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The Poetry of Pop: Nine Poets Pick Their Favorite Song Lyrics March 30, 2017

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The Poetry of Pop: Nine Poets Pick Their Favorite Song Lyrics

Poem – Letter to an Estranged Middle-Aged Son by Donal Mahoney December 9, 2016

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Letter to an Estranged Middle-Aged Son
by
Donal Mahoney

The older I get the more I realize
the importance of getting things done
before your mother announces another

assignment to roust me from my hammock.
As you know I’ve never been much
around the house, my skills limited to

raking leaves and shoveling snow,
menial tasks I haven’t missed in years.
Probably not since you lived here.

Your mother, of course, grew up on a farm
and has always liked getting things done.
But she’s getting older too. In fact,

she recently had a big operation
and I’ve pitched in beyond my skill set
despite new stents and a pacemaker.

But even though we just put away
the walker, cane and wheelchair,
all three are on alert so I believe

it’s best to let you know that
one of these days the one who’s left
will ring you up and let you know.

———–

BIO: 

One of many nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had poetry and fiction appear in various publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of his work can be found at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html

Poem – Talking to Actresses by Helen Burke September 2, 2016

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Talking to Actresses

We meet the four of them in the green room ..
And they seem amazed we are there .
They are each like jewelled butterflies , fluttering and vying
For attention .  But if you ask ….
They will deny this .
They are modest , unassuming ..one wears a child’s bow in her hair.
Another patent leather shoes.  The fourth older one looks glum.
Already they have started being nice to her …
So she knows its all over ..bar the shouting .
The pretty one makes us coffee but forgets to put the coffee in ..
It’s all such a joke to her.
The famous guy comes in …they all slink past him , brush a breast , a leg against him
In case he’s in any doubt.
He’s not.
We try and ask about the play ..but they are like bucking broncos
And we get nowhere.
The pretty one is nibbling a lettuce and air sandwich ..the older one munches down
A massive Cornish pasty .  The other two share couscous like some kind
Of shamanic ritual .  Hollywood ..Hollywood ..one laughs …
That’s where I’m bound.  Her voice is like a fork being put back in a drawer
The wrong drawer.  Charming is as charming does the older one mutters ,
Bits of pasty clinging to her leotard.
They all cross and uncross legs like a disease and flick their hair
And smile as if we are mental patients ..to be tolerated as an interlude
In their incredible journey lives.
They will not remember us within the hour .
The spotlight shines from their unforgiving eyes.
A tree falls in the room .
A dead body is lugged in and left to bleed.
They step over both .  Kick their legs up high .
Head for the beckoning stage.

BIO:

Helen Burke has been writing poetry for 42 years she also writes short stories , plays, comedy sketches and does painting and visual art. She has a new collection called “Today the Birds Will Sing ” coming out with Valley Press in the next couple of months.

Her work has been widely published and anthologised.  She has won a number of competitions such as Manchester International, Norwich, Suffolk, the Yorkshire prize, Southport Comedy, Jersey, Devon & Dorset, Torbay and many others.

Her work has been published and distributed in America by www.origamipoems.com, based on Rhode Island, she has 15 chap books with them, having formerly read at Roots in Providence. She has recently been made an honorary member of Ocean State Poets

 

Poem by Donal Mahoney – Baton Rouge, St. Paul, Dallas August 13, 2016

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Years ago Rodney King,
after his beating in LA,
softly asked America,

“People, can we all just
get along? Can we stop
making it horrible for
older folks and kids?”

Not yet, Rodney.
But rest in peace.
We will try again.

BIO:

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri. Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/ and some of his newer work at Eye On Life Magazine.

Poem – Ten Candles by B.Z. Niditch July 16, 2016

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TEN CANDLES

 Riding on my bicycle
on the Boston Common
with a broken right arm
and break in shoulder
after soccer practice
hurting from a bully’s wound
in days of Mercurochrome
still smarting on your body
of thought when left
with a shadow of memory
yet your anger smolders
over a first leather jacket
from your birthday party
after seeing
a James Dean movie
here on a June day
you walk with a free ticket
to the Fine Arts museum
a pug on the sidewalk
accompanies you
with a Van Gogh postcard
from your Dutch uncle
still intact
in your side pocket
by your broken sunglasses
from today assaults
of an insensate encounter
you climb up
the art house steps
waiting to visit the moderns
taking out your oils,
notebook and poet’s pen
unwilling to take any blame
for being a child.
BIO:
    BZ Picture 12

B.Z. NIDITCH is a poet, playwright, fiction writer and teacher.

His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including:
Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and Art; The Literary Review; Denver Quarterly; Hawaii
Review; Le Guepard (France); Kadmos (France); Prism International; Jejune (Czech
Republic); Leopold Bloom (Budapest);  Antioch Review; and Prairie Schooner, among others.

He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.

Happy Fourth of July… July 4, 2016

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to all our followers in the USA!

flagcupcakes

Poem by Rehan Qayoom – Upon Clifton Bridge July 2, 2016

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Upon Clifton Bridge …

After Parveen Shakir.

I have said that Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity: the emotion is contemplated till by a species of reaction the tranquillity gradually disappears, and an emotion, kindred to that which was before the subject of contemplation, is gradually produced, and does itself actually exist in the mind.

William Wordsworth. Preface to Lyrical Ballads. 1801, 1802.

 

Clifton Bridge
Well-travelled by the city Elite
Upon which the high and mighty Traffic Policemen
Are seen to perform their duties
Around the clock
Including, 6 or 7 undercover
Not even an unconcerned bird may flit its wings around them!
I saw her!
In a deep ochre
Gold sequined dress
Every fold aligned!
Her Lipstick so dark
That my eyes were drenched in it
Her Foundation dripping in the mid-May sun
Seemed to say
No amount of money can buy this*
Her face caked by the smoke of a cigarette
Stuck between her fingers drowned in clear blue Nail Polish-drowned fingers
With those captivating glances and such gesticulations
She could easily have been arrested by the Police under Clause 294
Parked at the Traffic Signal I thought
Any time now, this PC will hand over an arrest warrant
To this heroine of one of Minto’s novels
But before he could Book her
A car with a navy-blue Number Plate
Parked up
And she disappeared into it
Along with her Clause 294 persona
While the plain-clothed P. C.
Stood aghast!

* Literally ‘Wealth and beauty do not see eye to eye’.

BIO:

Rehan Qayoom is a poet of English and Urdu, editor, translator and archivist, educated at Birkbeck College, University of London. He has featured in numerous literary publications and performed his work internationally.  He is the author of About Time.


 

Poem by Donal Mahoney – Black Butterfly June 8, 2016

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Black Butterfly

There never was
anyone like Ali
between the ropes
or facing the public.

In the ring and out
we saw a man
float like a butterfly,
sting like a bee.

He was to boxing
what Astaire
was to dancing,
what Sinatra was
to singing.
A nonpareil.

But no one stopped
Fred from dancing
or Frank from singing
because of a war
Ali and many
never understood.

 

——————————–
BIO

 Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri. Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/ and some of his newer work at Eye On Life Magazine.

 
———————————-

Poems by Irsa Ruçi – The other’s self and Poet’s home June 3, 2016

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The other’s self*

I am scared by the winds blowing in this unclear time
Living in the mist
Without asking “Why?”
Seeking the cause at the other
Strange happiness
Strange suffering
Strange betrayal
Myself mentioned in formless form
Borrowed from sufferin’!

I am scared of what my eyes witness everyday
People drowned in rancour
Pulled from the vanity of greed
Formless, vicious.

Oh… with words I will break down barricades:
Enough already!
Give your life the chance
To find happiness in the air
To fight for freedom with feelings’ strength
To glory of being
HUMAN!

Fate is destined by Zeuses
Low, very low beings are dozen
Daubed with the poverty’s mud
Without a sound,
Without a single sound?!

Meanwhile beyond the fence rest the poets
Who into dreams rebel to other’s self!

© Irsa Ruçi

(* I. First published in BLUEPEPPER and In Between Hangovers)

Poet’s home

I started wandering in streets I don’t know,
They don’t even know me
The strange streets around myself travel,
It will be easier a long uninterrupted way
Than the short ways that faster are forgotten.

In the world’s shell will be hided
Drunk by the poetic rhymes something to write and leave
And I want that everyone who visits my orphan shelter
To leave there a note.

In a new continent I want to be thrown by the wave of life
In an unhabituated continent
There I want to be build my poetic home,
Like Robinson Crusoe, alone to project:
From the slavers’ shackles, with foundations to build freedom.

The hours of waiting were delayed by expectance
Invisibly the divine creature came by himself
With the lines in my back, like a turtle, I got
Because art won’t forgive, as forgiveness won’t wait.
There’s no time for repentance in our path toward loneliness.
I discovered that after was only my shadow
When I wanted to grab like a unique body
Suddenly broke, crumbled in thousands of times.I prayed for mercy even though my consciousness wouldn’t listen
I admit that poets only by devils could create
But from uncarefulness he couldn’t act
To poets were given soul to feel
What others had but gripped them.

Every human in the night shelter
In his own warm home,
While every poet is an unstoppable traveller
That carries all world in his chest…

© Irsa Ruçi

 

My photo 2BIO:

Irsa Ruçi is an Albanian Writer, Speechwriter and Lecturer. She was born in Tirana (Albania), in 1990. Her books of poetry include Trokas mbi ajër (poems and essays), 2008 and Pështjellim (poetry), 2010.

She has been published in anthologies: Antologji, 2007; I kërkoj agimit vesën, 2008; Antologji poetike “Kushtuar dashurisë”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Udha”, 2014; Antologji poetike, 2014; “Malli dhe brenga nga distancat”, 2014; Antologji poetike “Qyteti”, 2014; Poeteca, 2015; and her works has appeared in a number of print and online national and international magazines, including Sling Magazine, Issue 5; Ann Arbor Review, Issue 15; Poeteca Magazine, Issue 35; Aquillrelle Anthology, 2015; Aquillrelle Anthology, 2016; Metaphor Magazine Issue 5; The Commonline Journal, Issue 4/22; A New Ulster poetry Anthology, April 2016; Best Poems Encyclopedia; Issuu April 2016; In Between Hangovers, May 2016; BLUEPEPPER, May 2016; Duane’s PoeTree, May 2016; CREATIVE TALENTS UNLEASHED, 8 May 2016, Tuck Magazine, 12 May 2016;  Whispers… 2016; Dead Snakes Magazine; – RANDOM POEM TREE, 13 May 2016; RANDOM POEM TREE, 16 May 2016; In Between Hangovers, 14 May 2016;  In Between Hangovers, 24 May 2016; SCARLET LEAF REVIEW, May Issue;  Ashvamegh Magazine (Ashvamegh Indian Journal of English Literature), The Beatnik Cowboy, 19 May;  Dissident Voice, 22 May etc.

Among many awards, she has received the first prize in poetry, in competition “Anthology 2007”, as the best poet in Albania.

 

 

 

 

Poems by Anca Mihaela Bruma – Of So Much Yearning!…, My Life and When I found the Love footprints… May 19, 2016

Posted by vscorpiozine in love poems, poems, poetry, romantic poems, romantic poetry, Uncategorized, Veteran Poets.
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Of So Much Yearning!…

Love!… of so much yearning
I do not know how to count my steps anymore…
of so much longing I grew a forest
on the verge of the World…
of so much craving even the soul
has taken the color of Time!…

Life!.. keeps biting me voluptuously,
wakefulness has become my domain,
because of so many summers
with grizzled blizzards…

Love!… of so much yearning
even our distances have become slippery…
of so much longing I have learned
the rhythm of the occurrences,
to scratch the trees’ crusts
so my soul may remain untarnished,
no fears to enclose me
and the sight of our route not to be adrift…

Of so much longing, my Love
even nights lost their prominence,
I wriggle among silenced innuendos
but my Love bloomed in a vertex
and an asymmetrical parabola surges its sensations…

Love!… of so much yearning
I have gathered belated dawns,
meeting you only at the junction
between deja vu and wingbeats…

I master each day how to love my tears
and plant unspoken seeds so,
your Sky will make them grow…

On the verge of my World
the Oblivion has just started!…

Just a stone remains bewildered!
Even the night smells of amnesia…

In this bittersweet longing
my heart took your heart’s frame!…

My Life…

My Life,
paints every moment,
with a different stroke…

Each day I dress
with Myself, so nights,
can find me no more…

I grabbed the edge
of the World, so
I will not be beyond
your touch…

I taught my tree
how to bloom, so
my words will not fall
from its branches…
anymore…

I listened to your Silence,
lighting my inner context
And I knew… no more
fictional characters
in a liquefied Reality…

just a rhythmical harmony
within heart symmetry…

I plunged Myself
in the aesthetics of Mathematics,
Now… I can count
different sizes of Life…
backwards and onwards…
with no remaining dots…

When I found the Love footprints…

When I found the Love footprints
I recessed… from Life…
Ceased my earthy sojourn…

I stumbled no more
amidst so many lexicons of forgetting…
Lost the cryptic utterances
of what could, might or should be,
the Truth… or False!…

I am not seeking the finding
as I do not find the seeking…
Still…
You see yourself outside you,
I see you inside myself…

When Love footprints were found
I stumbled no more between dots,
I just breathed
one thousand years in one day,
and quarters of heavens were built
inside my cathartic calibrations…

The eyes of a thinker
and the feeling of a knower,
a hearer of unknown traces,
the multiples within simplicity
and eternity’s dips
of these countless realities.

When I found the Love footprints
The absence became present,
and… I know:
I am pre-sent to BE
in this everlastingness fate
which sounds like a formula.

No heart geometrics,
no inner alphabets…
Simply,
a sense of nothingness
in your everyness…

Future selves
or…
secret second selves,
connecting derivative patterns
and mathematical probabilities
in a Pythagorean sphere of harmony.

 

AncaBIO:

Educator, lecturer, performance poet, eclectic thinker, mentor with staunch multi-cultural mindset and entrepreneurial attitude, Anca Mihaela Bruma considers herself a global citizen, having lived in four continents. Her eclecticism can be seen in her intertwined studies, she pursued: a Bachelor of Arts (Romania) and a Master of Business Administration (Australia).

Anca labels her own writings as being “mystically sensual”, a tool and path for women to claim their own inner feminine powers. She uses poetics as a form of literary education, self-discovery and social engagement.

Multi-awarded on four continents

Awarded during two Global Poetry Festivals Festivals (Italy, Turkey, Canada)
Published in over 18 anthologies of poetry in 1.5 years
2016 – Three times called the Poet of the Month on 3 different global poetry platforms
2016 Launched her first poetry book called “The Light of Our Beingness – I Am that You Are”
2016 – Project Manager for KIBATEK 40 – Global Poetry Festival in Dubai