There is only love.Poem. Bhuwan Thapaliya

Grasping her hands closely,
I halt my heart
at the edge of her lips
and stare deeper inside
the lava of passion
ejecting shimmering
volcanoes of love.
I let myself slide
through her hand,
easing myself
deeper into her core.
With each cuddle,
the air shakes with joy;
the clouds of passion
grow thicker
– waves of mountain air
rumble past my soul.
A whisper
from beneath her core
– a rumbling moan –
fills my ear
and rolls across
my soul and beyond.
And in the tender
air of love
– destiny, direction,
and time seems to
waft away.
There is only love,
– two tectonic lips
colliding as one.
The earth shakes,
She pulls a flower
from my heart
and lifts it to the sky.

 

 

Bhuwan Thapaliya works as an economist, and is the author of four poetry collections. Thapaliya’s books include the recently released Safa Tempo: Poems New and Selected (Nirala Publication, New Delhi), and Our Nepal, Our Pride (Cyberwit.net). Poetry by Thapaliya has been included in The New Pleiades Anthology of Poetry and Tonight: An Anthology of World Love Poetry, as well as in literary journals such as Urhalpool, MahMag, Kritya, FOLLY, The Vallance Review, Nuvein Magazine, Foundling Review, Poetry Life and Times, Poets Against the War, Voices in Wartime, Taj Mahal Review, and more.
 
 
Bhuwanthapaliya picture
Author
Our Nepal, Our Pride

http://www.amazon.com/Our-Nepal-Pride-Bhuwan-Thapaliya/dp/8182531152

 
 

robin@artvilla.com
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

 

Griefs Home. Poem. Amparo Arrospide

 

Perhaps grief is a home
with a haughty ceiling and a bolted door
where you feel so comfortable, sometimes,
that you do not hear the steel s edge
slashing the tapestries,
suspended on the scented air:
it is heliotrope blended with brimstone,
seeking to settle in the corners;

only the window stands
between the limit and you.

Arduous walk, in silence you listen to the ancient voices,
firewood for this grief
always starved of you,
as demanding as a newborn child
whom you already love.

The door opens ajar and you close it:
There is nothing to be afraid of.

***

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

***

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.

Daddy #2.Poem.Janet P. Caldwell

 

I Remember him

 
Glassy blue eyes

Fingertips brown

Black greasy hair

Forehead high

Child killer

Sick bastard

 

I Remember me

Scuttling like a rat

Running from a cat

Scattering across the tile

 Like a roach on fire

When the lights came on

Better scatter, Daddy’s home!

 

I Remember (séances)

Straddling his head

The Shoulders so high

Calling up the dead

Peering in the sky

Let the dead arise

It’ll stop Daddy’s cries

 
I Remember Abuse

Dancing to the belt

That beat me blue

Decorated with welts

Daddy

 

 I Remember You

 

© Janet P. Caldwell 2003 -2013

janet Caldwell

http://www.janetcaldwell.com/

http://www.innerchildmagazine.com/the-publishers-page.php

http://www.innerchildpress.com/janet-p-caldwell.php

The Hunter (Villanelle).Poem. Amparo Arrospide

Fear, a throbbing fear, as fiercely white
as the forest snow I roam while all sleep,
And over my tracking boots there was moonlight
Over my drunken steps, only her orbit

As white as anguished snow and the forked path
to the castle where my fate had been decreed:
“You will bring me her heart”
And looked at the moving distaff turn
–her face I couldn’t  see, perhaps abominable–
And over my tracking boots there was moonlight
Over my drunken steps, only her orbit

How pale the child was, her heart in throbbing fear
As Snow melted away for wolves and dens,
The forest snow I roam while all sleep,
And over my defeat now only moonlight
And over my drunken steps, only her orbit

***
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

***

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.

Translated Poems by Michael R Burch. (Basho,Sappho,Shugyo.)

(i.)

Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
―for the children of Gaza

I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
 
Michael R Burch
 
(ii.)

Eros shakes my soul:
a wind on desolate mountains
leveling oaks.
 
Sappho, fragment 42, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

(iii.)

The butterfly 
perfuming its wings
fans the orchid
 
 
Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

(iv.)

Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I’d leap into the torrent! 

 
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
 
 
Mike Burch Face Book_n
 
Michael R. Burch’s poems, translations, essays, articles and letters have appeared more than 2,000 times in publications which include TIME, USA Today, Writer’s Digest and hundreds of literary journals and websites. His poetry has been translated into Arabic, Czech, Farsi, Gjuha Shqipe, Italian, Macedonian, Russian, Turkish and Vietnamese. He also edits www.thehypertexts.com.

*Translator’s note: I consult a wide range of sources before I do a translation, since I’m not an expert on other languages. For instance, before doing my translations of Basho and Sappho, I studied hundreds of translations and comments about their work by various experts.

robin@artvilla.com
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes

My Balcony Garden.Poem.Carmen Ruggero.2012

 

On a balmy summer evening

the scent of jasmine’s in the air

and I sit on my balcony

counting stars – just killing time.

 

I breathe the night air

and an awesome sense of comfort

comes over me.

 

That taste of vanilla on my lips

such sweet essence

suddenly turns bitter in my mind

because… because…

 

It was so long ago,

another time, another place,

a different moon, and peaceful nights

and you were there,

then you were gone.

 

Perhaps my fault,

no… no perhaps

I know it was.

 

Some nights, when I sit on my balcony,

I hear the sound of broken voices,

muddled bits of conversation;

so I close my eyes and dream of yesterday

when life was good

 

when we talked to each other,

and whispered little secrets,

and I wish I could hear them now.

 

Some nights I hear the neighbors argue.

Their voices are harsh

and I struggle to remember yesterday.

 

And the guy from-thirty six B

makes frequent visits to twenty-four A,

none of my business…

 

I’ve seen misery happen once or twice,

but last night,

hard to tell who was racing hell

and I don’t care.

 

Night time is cool in my balcony.

Let the neighbors sprinkle their dust

as they go along.

 

Let me just dream of vanilla

and pipe tobacco…

…my own dirt’s under control

neatly tucked inside tiny terracotta pots.

 

Carmen Ruggero©2012

 

 

Free Fall. Poem. Sonnet by Michael R Burch



These cloudless nights, the sky becomes a wheel 
where suns revolve around an axle star …
Look there, and choose. Decide which moon is yours. 
Sink Lethe-ward, held only by a heel. 

Advantage. Disadvantage. Who can tell? 
To see is not to know, but you can feel 
the tug sometimes: the gravity, the shell 
as lustrous as damp pearl. You sink, you reel 

toward some draining revelation. Air: 
too thin to grasp, to breath. Such pressure. Gasp. 
The stars invert, electric, everywhere. 

And so we fall, down-tumbling through night’s fissure: 

two beings pale, intent to fall forever 
around each other—fumbling at love’s tether …
now separate, now distant, now together.

Originally published by Sonnet Scroll

 
 
Mike Burch Face Book_n
 
Michael R. Burch’s poems, translations, essays, articles and letters have appeared more than 2,000 times in publications which include TIME, USA Today, Writer’s Digest and hundreds of literary journals and websites. His poetry has been translated into Arabic, Czech, Farsi, Gjuha Shqipe, Italian, Macedonian, Russian, Turkish and Vietnamese. He also edits www.thehypertexts.com.