Monday 31 October 2022

Two Poems by John Harold Olson

 



Oceanside


The cement truck rocked up behind us

Like a British Man-O-War

The range torn up

Last ditch of sage

A two track for trucks

Struggling water truck, heavy as a star,

Howling as it sprayed.

Tying rebar down in a hole

Everything late

Two cowgirls riding through

Watching Eden disappear

Number 2 sandstone

California framer

Cutting torch

Heavy track machines smoke

Complaining as they work

The sun locked on high

Time on Earth runs out

As the inspector rattles the rebar cage

Makes a face, then nods

The mixer backs, howls and sways in over the ruts To and fro scary slow

The chute, the rolling drum

All the precious

Time rolling into the dark form space



Circe


The hydraulics of Spring

The mechanics of blossoms 

Architecture of fruit

Music billowing sails

Kind Centaur and

Sentimental Cyclops

Olive oil, wine and fish scales

Odysseus in no hurry

What were you saying, Circe?

Prow, keel, rudder and stern

An open fan of emerald gin sea

As he leaves, 

welcoming aqua geometry 

mocks the diminishing Goddess

on the beach, where she still grieves.




John Harold Olson - Is a retired Special Education teacher in Las Vegas. Transitioning to being a hospice volunteer.



Sunday 30 October 2022

One Poem by Sushant Thapa

 




Fare-thee-well 

 

Laying by the fireplace in winter

A book opens

The chapter for non-swimmers

Teaching them to fish.

Embrace of it,

A pushing folly,  

Forbidden rusty pages,  

A mind opener.  

Pages dawning, 

Not like a bouquet unloved.

The bookmark

Bringing back

The clothed baby alphabets

Growing with blush and bloom.

The snow bird singing

The melodious spring full of words,

Night table light

Bidding fare-thee-well  

Only to keep shining.

 

 


Sushant Thapa is from Biratnagar, Nepal. He has published three books of poems: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2020), Abstraction and Other Poems (Impspired, UK, 2021) and Minutes of Merit (Haoajan, Kolkata, 2021). He is an English lecturer to undergraduate level students of BBA and BIT at Nepal Business College, Biratnagar, Nepal. He has an M.A in English literature from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India. He has been published in print, online, school book and anthologies around the world. He also writes Flash Fictions, Short Stories and Book Reviews.

 

 


Three Sonnet Poems by Paweł Markiewicz

 



Autumnal Sonnet


The mist heralds a dreamy, tender Apollonian dawn.

I philosophize about wings of hawk or king – sparrow.

In amazing grove at the Blue Hours – was born here a fawn.

You should adore as well as praise charm such a moony morn.

 

The beauty of world is indeed so pulchritudinous.

The autumnal meek leaves, having danced, at fallish stone, lie.

The picturesque mist is shrouded in mood of a sorcery.

I muse about my bosom full of druidic light dream.

 

The nightingale is under a starlet bewildering.

Flights of birdies are the moon-like thankful melancholy.

The autumnal mood is never ending, sometimes dazzling.

I have fallen in love with wizardly-like fantasy.

 

The fall belongs to bright Morning star with the enchantment.

I love forever - the Moon in the dearest bewitchment.



Flower-like sonnet

 

I cherish the dreamy crocus.

I love the moony cornflower.

I make love to bemused cactus.

I affect dreamed daffodil.

 

You are fond of vague elder.

You love back a misty dahlia.

You dote on languorous heather.

You idolize the faint freesia.

 

We prize hazy chrysanthemum.

We treasure indistinct daisy.

We value dim cheery blossom.

We admire the lulling lily.

 

They like the calming amaranth.

They relish soothing edelweiss.

 

affect = archaic love



The flower-like

second sonnet

 

I conceive the brilliant lilac.

I build admirable holly.

I design pleasant marigold.

I constitute pleasing lily.

 

You devise outstanding iris.

You discover awesome poppy.

You establish fine orchid.

You forge an amazing pansy.

 

She forms surprising peony.

She founds the phenomenal rose.

She makes the superb rosemary.

She initiates cool primrose.

 

We plan tremendous hibiscus.

We produce the strange narcissus.



Paweł Markiewicz was born 1983 in Siemiatycze in Poland. He is poet who lives in Bielsk Podlaski and writes tender poems, haiku, sonnets and long poems.







Poetry Collaboration by Christina Chin (Malaysia) & Uchechukwu Onyedikam (Nigeria).




Poetry Collaboration by Christina Chin (Malaysia) & Uchechukwu Onyedikam (Nigeria).


stares at the carcasses

on the power lines

a lightning bolt

sizzles and fizzles 

the ravens

 

 

 

thinking 

he's in a coma

she urges

the dead husband 

to wake up

 

 

 

tomb 

raiders

a cold heart

on the grass

a graveyard of silence

 

 

 

the night

of hungry ghosts

spirits of the dead

haunt the streets

black rain & lightning

 

 

 

 

tarry night

tapping the window

a red ghoul

asks to play

with him

 

 

 

full moon

of seventh lunar month 

blood feast

the decorated table

with imaginary diners

 

 

 

witchcrafts 

and spells 

in the calabash

macbeth's coven

neath the dark moon 

 

Christina Chin is a painter and haiku poet. 

She is four-time recipient of top 100 in the mDAC Summit Contests. They were exhibited at the Palo Alto Art Center, Califonia. 

She is the sole haiku contributor for the MusArt book of Randall Vemer's paintings published by ArtReach Publication, Portland, Oregon. 

1st prize winner of the 34th Annual Cherry Blossom Sakura Festival 2020 Haiku Contest.  

1st prize winner in the 8th Setouchi Matsuyama 2019 Photohaiku Contest and won two City Soka Saitama's 2020 haiku prizes. She is published in numerous journals, multilingual journals and anthologies including Japan's haiku monthly magazine, Haikukai (俳句界).

https://haikuzyg.blogspot.com/

and https://christinachin99blog.wordpress.com

https://twitter.com/Christina_haiku?s=09


Uchechukwu Onyedikam is of the Igbo origin. He's a Nigerian Poet who was born and raised in Lagos, Nigeria. He was introduced to Poetry while he was chasing a career in Engineering at NBC Technical Training College by a friend (and classmate) Jaji Abdulwahab whose friendship inspired the creative art in him.

Under the pseudonym Mystic Poet, he drives is art by allowing the genuine influence of poetry reflect the times without fearing to be judged by being "correct" when addressing issues with his art. 

And currently he has a manuscript, a collection of poetry containing the dark & beauty of life that he looks forward to putting out anytime soon.

Mystic Poet is open to collaborate with other creative artists around the world who has passion in story-telling through the genuine art of poetry.

Twitter is his cybercrip where you can always meet him feeling at home, honing his craft.



Saturday 29 October 2022

Five Poems by Robert Fleming

 



Interview (I) with the Forrest (F)

 

I:          How did you get your name?

F:         Webster named me

 

I:          Why do trees gather?

F:         To make more trees

 

I:          When was the first forest?

F:         Trees have no memory

 

I:          Where does the forest start?

F:         Seeds on the wind

 

I:          What do for fun?

F:         Gossip about bushes

 

I           Who are trees?

F:         God look-ups

 

 

Sores came before the nose

 

before dinosaurs there were Sores

Sores were above ground

Sores went below ground to the outer core

Sores sculped rocks into poles to

pole from the lithosphere to the outer core

you don’t know Sores are around

except except when you listen to your snore sounds

 

 

when all water is drained what is left?

 

before humans are oven-ed humans are play-doh

our 27,759 days are days to be baked

if baking is not your cooking try broil or fry

375o rises humans from dough into

a baby / child / adult / corpse

if you stay in your yellow plastic play-doh container

you’ll never be a green-hand-rolled-gardener-snake

 


when diplomacy fails turn to goats


 

Henry Kissinger is not a farm-man

a spectacle wearing urban dweller

not a limber gymnast

 

in 1973 Henry slumbers under a Vietnam silo

ten green goat beards bah

flying to New York J.F.K. airport in eight hours

 

diplomacy negotiations with Le Duc Tho stall

Henry and Le Du un-shoe to yoga’s easy pose

two does ring bells and push Henry’s knees

 

what will Henry tell president Richard Nixon?

Tho reads Tripitaka to the bucks in Vietnamese

as Tho and Henry do the tree pose a no slaughter concession is crowned

 

 

Lung Apple

 

legs are pistons in a pool

frogging to the lane return

I am the boy swimmer who swims

the longest not the fastest

at Westmount pool splash

kick & dunk Sam under

we bop up, Sam’s nose

bubbles, stops bubbling,

Sam’s down, Sam wins the non-

breathing contest.

three-ten-second whistles

my bottom blue wrists on the concrete edge

lungs pop once

still air-water-lungs make bubbles




Robert Fleming lives in Lewes, DE. Published in United States, Canada, England, Ireland, and Australia. Member of the Rehoboth Beach and Horror Writer’s Association. 2022 winner of San Gabriel Valley CA broadside-1 poem, 2021 winner of Best of Mad Swirl poetry and double nominated for Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Follow Robert at https://www.facebook.com/robert.fleming.5030

 


Five Poems by Ken Gosse

 



Consensus for the Census

(Why we’re here in 100 words.)

 

We know Adam and Eve

had been made to conceive—

that’s a fact which stands out in plain view.

It wasn’t the apple

that caused them to grapple,

but Adam’s spare rib as it grew.

 

Their desire to garden

meant there’d be no pardon,

though that’s all they knew how to do.

And yet, had they stayed

and Eve hadn’t been laid,

the census would still total two.

 

However, the need

had demanded the deed

and its doing, they couldn’t undo,

that’s why, in our day,

things are much the same way

as back then, when they shared its debut.

 


Sonnetiquette

  

The Sonnet, in our day, has been set free,

released from fetters of antiquity

as writers who would deign to take their hand

rack form and function to their own demand.

 

Their sinews stretched, sometimes a bone will snap;

each stanza, in its turn, a coerced lap

until their weary feet are bruised then bleed—

the Doctor’s muse, Igor, helps do the deed.

 

And yet, each sonnet does its best to strive

to reach an end where they will still survive,

in dreadful hope they’ll soon hear “It’s Alive!”

though form and rhyme and meter must take five.

 

Perhaps AI will be their saving grace

when robots codify their sweet embrace.

 


Where Has All the Magic Gone?

 

When magic words are put to paper

they will prove they’re only vapor

and when used within a chant,

what you want them to, they can’t.

Nonetheless, when writ as runes

and sung to ancient, mystic tunes,

they’ll still do nothing good or worse

which might affect the universe—

although they may excite some loons

and harbour humour in cartoons.

 


A Courtly Gesture

(Inspired by Sylvia Fine’s lyrics for the 1955 movie “The Court Jester” staring her husband Danny Kaye.)

 

Another man’s pestle was pounding her vessel;

the fool found her fickleness cruel.

He poisoned a pellet for mademoiselle—

it would prove quite a merciless tool.

 

Locked out of the chalice of her lovely palace,

the jester desired to best her.

He mixed a rich brew which, if true, they would rue

(a guest jest which he hoped had impressed her).

 

Since he knew that his dragon would ne’er taste her flagon,

the tincture was placed where they’d nestle.

Despairing the pair and their cool laissez-faire,

he bequeathed them his farewell redressal.

 


Natural Songs

(Thanks to Solomon Linda’s song “Mbube” later recorded as “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”)

 

In peaceful prairies,

hear the trill

the whip-poor-wills relay.

 

In roaring jungles,

lions kill

a wim-o-weh a day.




Ken Gosse usually writes short, rhymed verse using whimsy and humor in traditional meters. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, he has also been published by Pure Slush, Home Planet News Online, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and others. Raised in the Chicago, Illinois, suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, for over twenty years, usually with rescue dogs and cats underfoot.

 

 


Seven Untitled Short Poems by Alan Catlin

 



freak snow

ice

storm in

 

early October

cracks

limbs over

 

burdened by still

green

leaves

 

overloads power

wires

blackens houses

 

highways traffic

signals

 

emergency

sirens never stop



 

gutted metal

casing

 

shell of 24" TV

discarded amid

under

brush

 

trees

 

imploded remains

contain stilled life:

 

dried grass

chipped rock

weeds

broken glass

 

random arrangements



 

beach front signs

strongly suggest:

 

No Swimming

Today — palm trees — leaves

bent against tropical

storm

heavy winds

& rain;

 

Across flooded street

3 carved-from-white-

Marble-men struggle

 

in mortal tug-of-war

with unseen forces

 

the unrecognizable

and the unknown

 

straining

as they pull

 

the opposite way

 


 

Scottish 'games'

beer tent

 

bagpipes

 

segue

 

from traditional

beer drinking airs

 

to American

patriotic tunes:

 

America the Beautiful

semper fi shores

of Tripoli

 

on eve of threatened

ground war

in Middle

Eastern sand



 

Downwind

of the deep fry

 

sugar powdered

dough

sliced potatoes

breaded meats

 

fish

 

spilled beer:

McEwan's

Newcastle Brown

 

an annoyance

of strolling bag

pipers



 

sheep herding

performance dogs

 

Scottish folk

singer's protest-

 

War No More

Hard Work Low Pay

beer tent blues

 

for a cold damp

Sunday afternoon

 

 

 

Yellow crime scene

tape draped over bushes,

trees, air plane tail section,

detached wings; weird to see

in full moon glow.

 

Alan Catlin has been publishing fort he better part of six decades.  His most recent full length books include Memories Too (Dos Madres) and  The Road to perdition (Alien Buddha).  


One Poem by John Yamrus

  she was not your typical girl next door. to begin with, she had a name that sounded like a bottle of cheap perfume. but, she did have the ...