A Wintry Postcard of Manhattan in Motion. A Poem by Richard L Weissman

 
Last night, this homeless needle-eyed buzzard
with time-wearied, deep-chiseled features
bleak hovered shivering relentless
round warmth of the 86th Street Station’s Lotto shop.
His blue cold, street-grimed fingers
printed paper coffee cup and shivering kaiser roll
so I gifted him my old black winter coat.
This morning he nodded mid makeshift hovel,
in under twelve hours,
my coat was transfigured,
tailored to perfect fit his junk-torn world.
 
The downtown 4 train floats effortlessly this morning,
fast neath black plaster peelings of ceiling,
ever winding above rat poisoned third rail tracks
all warps into backdrop as downtown mountains up.
Crescendoing dark scent of hungry ghosted greed
as drab suited Wall Streeters hibernate (like bears)
till New Year’s in.
Simultaneously, this life-worn Euro-trashed chic
eyes me with contemplative melancholy,
her scar marred beauty
cracked mirroring
our Maiden Lane drama
of bleak mediocrity.
 
 

 
Bio:
 

Richard L Weissman has written fiction since 1987.
In 2000, his theatrical play, “The Healing” was selected by Abdingdon Theatre for a staged reading Off-Broadway.
Richard is the author of two Wiley Trading titles. His second book, Trade Like a Casino was selected as a Finalist for the 2012 Technical Analyst Book of the Year Award.
 
In 2016, Mr. Weissman completed his historical novel in the tradition of magical realism, “Generations”.
 
In 2020 his poem, “Mountain Bird and Loquat” was selected as the grand prize winner of the Florida Loquat Literary Festival.
 
In addition to hosting, “In Our Craft or Sullen Art” – a biweekly poetry radio talk show, Richard participates in live spoken word events throughout the U.S.

 
 
 
 
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)

On Never seeing a Blue Whale. A Poem by Bernard Pearson

 

If the fetch of death
Should come before
I see you neighbour,
Breaching in the pacific vast,
Forgive me, for in my
Book of Wonders
I once read that a man
Could stand upright
In the tunnel of your veins.
If only we had not stood straight at all
Then the best of nature would ever hear
Whale to whale across
The great, unsullied , ocean , softly call.

© Bernard Pearson

 
 

 
Bio
 

BERNARD PEARSON: His work appears in many publications, including; Aesthetica Magazine , The Edinburgh Review, Crossways, In 2017 a selection of his poetry ‘In Free Fall’ was published by Leaf by Leaf Press. In 2019 he won second prize in The Aurora Prize for Writing for his poem Manor Farm
 
 
 
 
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)

Wings. A Poem by Phillip Henry Christopher

for Don Yorty

 
1
 
You read Rilke on 15th Street,
oblivious to the traffic,
the disinterested passing by,
the text passing
from your passionate grasp
into the ice-gray grip
of the grim theorist,
full of dedication,
not like devotion
born in the hot bosom
of simplicity,
where poets lie
defenseless
without ideology.
 
I could not abide the contrast well,
the play of opposites
side by side on the sidewalk,
one muse held fast
between them.
 
With a pounding head,
I chose coffee in a plastic cup,
caffeine, and relief
from senses pulled apart
in hot Philadelphia sun.
 
2
 
He reads a thousand years
of suspecting truths
reads for angels
stripped of wings,
choking in the dust.
 
No, not angels…
Human, mortal, cursed…
Like a vision
on wings of wax,
beating relentlessly
against the wind,
striving to rise,
to leave cold ground
for warmth of the sun,
to see in the light
truth shadows distort.
 
And in the heat the poet
is brightly lit for a time,
until the thin seams of wax,
glue binding the act melts…
Feathers gleaned from birds
of all kinds and climes,
wings fashioned like a knife edge
slicing through time,
loose themselves from
the poet’s binding thoughts
to float slowly away,
each in its own direction.
The act ends turning one last
hope-filled look into blinding light
receding into the distance,
then freefalling,
spinning earthward.
 
3
 
That I could hold fast,
freeze the falling poet
one instant,
or embrace him once,
but he flies among clouds
I fear to approach.
 
“Wings” excerpt from a 2017 chapbook, “Pizza and
Chianti; The Philadelphia Poems.
https://www.facebook.com/philliphenrychristopher/
 

 
Poet, novelist and singer/songwriter Phillip Henry Christopher spent his early years in France, Germany and Greece. His nomadic family then took him to Mississippi, Georgia, Ohio and Vermont before settling in the steel mill town of Coatesville, Pennsylvania, where he grew up in the smokestack shadows of blue collar America.Escaping high school, he made Philadelphia his home, alternating between Philly and cities across America, living for a time in Buffalo, New Orleans, Fort Worth, even remote Fairfield, Iowa, before settling in Indianapolis. While wandering America he has placed poems and stories in publications across the country and in Europe and Asia, including such noteworthy journals as The Caribbean Writer, Gargoyle, Lullwater Review, Hazmat Review, Blue Collar Review, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Blind Man’s Rainbow and New York Quarterly
 
 
 
 
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)

Mini Poems Chapter 2 el al by Michael T. Smith.

Chapter 2

Moving forward, I want my disease to be my companion,
so she can help me write my canon.

Eclipse

I borrowed the eyes of an eclipse,
to wink Eden under the table,

I saw a secret, which is to say –
I didn’t see it:

to borrow eyes from not a friend, but Mother
Nature,

to see what I can’t see unseen.

Gunshot romance

There’s a girl sitting next to me,
belongs in a Tarantino movie.
But I’m not dodging bullets;
I’m only dodging a longshot kiss.

How Terrifying…

How terrifying death is
in the middle of a thought.
My eyes wanted to slam shut
such that they could defend
against what I know not.

Kindness

Sometimes human kindness
to one another
is so short
as to be nonexistent.

Nausea

There is nothing more repulsive
than the smiling photo of a politician
in their ad,
those papers glued to surfaces many,
like a parasite —
those who themselves are but a surface plenty.

Waterfall

I want my thoughts
to descend
like a waterfall,
such that the droplets form
an image of you.

When…

When every word you’ve used
Too much —
It’s a hollowed word,
Sans thought.


Word Map of a Cat on a Mat

Putting the indexes out,
I saw the cat,
Sleeping with torso outstretched
While I, unheimlich, rushed to and fro;
On a mat, it sat — in peace,
And I said sighing, what I want is that.


 
 


 
Bio:
 
Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published over 150 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 80 different journals. He loves to travel.
 
 
 
 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, 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)

PALM LEAVES. A Poem by Abigail Ayornu

The beautiful leaves lingering like a genius
With its branches having an earring
As the fruits ripe
Her appetite whets to eat the fruits of her labour
Is like a youth springing to maturity
With all her sparkling features
Having hairs on the stem is natural
As it unveils the beauty of womanhood
Not to talk of the roots
Having meritable feets
Standing in one location
Trapped in the middle of the forest
 

 
 
Bio: Abigail Ayornu is a Ghanaian and student of the University of Cape Coast offering B.A English and linguistics. She is a writer of short stories and has recently written poems for 2020 namely: Palm leaves et al.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, 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)

Chores & Crickets. Two Poems by Kushal Poddar

 
Chores
 
The humdrum of humble chores
hunted by us both
because the syllables,
stressed and unstressed, of gardening,
dusting, washing, doing the dishes
or fluffing those instruments of sleep
lullabies our nervous system.
 
“Which song did your great grandparents
sing during the old pestilence?”
You shake your head. The scattered music
migrated to the concentration camp of Lethe.
 
During shoveling snow that swirls
to sheath
the ground beneath for the first time since
the glacial maximum I discover
my grandmother’s canticle – half ember,
half skeletal, some canary’s bones
asleep in its circle.
 
Crickets
 
Crickets mark the absence of silence
or noise, and the wailing sirens.
We count them pass
as if they carry silence
in body bags.
 
“One.”, I say in a singsong way;
“And two.” You croon. The lullaby
or the urgency of sirens
burkes the insects; something
gnaws the roof, makes one itch
to touch the ceiling
with his tongue and to lick
it clean.
 
If you think we’ve lost our minds
welcome to the house of quarantine;
the border of the lands all indoor,
we play with our chores to stay sane.
One flipped and crossed the border.
We are yet to hear the rests.
Something gnaws the roof. I hope it has life.
 
 

 
 
Edited the online magazine ‘Words Surfacing’. Authored ‘The Circus Came To My Island’ (Spare Change Press, Ohio), A Place For Your Ghost Animals (Ripple Effect Publishing, Colorado Springs), Understanding The Neighborhood (BRP, Australia), Scratches Within (Barbara Maat, Florida), Kleptomaniac’s Book of Unoriginal Poems (BRP, Australia) and Eternity Restoration Project- Selected and New Poems (Hawakal Publishers, India) and now Herding My Thoughts To The Slaughterhouse-A Prequel (Alien Buddha Press)
 
Author Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/KushalTheWriter/
Author Page amazon.com/author/kushalpoddar_thepoet
Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and TimesArtvilla.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)

ON OVERCOMING GAMOPHOBIA. A Poem by Despy Boutris

 

Since your silence scares me, be roadkill,
be oil spill, be the elevator that stalled
 
on its way down. Let me learn to love
the quiet; let’s learn to speak without noise.
 
And since I despise tight spaces, locked
doors, uncertainty: lock us in a room in the dark,
 
or in a storm shelter—love, take me
subterranean and then take me, let me
 
take you. You know odd numbers make me
nervous, so how about I ghost the five fingers
 
of my left hand over all seven bones of your neck?
If I’m bonnet, be breeze and blow me
 
away. But take me with you. If I’m blind,
be shuddering breath, be the sound you make
 
when I touch your chest. If I’m oak, be Spanish
moss so we can grow together, so I can grow
 
rings to give you, so you can wrap yourself
around me. If I’m weed, be gardener
 
and uproot me. If I’m week, be -end
so we can spend Sunday morning in bed,
 
so we can bake bread. If I’m night,
be nightlight so I can find you in the dark.
 
If I’m crocus, be rainfall, be honeybee
and, honey, come be with me.
 

(first published in Byzantium)
 

Processed with VSCO with a6 preset

 
 
BIO:
Despy Boutris is published or forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Copper Nickel, Colorado Review, The Adroit Journal, Prairie Schooner, Palette Poetry, Third Coast, Raleigh Review, Diode, The Indianapolis Review, and elsewhere. Currently, she teaches at the University of Houston and serves as Assistant Poetry Editor for Gulf Coast.

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

Cyber Madonna. A Poem by Sterling Warner

 

Strategically stressed denim garnished by
random sweatshop tailored holes
adorn wafer thin sheaths that
bond practicality and beauty,
encase the streetwise goddess’s
thighs—accentuate long legs,
enhance airy, sylph-like movements, while
her satin skin peeks through weathered threads
rises above, basks through the frayed fabric’s weave,
when early morning’s warming rays touch
her strapless back, kiss soft shoulders,
bathe them in deep, moist, honey breaths.
 
The cyber Madonna fingers fine pearls,
plucked from the buxom ocean’s bosom,
like meditation beads,
gives every cultured orb an identity, blesses and
eternalizes each mollusk’s enterprise; the
world begs to be her cybernetic oyster, so
she invites men and women to
text her, tweet her, love her; horny, she
longs for enduring chat room romances…
as she types, her heart hangs over parted lips
like an engorged keystones above
Aphrodite’s passionate arches.
 
Environmentally friendly lifelines
hold their shape then creep like
molasses along a steamy plain:
dignified, resolute, as determined as
the sheer force of gravity,
she bends her elbows, folds her arms,
camouflages self-consciousness solemnity
as loving as a preying mantis’s gaze
whose frozen posture like an invisible cloak
becomes one with surroundings—
cautious as a vigilant caretaker
guarding the tomb of an unsung savior.
 
All want to lie in the virgin’s lap
while she cradles tired heads in the
deep valley of her skirt, connecting
without speaking, a million miles
from another’s thoughts, yet
united in a common denominator:
transcendental intimacy—calculable regret; the
Madonna stokes each lover’s hair that
settles across her body as if petting
an exquisite ermine or sable stole, while
every race, color, gender, creed, lifestyle
coax another Immaculate Conception or ascension.
 
 

 
Sterling Warner’s Brief Biography
 
An author, poet, educator, Sterling Warner’s poems have appeared in many journals and anthologies, including The Flatbush Review, Literary Yard, The Fib Review, “Street Lit: Representing the Urban Landscape and The Atherton Review. Warner has published five collections of poetry: Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Rags and Feathers, Edges, and Memento Mori: A Chapbook Redux.
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)