HURT SO GOOD. A Poem by Mercy Eni Wandera

Editor’s Note: Mercy Eni Wandera is new to PLT & to writing poetry, we welcome the opporunity to host her contribution, visit her website below to see further of her talented work.

 
Such a Greek God, masculine and fine like wine
He wants me, can’t seem to live without me
Such pure joy!
My first true love, my first real heartbreak.
Showers me with gifts and sweet nothings
His touch so fiery, it’s supernatural
He makes me giddy,
Pretty, like I’m the only girl in the world
Often pets me,
Like a pet owner does a caged monkey in the zoo.
I swear am so happy and so in love
But something’s missing..
Comes home so sloshed,
Give him head while dick smelling of cheap perfume with lipstick stains all over
Sprays all over my face
Looks into my eyes laughing and says,
Those are your kids babe
Then he is out like a light.
He plays me like a violin,
Mental and physical affliction
Beat me up black and blue.
I do it because I’m so hooked on you. You drive me crazy woman!
Serves as his regret sorry
He does feel guilty
I will just wait it out
He fucks me so good
Going through the motion…
Keep infecting me with your love
Fill me with your poison
Don’t save her
 
 

 
 
BIODATA; Mercy Eni Wandera is a 26 year old opinionated and phenomenal woman. She is a passionate upcoming writer and quite recently started putting her thoughts down onto her personal blog (https://mercyonmeweb.com), on which she takes a great deal of pride filling with poetry, juicy storytelling, music reviews and literature.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

Life Story. A Poem by David Chorlton

Editor’s note: the following are the the author’s notes – this poem is about the time I taught writing classes at a senior center in Scottsdale.The Life Story class was an extra for me, and I struggled to make sense of other people’s lives I think. Photograph (from a night reading outdoors at a gathering one summer in Idaho).
 

 

The war begins each Friday
after noon
when Joseph sits down and the bombs
fall again on Pearl Harbor.
 

I ask the class who they are writing for.
Susan has three children
and needs to tell them she feared
for her life at the hand
of their father.
 
Edna wants a record of the cold
for her grandchildren
and how she left it behind
in California.
Lorraine was a dancer;
 
she writes for herself.
Take it scene by scene, I say,
enter the minutes until
they are hours, then make days.
 
Dorothy is glamorous
in a lakeside camp
and the sunlight all around her
fills the page
until the edges burn.
 

I grew up in the rain
and it drained, leaving a gloss
on the pavements
and the trains I rode away on.
 
Describe the places
where you lived. Denise
builds red rock Utah on the table,
Edna spreads a prairie beside it
while I try to assemble
an England that used to exist
but I only have the pieces
of a single room
with a photograph of mountains on the wall.
 
Ernest recently returned
to his home town. No regrets,
there isn’t much left.
Make it live with the music
you heard back then, I say.
 
Ernest answers with:
There isn’t any music in my life.
I keep hearing one concerto
with a cello
playing the grief of the hills
as they recede.
 
Think about the future
in which your stories will be read.
Betty shakes her head;
her son does not want children
in an unjust world. Imagine how I feel,
she says, when the bible guides us
to be concerned for what is close
and to leave the distance
where it is, but the family
is ending with him.
 

And I, who value art over children
and poetry over scripture,
declare the lesson over.
 
 
 

 
 
David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems have appeared in many publications online and in print, and reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. His newest collection of poems is Bird on a Wire from Presa Press, and The Bitter Oleander Press published Shatter the Bell in my Ear, his translations of poems by Austrian poet Christine Lavant. http://www.davidchorlton.mysite.com
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

The Absent of Present. A Poem by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Editors Note: the following description are comments made by the author about its work, “I thought I would explain the poem, “Absent of Present”. I originally wrote the piece as a simple poem talking about the Holocaust during the 30’s and 40’s. Some people enjoy the piece while others still hide from the truths of what happened to the seven million jewish souls, and millions of peasants, Russian Soldiers, and innocents from all over the globe. I assigned the ‘subject’ of the poem as the soul of a jewish man or woman, asking all, can you find me? etc.”
 
 

 

 

Has anyone seen me?
I know I used to be here,
perhaps there, somewhere.
I feel so lost, gone like
bones in old dry red clay.
 
Dust in a strong breeze.
 
I feel like a cat nine tail,
standing straight and tall
then bent over in marsh winds
waving to all around the lake,
lost fantasies rise skyward.
 
Depth of a cranky shade
of listless yet excited bliss.
Blessed by the thoughts and
prayers of strangers, love
enhanced by a whisper.
 
But has anyone seen me?
 
Elders cry for the children
begging souls return home.
The Keep of life’s clock, turn
that key and spike the pendulum
humming a sonnet in rhyme.
 
The demons and hunger
invoked sincere repentance
for thieving loaves of bread.
As all distressed lives calmly
inhaled deeply well before the
the ovens inhaled the dead?
 
Seven million souls waft above.
 
Feel the chills of those evenings
long forgotten, repent your worst,
tarry along to knit your burial throw
kiss the ring and release the dybbuk;
search through dust in the corner.
 
Has anyone found me yet?
 
 

 
 
Biography:
 
Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, award winning poet and fabulist who is a three time Pushcart Prize nominee and twice for Best of the Net in 2016-2017. His work has been published world-wide in various publication venues. Ken is an Ordained Minister of the Universal Life Church and Member of the Knight’s Templar. He loves writing, thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night and spending time with family, friends and his cats Willa and Yumpy. Ken has two poetry collections, his first “The Cellaring” Poems from a Darkling Side of the Shadowed Mind and his newest release, “A Taint of Pity” Life Poems Written with a Cracked Inflection. He is the Co-Editor of two poetry anthologies, “Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze” and “Dandelion in a Vase of Roses” all available from Amazon.com.WEBSITE: https:// arevenantpoet.wordpress.com/
Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed Nomini tuo da gloriam!
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

Predator. A Poem by Judy Moskowitz

 
She liked his mind, the way he digested
deep thought with his soft monotone voice,
that could mesmerize, drawing you in
as he stretches out his legs
making himself comfortable
like a Praying Mantis, master of disguise
carnivorous
waiting for the next vulnerable creature
 
trust becomes undressed by hungry eyes
shivering with the sweat of fear
she watches him in camouflage
as he sinks his skin into the sofa
devouring him alive
 
 
 
 

 
 
Judy started playing piano at the age of three, and studied at the Julliard School Of Music in New York City, her native city.
She became a jazz pianist and continues to play jazz. Now residing in Florida, she started writing poetry three years ago, and has been published in the Moonlight Dreamers Of The Yellow Haze anthology, Thepoetcommunity, Whispers in the wind, Indiana Voice Journal. Poetry runs deep in her veins along with Music.

 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

The Master of Beginnings. A Poem by Rajnish Mishra

 
I’m the master
of beginnings; neither middle, nor end,
of steps that hang, neither rise nor fall,
of sounds that are, reach ears mean nothing.

 
Try not to call me, or meet me (never).
Mail me. Mails are good, convenient too.
There’s no guarantee that I’ll mail you back.
I respond or reply at my leisure
for my pleasure.

 
Had you been a little less
than you, I’d suspect you, but you, as you are,
I can’t suspect. If I do, then the end of
the middle comes.
Then, apocalypse comes.

 

 
Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India and now in exile from his city. His work originates at the point of intersection between his psyche and his city. His work has now started appearing in journals and websites.
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

Golden Giant Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

Golden Giant
Written by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan
Translated by Yuanbing zhang

 
Who is sitting in the heaven and staring at me?
Who is sitting in the golden palace of tomorrow?
Who is smilling?
The golden staff in his hand
 
Flashing the dazzling light
Ah, the flashes of lightning
Interweaved over my head
I walked into a crystal corridor of the time
 
I want to open
The doors of gold
Lines of words in the sun
Singing to me in the sky
 
I want to find
The volumes of gold poems
On the shores of the new century
To build the city of gold
 
Laozi with rosy cheek and white hair
Smiling at me in the clouds
A phoenix danced trippingly
And carried in a book of gold
 
Lines of mysterious words
Made my eyes drunken
Countless giant figures
Came towards me from the clouds
 
The times of seventy million years
Emerged leisurely before my eyes
The cities of gold
Surrounded with the crystals garden
 
The sky of sapphire
Sent out the colorful miraculous brightness
On the green hills of jasper
Dragons and phoenixes were flying
 
Exquisite pagoda
Majestical palace of gold
The airy pavilions and pagodas
Standing in the purple-red clouds
 
The laughing girls
Riding the colorful husbands and wifes
The propitious clouds
Sprinkling the colorful flowers
 
I opened the door to a golden palace
Saw the rows of scrolls of the gold
A giant with the haloes all over his body
There were a golden sun over his head
 
With smiles, he picked up the books of gold
Recited the sacred verses
I was intoxicated with miraculous wonderful words
Surrounded with the purple-gold flames all over his body
 
A golden lotus
Bloomed beneath my feet
Lifted up my body
Wafted up from the golden palace
 
The red clouds
Drifting by my side
Outside of the sky I saw
Another golden paradise
 
The leisurely bells
Calling to me
The countless giants
Roaming in a golden garden
 
The sky of the ruby
The rounds of sun
Like the golden lotus
Blooming in the sky
 
The intoxicating fragrance of flowers
Like the sweet good wine
The golden trees
Were laden with the dazzling diamonds
 
The wonderful flowers
Bloomed for the housands of years
The land of gold
Inlaid with the gems
 
The pavilions of gold
Strewn at random and overlapped
Someone was playing chess
Someone was chatting
 
Quaint clothes
Colossal statures
Miraculous eyes
Happy and comfortable
 
The white cranes
Flying in the sky
The husbands and wifes
Crowing leisurely
 
Beside the old man I came
As if he was waiting for me
On the golden pavilion
He opened an ancient sword casket
 
A glittering ancient sword
Engraved some abstruse words and expressions
Which were clear and transparent like a lightning
Dimly glowed purplish-red patterns
 
He told me a metaphysical epic
The sword came from nine billions years ago
Which, was made from hundreds of millions of suns
It was a sacred sword of the sun
 
It could pierce the rocks of time
Open the layer after layer skies
Let the sacred fire smelt the heaven and the earth
Into the golden paradises
 
The old man’s eyes were deep, archaic and abstruse
Dimly shone the joyful flames
He let me take this sword
To fly towards a new golden paradise
 
The huge golden lotus floated leisurely
I flew over the sky thousands of miles away
The huge pyramids
Loomed impressively in front of my eyes
 
The mountainous figure of giants
Walked about in front of the pyramid
The huge pyramids of gold
Were much taller than the mountains
 
The giant trees of gold
Like a forest
Stood in the sky
Laden with the stars
 
The multicoloured propitious clouds
Was a huge bird
In the silvery sky
Crowing joyfully
 
I came to the front of a pyramid
A door was opening wide to me
A group of blond giants
Sitting with smiles in the grand palace
 
A holy great old man
Reciting the singular language in his mouth
The temple was painted with the magical symbols
And the giant pictures of Gods
 
The palace was full of silvery white light
Blooming th huge wonderful flowers
A peal of wonderful mellifluous bells
Made the person suddenly forget all of the time
 
I heard an immemorial verse
Tt was written hundreds of millions of years ago
Related countless eras of giants
Created the holy kingdoms of heaven
 
Their wisdom was sacred and great
Knew completely the past and the future of the universe
They flew freely in the sky
Landed on the millions of planets in the universe
 
They made the time change as your pleasure
Which could reach another spaces
Make a stone turn into a gold
Make the gold bloom flowers
 
They were like the rounds sun
Which could erupt the sacred flames
Let all things blaze in raging flames
Turn into their imagination works
 
They landed on the planets
Established the golden paradises
With their magic abstruse wisdom
Builted the platinum cities
 
I saw the gorgeous words
Flashing in the volume of gold
And the magical wonderful halos
Rotating like the colored lightning in the sky
 
I came to another wonderful heaven and earth
And saw a huge edifice of platinum
The whole city was like a piece of work
Sending out quietly the brilliant white light
 
A huge round square
Enchased some unearthly works
The giants of great stature
Came and went leisurely in the street
 
They wore singular clothes
Shone all over their bodies
With smiles on their face
Both men and women looked beautiful
 
They spoke the wonderful language
Which was as intriguing and pleasant as the music
Some of them run by spaceship
Flying around silently in the sky
 
I walked into a huge edifice of platinum
Saw a magnificent hall
Platinum wall was inlaid with gems
And there were also a row of unusual instruments
 
Their eyes were like bright springs
Wore the multicoloured clothes
Some of them were operating struments there
Some of them were talking with each other softly there
 
I saw a magical picture
Drew the giant planets
Stood the cities on those planets
And there were aslo the crystal gardens
 
I opened a crystal door
Saw a group of happy men and women
They were singing softly
The blinking books of gold were in their hands
 
Both the clusters of flower and the glasses of golden wine
Were on the huge round table
The golden walls were sparkling
Carved with all kinds of wonderful pictures
 
I saw a demure girl
The golden halo was sparkling on her head
She dressed a purple-gold longuette
Which was as peerless as a sculpture
 
The pages were marked with whimsical words
Like lines of ancient magic symbols
Each book was made of gold
And it was also like a golden crystal
 
I understood their euphonious songs
They were singing the sacred love
They were singing great ancestors
They were recounting the civilization of the universe
 
Their city was garden everywhere
Surrounded with the sweet rivers
The whole earth was a piece of jade
And the clay was a layer of transparent sand of the gold
 
I saw some white-bright huge balls
Suspended high above the city
The giant balls were sending out dazzling light
Shone the heaven and the earth as bright as the crystal
 
The towering great buildings stood in great numbers
As if they were carved by a whole piece of platinum
Both the doves and some colorful birds
Were flying in the sky
 
I saw a singular train
Flying swiftly forward in the sky
The streets were white and bright
And any moving vehicle could not been seen
 
Their bodies were unusually strong
Playing a wonderful game
They piled up the pieces of great stones 
Into some grotesque works
 
Both like some giant eyes
And some ancient totems
There were also some strange birds
Covered with lightning feathers all over their bodies
 
I saw a couple of tall lovers
They aviated a spaceship
Their eyes were quiet and bright
Shone colorful halo around their bodies
 
The wonderful space was gyrating leisurely
Like a huge, resplendent crystal
I said goodbye to the unusual city
Towards a space of golden light
 
The cities flashed in the sky
I flew over the layers of the sky again
And I saw a newfangled world
The multicoloured city of crystal
 
The high towers were exquisitely carved
Shone the multicoloured pearls
The layers of eave were painted with dragon and phoenix
Hung the singing golden bells
 
The earth was a crystal garden
The palaces were limpid and crystal
Huge mountains were like a transparent gem
Lined with the golden trees
 
I saw the tall giants
Wore the purple clothes
There were a round sun on their heads
The body also shone a layer of halo
 
They sat up in the main halls
Singing a mellifluous song
Some were roaming leisurely in the garden
Some were summoning the birds in the sky
 
The crystalline airy pavilions and pagodas
Were beset with jewels and agates
A huge jewel on the spir
Shining the golden lights
 
I saw a holy giant
Sitting in the middle of a main hall
The purple-gold flame were flashed around his body
And filled with the whole majestic main hall
 
Full-bodied fragrance filled the hall
Like a cup of refreshing wine
Solemn expression was merciful and joyful
A huge book was on his hand
 
The hall was full of mens and womens
Listening quietly to the psalms of the saints
The lotuses were floating in the sky
Where the smiling giants sat
 
The golden light were poured down from the sky
Bathed in the whole crystal kingdom
Those jewels above the giant towers
Were just the golden suns
 
The golden walls of a golden tower
Were carved with lines of flashing words I saw
Flying around the dragons and phoenixes
As if they were intonating the inspiring poems
 
The smiling giants in the sky
A huge halo were aslo flashing around their bodies
Each of them was both dignified and tranquil
Floating in the golden transparent sky
 
I flew over the crystal kingdom
And saw the vast golden mountain in the distance
Sending out the brilliant lights in the sky
Where the propitious clouds were blossoming
 
That was a golden giant
Sitting in the golden transparent sky
His body was composed of thousands of millions of constellations
The golden sun was rotating on his forehead
 
He lit up the whole marvellous universe
The kingdoms of heaven shone in the sky
Here there was no the sky and the earth
The up-down four-direction were the lights of pure gold
 
The smiling giants were sitting
On the gold-engraved pavilions
The pavilions levitated in the transparent sky
Shining the layers of purple-gold light
 
The multicoloured transparent mountains
As if the propitious clouds were floating in the sky
The large wonderful flowers were blooming in the mountain peaks
And there were also trees of light
 
A river flowed from the sky
And the river bottom reflected a layer of golden sand
Some strange and beautiful birds and the beasts
Also were like some aerial phantoms
 
This was a world of light
Everything was made of light
The divine light formed all things
And the golden paradises
 
The golden giant I saw
Shining the kingdoms of heaven in his body
I saw the cities of gold
Which were brilliant and fascinating in his bones
 
I saw lines of extremely large words
Arranged into a huge book in the sky
It seemed as if they were the bright stars
Constituted a wonderful drawing
 
There was a golden pavilion in the sky
Flying around with huge dragons and phoenixes
An old man with the whisk
Waved to me and smiled in the pavilion
 
I seem to be attracted by magical attraction
Leisurely came to his side
He told me the golden giant
Was namely my great ancestor
 
This was an eternal palace
There’s noso-called time
Holy light was exactly the God
What I saw was better than the heaven
 
He pointed to the huge book in the sky
And told me that was the mystery of the universe
The book contained magical wisdom
Created the countless worlds of gold
 
He pointed to a pagoda in the sky
Told me that was the temple of words
The light turned into the sacred words
And the words created the time of gold
 
He held up a very large pearl
In which flashed the pictures
He told me that it was the future time
That was all of the wonderful worlds
 
He told me that it was another universe
I still want to go to the paradises
He gave me the magical pearl
Let it be my future guide
 
I said goodbye to the holy old man
I set foot on a new road of the heaven again
I sat in a golden pavilion
Lightly flew to the distant outer space
 

 

2.9.1998
Bio:Hongri Yuan, born in China in 1962, is a poet and philosopher interested particularly in creation. Representative works include Platinum City, The City of Gold , Golden Paradise , Gold Sun and Golden Giant. His poetry has been more widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.
  
A Bit AboutYuanbing Zhang,
 
Yuanbing Zhang,born in China in 1974, is a poet and translator, works in a middle school, interested particularly in researching and translating the works of Mr.Hongri Yuan. His poetry translations has been widely published in the UK, USA ,India ,New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.

 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

ALONG CAME THE SPIDER. A Poem by Richard Lloyd Cederburg

 
 

 
 
 
Once upon a time
A verdant originative landscape
Apportioned gems of creative insight
To all seekers, freely, without compunction,
And uniqueness of individuality was adopted as
Intelligently sought after development burgeoned…
It was a magical place thriving as
A field of geodes broken open in wonderment,
People, as special treasures, imbibed as nourishment,
Working collectively to instigate a better world, to heal,
To enlighten, to entertain, offering insight into
Realms unknown…
It was a time
Filled with colorful purpose
Which thrived and shown as the sun…
In it people shared and responded
As a community respectfully
Imbued with aethers scent,
Ancient folklores
Tickling
Tantalizing
Creative souls unthreatened
By another’s inexplicable penchants
And all on the cutting edge of breaking waves
Sharing honestly in whiteness of spirit
Unthreatened without agenda
Without hatefulness
Or any desire to feel superior to all the
Flowers majestically carpeting similar fields…
~~~
But despite all the good
Along came the spider and
The subtleness of degradation
Cast its spell furtively,
A drop here
A drop there
A pinch of leaven
Subverting foundations
Fixed in a place unguarded
An unkind word stomached
2 unkind words getting even
Endeavoring after easy money
Territory pissed on and killed for,
Youth tattooed, scarred, perverted,
Directionless, dead, or incarcerated
Aberrant hoods regarded sacrosanct, a
Melting pot of democratic mayhem flailing,
The prejudicial redirection of Light and Truth
By all naysayers and intellects, a Modern clerisy
Allowing the onset of grays and alternative-people
To lessen output in an anything goes society polluted
With cretins offering execrations to diminished deities
With hollow chanted words, fingering illusory rhythms,
Machiavellian ideas malignant
In shitholes, predators
Taking snort at
The next line of blow
Bopping in blurs of whimsy
Around the smirking golden calf
System bound puppets drooling as a
Randomly placed arrow pierces the third eye of sanity
And all frolicking in and around the Carnac Stones and every
Other megalithic rock edifice where mysterious geo-magnetic
Meridians interlace the Earth in an ancient World Wide Web
Have we been down this road before?
 
 
 

 
 
 
BIOGRAPHY

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. The British incursion of music, however, influenced him to put down the trumpet and 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 is integrative and employs various elements: nature, history, relationships (past and present), parlance, alliteration, metaphor, characterization, spirituality, faith, eschatology, art, and subtext. Avoiding the middle-road; he enjoys the challenge of poetic stylization: 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, Motherbird, and The Path. Richard was nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize.
 
 
 
Books include: 1. A MONUMENTAL JOURNEY… 2. IN SEARCH OF THE FIRST TRIBE… 3. THE UNDERGROUND RIVER… 4. BEYOND UNDERSTANDING. The Monumental Journey Series is a confluence of adventure, mystery,  and historical fiction. A new adventure/thriller, BETWEEN THE CRACKS has been published. Also, a new eschatological drama – AFTER WE WERE HUMAN – is being written. Follow the lives of several friends as a race of ageless multi-dimensional humans comes back to Earth with their Creator to rule and reign for 1000 years.

 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .

Coming Up. A Poem by Stephen Mead

 
 
From under mud
I have heard the colors speak to me,
learned them differently
by setting one beside another.
It’s always the same —–
this desperate beginning
on a turpentine foundation.
I would like to let things be,
leave the appropriate images
where they first were —–
In news clips, in nightmares,
the ruined opening a soldier
walks through holding
some child’s hand…..
Some childhoods are such camouflage
the mortar, the fire-pocked bricks,
& escape through canvas,
canvas & nothing else …..
So that is what these mud colors tell,
& me, what do I know
rising out to scrape myself off
with a palette knife?
I only know that turpentine burns
& that the painting by daylight
may peel like a dream.
 
 

 
 
Stephen Mead is an Outsider multi-media artist and writer. Since the 1990s he’s been grateful to many editors for publishing his work in print zines and eventually online. He is also grateful to have managed to keep various day jobs for the Health Insurance. More can be learned about his writing and multi-media work by Googling Stephen Mead Art.
 
 
 
 
 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo  visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author.  See Robin performing his work Performance (Leeds University) .