sin límites,
aceptado por un universo
que resulta estar hecho
de pedruscos y gases,
por un universo
del que no eres más
que lacaya en precario,
Vida,
capricho excéntrico
que de salto en salto se arrastró
por planetas elegidos,
teatros ambulantes
de tu vanidad,
y de tu honra,
Vida.
 
No es mi carbono pensante
ni el espíritu de mi impronta
miembro de ese club despiadado
de partículas inertes,
de vanas energías,
de big bangs
sin propósito, ni narrativa.
 
Vida,
si existe un misterio
y una divinidad,
dulce y trágica,
madre, parricida,
salvadora y redentora,
desafiando las artes oscuras
ramplonas
de las físicas
y las químicas
esa,
Vida,
eres tú.

 

Antonio Martínez Arboleda:
Antonio (Tony Martin-Woods) started to write poetry for the public in 2012, at the age of 43, driven by his political indignation. That same year he also set in motion Poesía Indignada, an online publication of political poetry. He runs the poetry evening Transforming with Poetry at Inkwell, in Leeds, and collaborates with 100 Thousands Poets for Change 100tpc.org/. Tony is also known in the UK for his work as an academic and educator under his real-life name, Antonio Martínez Arboleda at the University of Leeds. His project of digitisation of poetry, Ártemis, compiles more than 100 high quality videos of Spanish poets and other Open Educational Resources. http://www.artemispoesia.com/ .

He is the delegate in the UK of Crátera Revista de Crítica y Poesía Contemporánea , where he also publishes his work as translator from English into Spanish. He published his first volume of poetry in Spanish, Los viajes de Diosa (The Travels of Goddess), in 2015, as a response to the Great Recession, particularly in Spain. His second book, Goddess Summons the Nation Paperback , Goddess Summons the Nation Kindle Edition , is a critique of the ideas of nation and capitalism, mainly in the British Brexit context. It incorporates voices of culprits, victims and heroes with mordacity and rhythm. It consists of 21 poems, 18 of which are originally written in English, available in print and kindle in Amazon and other platforms. Editor’s note: further information bio & academic activities can be found at this link: https://ahc.leeds.ac.uk/languages/staff/91/antonio-martinez-arboleda

 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Dead Beat Dad & More Poems by Brian Rihlmann

 
i.
 
Deadbeat Dad
 
my poems are my children
and I’m their deadbeat dad—
I create them, love them,
nurture them for a little while
a few hours…a day…
sometimes a week
if that’s what it takes
until I feel they’re ready
or I’m just tired of them
then I boot them out
I open the door and say—
you’ve gotten all I have to give
so go on now
you’re free
get out there and live
go see what they’ll make of you
just don’t expect too much
 
sometimes they don’t want to go
they look back at me
from the front steps
they plead with their eyes
and their sad little faces
but I set mine to stone
and shut the door
 
like any parent
of course it pains me to know
they may be mocked
or laughed at
or misunderstood
they may wind up
rotting in dumpsters
or abandoned in dark
and dusty corners
but there’s always the possibility
of being found by someone
who needs them
someone who hears
what they have to say
and that’s the best
a deadbeat dad like me
can hope for
 
ii.
 
One Day Much Too Soon
 
she walks unsteadily as a toddler
and trembles as though terrified
always a nurse by her side
I’ve watched her come and go
from the house next door
diminutive and middle-aged
with pageboy hair and thick glasses
but I haven’t seen her
since the ambulance came that day
and I haven’t heard
the unearthly sound she makes
halfway between a laugh and a cry
I never knew which
maybe she didn’t either
but now as I stand outside, listening…
the absence and the silence
reminds me of all we get used to
and all the strangeness we’ll miss
one day much too soon
 
iii.
 
One Hand On Her Ass
 
If a young man
ever sought my advice
I’d tell him this—
don’t kick yourself too much
not over the times
you stumble and fall
not over the time
you think you’ve wasted
lying there
until you’re able to get
on your feet again
and not over all the people
you believe you’ve let down
because the world
couldn’t possibly go on
without you, right?
don’t kick yourself
for any of it
in fact make a habit
of not kicking yourself—
life’s a cranky old mare
she’ll kick you plenty
stomp you when you’re down
she doesn’t need
any of your help
oh—and if you have to walk
behind her
keep one hand
on her ass
and stay as close
as you possibly can

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
Brian Rihlmann:
 
Brian Rihlmann lives and writes in Reno, Nevada. His poetry has appeared in many magazines, including The Rye Whiskey Review, Fearless, Heroin Love Songs, Chiron Review and The Main Street Rag. His latest collection, “Night At My Throat,” (2020) was published by Pony One Dog Press.
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

Three Strikes in London A Poem by Megan Denese Mealor

 

We spent our thunder in East End stagger,

imbibing jellied eels sharked from shadows

underlying Tower Bridge stained Silver Jubilee.

Irish weavers once spilled their angels on those docks;

Leather Apron boiled fetid fog, tempested theists.

You induced me along gashes of geodesic graffiti

enlivening crooked curry houses, inner city chattel,

fidgety railway bridge partitions retailing

kitschy orchards, botanic rainboots

in the shambolic underpass.

 

In a charismatic kilt and Victorian tourmaline,

I descended brick basement bookshops,

jubilating in the heirloom halo,

thumbprint burning your impassive palm.

Cancan robots, unbaptized bohemian Bentleys

depicted the dilettantish din borderless

throughout enameled back alleys.

Electrified with Rhubarb Sours and feeling alien,

I disoriented your voltage in a biting brasserie

swirling with coriander, chilies, cardamom.

 

The last time you lost me in Shoreditch,

I was procuring bouquets of Harper’s Bazaar,

pocketing hints of old-world Chanel,

lacing Queensbridge Road into my hue.

 

(Originally published in The Ministry of Poetic Affairs, April 2017)
 
 

 
BIO
 
Megan Denese Mealor is a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee. She has authored three full-length poetry collections: Bipolar Lexicon (Unsolicited Press), Blatherskite (Clare Songbirds), and A Mourning Dove’s Wishbone. Her writing has appeared worldwide in such publications as Digital Americana, Gone Lawn, The Furious Gazelle, Maudlin House, and Black Dog Review. Diagnosed with bipolar disorder in her teens, Megan’s main mission as a writer is to inspire others feeling stigmatized for their mental health. She lives in Jacksonville, Florida with her husband Tony, son Jesse, who was diagnosed with autism at age three, and their sovereign cats Trigger and Lulu. Megan enjoys astrology, alligator farms, painting, photography, yoga, and volunteering at humane societies and food banks.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)