Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Brandon Cesmat

From our 20th Anniversary Anthology

Light in All Directions
Brandon Cesmat

Light in All Directions

I felt your gaze all day as you drove the road toward me.
That night in the observatory, we leaned into the telescope,
held our breath to focus on Jupiter with five moons
each lit like half-closed blind eyes,
all that old light taking eight minutes to reach us on
a planet close enough to catch light from a star.
Then you found Saturn, made out the rings standing on knife-point
and the band of shadow
the dark older than the light
the same dark just beyond the porch lamp,
the same constant dark between any two people.
A star sends its light in all directions
like a king dispatching navies that sink in the crossing except
one ship that arrives as you have
to make new whatever light survives.
Under that dome, dark so people could see stars,
I leaned against the wall and only your light fell onto me.
 New Poem

Howl, Hoot and Poem Disguise

             for Leonidas
1 a.m. and I can’t sleep like the owl
in the pine outside the front door.
He hoots a five-beat song with three notes.
and then rests while a car passes over the hill.
A coyote above the hum of
the air compressor on the casino roof.
He cries again  at the top of the canyon.
I harmonize an inversion;
owl adds his refrain.
All of us nightsinging out,
then breathing in and listening.
What have we rustled out of cover?
I’m hungry for sleep but too tired
to tear the night apart and swallow it
as the dawn will.
At noon the canyon caves hold night’s tongue.
Singing is the sound of hunger.
It’s what we do with empty mouths.
It’s what we live on when silence is not enough.

James Downs 

Refining the moment

Reach out a quavering hand to touch rock 

bird bones may be Hollow… but they are heavy 

colors of Fall are proportional to colors of Spring 

there’s a giant in the Sky prepared to roar 

find yourself in company of No less than three 

Genealogy tells only part of a truthful tale 

a ditch only means higher Ground on other side 

lumbering black bear can run straight uphill 

make a face by scrunching up your Mouth 

thin valley gets Darker quicker than a plain 

Markets for homegrown gods shine out 

when you leave one place you Enter another 

ghosts of Today become memories of tomorrow 

bighorn sheep re-introduced to wild Sierra Mountains 

Wave upon wave caresses winding California coast 

You cannot escape Yourself even if you tried 

Refining the moment… reach out a quavering hand  

bird bones may be Hollow… but they are heavy 


James Downs 

BLESSINGS AND CURSES poems by Anne Whitehouse

From our 20th Anniversary Anthology

BLESSINGS AND CURSES
poems by Anne Whitehouse

BLESSING XVI

There is something to be said
for being a renter,
of watching over a place
without the obligation
to improve it.

The Native Americans
made it a practice
to leave little trace of themselves
on the landscape.

Few of us can bear
to travel so lightly.
Yet this is our condition:
to occupy this life,
knowing we will
be parted from it,
but not when.

At sunset my shadow stretches
over the sea as I ease myself in
for the last swim of summer.
For thirty years I’ve immersed
in the cold waters of this cove
and felt cradled by sea and sky.
In their ever-changing immensities
I sense the unpossessable sublime.

I sink my restless thoughts to silence
so I may cleave to my true purpose.

Tethered, words enter the mind
through the eye or the ear,
to make of themselves
the weightless structure
apprehended wholly or in part,
like a shape shifting in the mist,
reverberant as a song,
to be taken up or forgotten,
like spent desire, or sunlight
shining on water, a fading reflection.

 

Joe O’Connell

From our 20th Anniversary Anthology

Dingle Day
poems by Joe O’Connell

Music-energy
In Flanders fields
Did Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band
Buoy us up on a Spring morning
With a driving force,
Ebullient, hoarse and sound,
Prophetic energy about nothing much really
Or everything
That a young sub-prime man should feel,
The world and its promise wheeling under his heel.
In rushy Kerry fields, actually,
Were these musical propellers felt,
The sun winning supremely over the fluffy clouds
For attention received unsolicited
Like a fancied one,
Its power and beauty constant,
Immutable and impermeable to any move,
Indifferent to the machinations
Of an earth bound offspring.
Halloevening
That fairies, or pucai, don’t exist
In the glaringly obvious physical sense
Is utterly besides the point
To any celtically attuned
Consciousness
Centred and diffused
Through the pale, cold autumnal
Halloevening thin air
In damp, mushroomy, rushy fields
Amongst meditative bovines,
Mysterious sheep, wild-eyed goats
And furtive little beings,
Who, surprised, turn their independent eyes
Almost, yet somehow more than human,
Towards yours questing,
Knowing something, arrogantly conveyed,
That your quest will never find.

DAN  THARP

From our 20th Anniversary Anthology
A ROSE IN  THE BRIAR PATCH
poems by DAN  THARP
Oscar
We dropped his ashes from the bridge
into the Canadian River below;
left our words upon the breeze and
watched the current
sweep him away…
followed soon by two car
                and an empty can of beer.
Morning Colors
Morning colors
play upon the clouds –
in oranges, reds
and pretty pastels –
And were I to feel
the morning breeze
play about
as it would please;
brush up against
my skin and tease
the longing of
my heart…
then I would see
you standing there;
the morning colors
in your hair.
Forgive me if
I’m unaware
of others
standing near.

Diana Festa

From the forth coming 20th Anniversary Anthology

The Gathering
poems by Diana Festa

Odors
After Umberto Eco’s
The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana
The soil’s peculiar smell,
fog filtering into clusters of trees,
rain on pavement,
the earthy odor of artichokes,
sweetness of sage, salt in sea air,
pungent tea leaves steaming
in blades of sun–
the planet is saturated with scents.
But there is the desperate loneliness
of parallel lines, unscented, untouching
in a firmament of curves and corners,
seeking solace, a whiff of life
in fragrances.
I navigate among them
in sun-drenched breeze from the desert,
mountains that repeat mountains.
Every step holds
traces of forgotten aims—
and oh, the fear of not finding
the way home.
I do not know how to land
on solid ground, or change my course,
how to leave my parallel-line solitude,
the weighty suspense
in the allegory of loss.
Selective Recollections
Happy families are all alike.
Tolstoy: Anna Karenina
Little gifts, a Limoges saucer, a Murano flower—
a cumulous of objects in cumulous of years.
I forget who gave the saucer, a vase, a pitcher.
There were letters, often so lovely
they may still be warming pages in some books.
But most went, buried
with days of the past, love notes, dried flowers.
When I left the old house, I walked away
from a cabinet where faces stilled
by the camera smiled in distant sun—
the children, the man I loved.
I hold a convergence of lights in my memory,
and there is no room for photographs
with their unchanging mien.
Remembrance makes its own choice,
elective instants within recurring images.
What do I remember of you?
A myriad instants—
walks at the beach in paling dusk, dinners
at our favorite restaurant, afternoons
by book stalls along the Seine, rocking train rides—
nothing extraordinary,
the simple story we shared,
the quiet pace of our days,
the rhythm of our breathing.

If you are going to be in the Bay Area do stop by for this concert. Raphael’s poetry is beautiful as is David’s music, the two together is a real treat.  You can pick up Raphael’s book as well; Stings Shining Silence: Earth-Love Poems.   37e53786-ad62-4009-9e1c-3216066d9127

Ashley Pinkerton

Spiraling Forward

Let the dance of the sacred Spiral carry you on a journey through the cycles of Life.

Ashley Pinkerton

This is an invitation to support Ashley Pinkerton and Poetic Matrix Press in publishing her new book Spiraling Forward. Check out her Indiegogo campaign page, see what she is about and contribute to help this project.  Go to:

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/spiraling-forward#/

“Spiraling Forward will take the reader on a journey through the cycles of Life, as the dance of the sacred Spiral carries the reader to places of deep reflection, realization and discovery.”

Sandeep Kumar Mishra, India

Morning

Reluctant night after a brooding duty, slowly retreating

The earth in gray, some dim shades still hovering

Dawn strides out leisurely to wake every farm

The sleepy sun, in liquid light, making the sand warm

Morning nymph rising from the ocean of pearls

Wearing magic mist mantle if the wind swirls

Her gleaming bracelet borrowed from the sun rays

Swiftly up to the hilltop her glory sways

Her fragrance wakes up the slumbers of mortals

The crowing birds but break the silence acetals

I am eager to rise early than the bee,

Perhaps to feel the divine power if it be

Every home kindles its necessary fires

Sense morning incense, listen far sounding lyres

The soul feels fresh and rejuvenated

Healing light exhaled here, a divine incarnated

The bunches of roses, lily awaken

The wind hides in the trees, make them shaken

Shy maid advances with pitcher to fill in river

The peasants and herdsmen on their way as ever

All creatures must toilsome courses run hard

Because untrodden the path, bright is the reward

 

My City

My city has dazzling appearance

Its days are sweating labours

The nights are stiffly precarious

Malls, palaces, shops, skyscrapers

All things are but only a granite museum

People came from unknown places

Growing day by day like a mushroom

Horns, siren, music, pollution, buzz, silence

It never stops but crawl like a worm

Ten to five, nonstop work culture

To live here to live on term

Race to stay alive, no stop for nature

Morning walker and evening walker

As late sleepers, late risers, all machine made

Sofa, carpet, TV, air conditioner

There is light but no relief or shade

High ways are death ride way

I strive for a peaceful lee

Has city ruined me in any way?

No, it has marred better men than me

I stand alone amid a millions crowd

God was silent when I was suffering fast

I am ready to die unnoticed, but

I will build a new city before I breathe last

 

Romantic Dream

My love! My dream girl! Come with me,

We will go over the lea, beyond the sea.

Let’s build a palace among the stars

Far away from earthly strife and wars,

Look our rainbow friends -white rivers,

Slaty mountains, red roses, brown sparrows,

Bright glow worms, golden eagles, black bees,

Yellow sunflowers, scarlet macaw, green trees.

Showers drench the morning, nights glow with dew

Posy noon to dose, then evening linnets in the view,

Winter with warm sun, summer of moonlit nights,

I admire thy grace, your touch diminish all my frights.

When your shiny raven hair shade my head,

I repose in your lap, Night comes, and day becomes fade.

Your smiling glance and hazel eyes keep me at ease,

We will love till there are the seas and the skies.

 

Sandeep Kumar Mishra, India

BIO- He is a stage artist, painter, writer and a lecturer in English with Masters in English Literature and Political Science. He is in creative field since 1992 and has published poems both in Hindi and English languages. His first article published in 1992, first poem in 2003.He also worked as Sub-editor for a collection of poems (Pearls) 2003,which have many reputed poets

 

Clifford Browder

Use This Day

Use this day
For love, for friendship, for rage,
For justice, for hope,
For worship, if your gods are worthy of it.
Use it
To build, to create,
To bring meaning,
To fight the void and navigate the flux.
Don’t shirk, don’t slouch.
Use it.
It will never come again.

 

Earth

I love the smell of it
The black oozy thick of it
Wormy and rich
Harboring seeds and roots and bones
Graveyards and spores
In my next existence I will grow things
Coax them out of her hot muggy thighs
Into joy and exuberance
Into sustenance and life.

Of the other elements
I can’t relate to air
Too flimsy, too vague
And I’m scared of fire
That leaps and darts and scorches
Having seen whole buildings
Flame up in a blaze
And know that water wants to drown me
Learning to swim
I splashed and sputtered, hated it
And once saw the body of a woman
Washed up on the shore of a lake
So lost, so cold, so still.

Yes, I’ll stick with earth
Don’t think
You can wiggle out of the Old Girl’s embrace
You cannot
She’s in your blood and bone
We came out of her
We’ll go back into her
The vast, messy, loving
Ruthless and inescapable
Big Mama of us all.

 

My Wild, My Calm

There’s something wild in me
That wants to shake things up
A demonic spring that wants to pump
The green fire of his seed
Into multitudes of rapturous virgins
Who wants to break windows of snug little homes
To shout, to run, to fly
To leap over gaping chasms
And scale vertiginous cliffs
Who wants to slay dragons or better still become one
Who wants to eat rare earths, speak in tongues
And annex the secrets of the universe.

There’s something calm in me
That smiles at my demon
Like a loving mother
At the antics of her raucous little boy,
A seeker who needs no
Rare earths, strange tongues, gaping chasms
Who walks gently, looks and listens
Finds wisdom in silence
Strength in grasses
Truth in trees
Who relaxes into the rhythms
The mysteries
And daily ecstasies of life.

 

Love Better, Love Deeper

Love better, love deeper.
Cut the frills,
The gaudy promises, the tinsel.

The best love is simple, quiet, undemanding
Like a mountain or a seed.

Its beauty lies under the surface
Like a submarine reef of red coral
Jutting spires and candelabras
While blue fish drift and dart.

The best love grows silently
Like mushrooms in the woods,
Like ferns, like roots
And blooms mysteriously
Like white flowers opening in the night.

The best love thrives
Where least expected
Like green sprouts
In the rotten wood of piers
Or molds on ancient stumps.

Though it toughens with time, in the beginning
It is soft, not hard and jagged,
Easily hurt.

When you love,
Love with caution and quiet,
With wisdom, no razzmatazz.
Love with calm and care.

 

Sadness

Sadness
Is the adagios and mellow gray of twilight
A loving touch.

I have seen it
In smiles of resignation
In muted yearnings for the unattainable
In shattered loves, futile hopes, quiet defeats
Final good-byes.

It is the landscape of our living
Time’s music
The price of our awareness of transience.
Don’t fight it, accept it
Ease into it, I’d almost say
Enjoy it.
It is our essence, our aura
The mark of our humanity
The measure of our loss.

 

Clifford Browder

Bio: I am a writer living in New York City. I have published two biographies, a novel, and a selection of posts from my blog (see link below) that has won two awards. My poetry has appeared in numerous small reviews. cliffbrowder@verizon.net