tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78646047491637269772024-03-18T20:08:22.758-07:00Poetry Lifetimespinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-33358290643282031512017-04-01T05:14:00.000-07:002017-04-01T05:14:11.727-07:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;">Issue of April 2017</span><br />
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Sherry Moments<br />a poem by Daginne Aignend</h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/sherry-moments-a-poem-by-daginne-aignend/" rel="bookmark" title="1:00 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-03-23T13:00:40+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 23, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span></div>
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He used to wait for me<br />
when I got home from work<br />
‘A glass of sherry, my dear’<br />
We sat down<br />
as I listened to his stories<br />
The same story<br />
he already told me yesterday<br />
He played Rummy with<br />
his girlfriend, the old bag<br />
A puckish smile<br />
accompanied his words<br />
The old bag was sixty-five,<br />
he already reached<br />
the honorable age of eighty-two<br />
For me, sipping my sherry,<br />
it was the time of day to relax<br />
<br />
He wasn’t always an<br />
amiable man<br />
When he was younger<br />
he frightened me with<br />
his abrupt violent bad temper<br />
Aging took the edges off<br />
his tantrums<br />
Nowadays, I have decided<br />
to remember my granddad<br />
by these languid sherry moments</blockquote>
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<b><br />Daginne Aignend</b> is a pseudonym for the Dutch poetess <b>Inge Wesdijk</b>.</div>
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She likes hard rock music, photography and fantasy books. She is a vegetarian and spends a lot of time with her animals.</div>
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Daginne started to write English poetry five years ago and posted some
of her poems on her Facebook page and on her fun project website<a href="http://www.daginne.com/"> www.daginne.com</a></div>
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She has been published in some online Poetry Review Magazines with a
pending publication at the Contemporary Poet’s Group anthology
‘Dandelion in a Vase of Roses’.</div>
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The Cambridge Companion to Academic Dipshits. A Poem by R.W. Haynes</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-cambridge-companion-to-academic-dipshits-a-poem-by-rw-haynes/" rel="bookmark" title="6:15 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-03-19T18:15:16+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 19, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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A fat old parrot’s fine impersonation<br />
Of a dean, on YouTube, set our friend a laughing<br />
Which he couldn’t stop. It turned to coughing,<br />
And he died, sort of happy, at his station.<br />
<br />
We found in his desk, stashed carelessly,<br />
An ancient manuscript he was translating<br />
From Sicilian Greek, a tragedy dating<br />
From Plato’s time, and indeed relating<br />
To the philosopher, for his great enemy<br />
Dionysius the First of Syracuse<br />
Wrote the play to defend his tyranny<br />
Against Plato’s defense of liberty<br />
And attack on his autocratic abuse,<br />
Tyranny raging against philosophy.<br />
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Do we moralize against tyranny,<br />
Although small fish, but not so small<br />
As delicious minnows on whom we fall<br />
With glittering eyes, slobberingly?<br />
Do these ideas–rained upon our minds,<br />
Like mud rain in Laredo–elevate<br />
Consciousness toward the great<br />
Hovering supremacy philosophy finds?<br />
<br />
Our dead associate, with his dramatic Greek<br />
Representation of a fictional fight<br />
In which dialogue produced lurid light,<br />
Urges our lethargy to think and speak.<br />
Have we reason to listen to that urgency<br />
Or indeed to reason, whose puritan whine<br />
Is likely at times to somewhat undermine<br />
Its specious claim of authority?<br />
“I’d rather be right with Plato,” someone said.<br />
But what does it matter when we all are dead?<br />
<br />
So now they have sabotaged a Chaucer class…<br />
<br />
Ho hum. They did the same for Tragedy,<br />
And who can blame a stupid clown or an ass<br />
For despising Oedipus or Antigone?<br />
Brainlessness is not some contagion<br />
But, in our non-Platonic academe,<br />
A status quo, the vacuous conversation<br />
Of envious imbeciles with bulging eyes agleam.<br />
The best one can do in this fools’ competition<br />
Is sometimes to put a stick in the machine<br />
And briefly delay the supremely ignorant mission<br />
Carefully strategized by Satan and the dean.<br />
<br />
Let no one dying here view with surprise<br />
Dung-beetles circling, with burning little eyes.</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-n3DgMs_KlgP649RKUWr2EsYNxQXa0tfJqJvtH4VZSUR8SgsLL1bs_Tze10Wd2JF1SpGGye35L4xlXeHDVtXL0eTwvDZQfiiF9i6FVlESGV07kOvFBlXC1ocBxs4WJ68OSJV1NDw7bI/s1600/Haynes-in-Savannah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-n3DgMs_KlgP649RKUWr2EsYNxQXa0tfJqJvtH4VZSUR8SgsLL1bs_Tze10Wd2JF1SpGGye35L4xlXeHDVtXL0eTwvDZQfiiF9i6FVlESGV07kOvFBlXC1ocBxs4WJ68OSJV1NDw7bI/s320/Haynes-in-Savannah.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<b>R. W. Haynes</b> has taught literature at Texas A&M
International University since 1992. His recent interests include the
early British sonnet, and he is completing a second book on the Texas
playwright and screenwriter Horton Foote (1916-2009). In his poetry,
Haynes seeks to celebrate life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness
without sounding any more dissonant notes than he has to. In fiction,
he works toward grasping that part of the past which made its mark on
his generation. He enjoys teaching drama, especially the Greeks, Ibsen,
and Shakespeare, and he devoutly hopes for a stunning literary
Renaissance in South Texas.</div>
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STEPHANIE<br />A Poem by John D Robinson</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/stephanie-a-poem-by-john-d-robinson/" rel="bookmark" title="3:19 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-03-26T15:19:04+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 26, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span> </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: , "helvetica neue light" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">We could have<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />been lovers,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />but we weren’t,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />we could have<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />been life-long<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />friends,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />but we weren’t,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />we could have<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />been so much<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />more than a<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />beautiful exchange<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />of a brief and<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />intense light that<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />scorched us both<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />with an<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />innocence that<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />overwhelmed us<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />leaving us<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />strangers for<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />evermore. </span></blockquote>
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<strong>John D Robinson </strong>was born in 63; he is a published poet with 2
chapbooks; ‘When You Hear The Bell, There’s Nowhere To Hide’
(Holy&intoxicated Publications 2016) ‘Cowboy Hats & Railways’
(Scars Publications 2016); he was a contributing poet to the 2016 48th
Street Press Broadside Series; his work appears widely in the small
press and online literary publications; he is married and lives in the
UK.</div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Shared Closet For One. A Poem by Judy Moskowitz.</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shared-closet-for-one-a-poem-by-judy-moskowitz/" rel="bookmark" title="5:48 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-03-19T17:48:47+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 19, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span> </div>
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A spacious walk in<br />
With built in shelves<br />
And interesting places to hide<br />
I didn’t realize I had so many shoes<br />
Color coordinated clothes<br />
Perfectly aligned on velvet hangers<br />
You can tell so much about a person<br />
The way they fold their clothes<br />
Tell tale signs of intimacy<br />
Rolled up in a draw<br />
Evidence of a once lush life<br />
Hidden in the green of envy<br />
A garden of weeds<br />
Oxygen with just enough poison<br />
Taking over the landscape<br />
No flowers of consolation<br />
Just black smoke inside<br />
A tin box ready to explode<br />
Have I left enough trills in the music<br />
Did I change the sheets<br />
That witnessed submission<br />
Can you feel my authentic bliss<br />
That I once loved you</blockquote>
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<strong>Judy Moskowitz </strong>started playing piano at the age of three, and studied at the Julliard School Of Music in New York City, her native city.<br />
She became a jazz pianist and continues to play jazz. Now residing in
Florida, she started writing poetry three years ago, and has been
published in the<em> Moonlight Dreamers Of The Yellow Haze anthology</em>, <em>Thepoetcommunity, Whispersinthewind, Indiana Voice Journal. </em> Poetry runs deep in her veins along with Music.</div>
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Jazz. A Poem by Joan McNerney</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/jazz-a-poem-by-joan-mcnerney/" rel="bookmark" title="1:40 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-03-17T13:40:26+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 17, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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the kitchen sits</div>
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in fruit soup…</div>
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steamed apricot<span style="text-align: center;"></span></div>
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mango shadow</div>
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down thru spinning</div>
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smoke into hot light</div>
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blink beat</div>
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body ends dangle</div>
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lead eye skin cement</div>
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high on tongue</div>
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night pasted among</div>
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buildings Styrofoam clouds</div>
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moon hung beneath billboard</div>
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rolling pass wet</div>
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rocked streets</div>
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soul tramp</div>
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diamond panhandlers watch</div>
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paper birds slices of</div>
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the daily news drift in air</div>
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comes cool ether</div>
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whispers up door</div>
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climbing dusty corridor</div>
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tree windows lapping lisp</div>
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door slams again noise again</div>
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then none void nothing syncopates<span style="text-align: center;"></span></div>
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noise again door slams tree bare frozen</div>
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caught in the image of 7 candles</div>
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within 7 candles flames of air</div>
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7 light bulbs growing out of each other</div>
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7 silver circles coined from 7 silver rings</div>
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clear as blazing sheets</div>
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of glass yet</div>
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vague as dust</div>
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an ice cube on wood table</div>
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in front of crushed velvet</div>
<ul><br />
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melt</div>
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poured</div>
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peeled</div>
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when this sky now boiling with</div>
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stars is strapped black</div>
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in pinched air thru sucked mind</div>
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swimming pass spaced time</div>
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will be one silent<br />
note up.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSdiTXB_n0qxmclvsOg7q9N_WnhH1RZW8epuQW2x8EobO4Hh83FSkiLc9yTsH6meEZLA9ygen6EHlScJL8ZhKF78jDLSjyEDb0o8csf81MuJhr1eQ12xvdzly4P55iMRsFLhN3ph8TcI/s1600/JoanMcNerney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTSdiTXB_n0qxmclvsOg7q9N_WnhH1RZW8epuQW2x8EobO4Hh83FSkiLc9yTsH6meEZLA9ygen6EHlScJL8ZhKF78jDLSjyEDb0o8csf81MuJhr1eQ12xvdzly4P55iMRsFLhN3ph8TcI/s320/JoanMcNerney.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong>Joan McNerney</strong>’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as <em>Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Spectrum,</em> three <em>Bright Spring Press Anthologies</em> and several <em>Kind of A Hurricane</em> Publications. She has been nominated three times for <em>Best of the Net</em>.<em> Poet</em> and <em>Geek</em>
recognized her work as their best poem of 2013. Four of her books have
been published by fine small literary presses and she has three e-book
titles.</div>
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Hostages. A Poem by Ananya S Guha</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/hostages-a-poem-by-ananya-s-guha/" rel="bookmark" title="11:32 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-03-13T23:32:40+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 13, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span> </div>
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Had it not been</div>
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a hell of a night</div>
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I would not know</div>
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how chandeliers</div>
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had broken</div>
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and the gig we did</div>
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broke into dawn</div>
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till all the people</div>
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in the room started</div>
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reading those old</div>
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books, which memories</div>
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had kept stored in rusted</div>
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trunks. One started reciting</div>
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the others with immaculate</div>
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looks read steadfastly.</div>
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Silence. Silence was the watch dog.</div>
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The reading continued late till</div>
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the day. Gunshots woke them up.</div>
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They were told they were hostages</div>
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but they continued to read.</div>
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A war is on ( they were told)</div>
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The chandeliers splintered</div>
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books strewn,</div>
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<br />
death hyphenated, they</div>
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continued to read.</div>
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Soon dogs started barking</div>
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the coffins were ready.</div>
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The clock ticked</div>
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death is a neighbour.</div>
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<a href="https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg"><img alt="DSC_0018" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-4689" height="300" sizes="(max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px" src="https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=200%2C300" srcset="https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=200%2C300 200w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=683%2C1024 683w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=100%2C150 100w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=150%2C225 150w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=300%2C450 300w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=450%2C675 450w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=600%2C900 600w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?resize=900%2C1350 900w, https://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/DSC_0018.jpg?w=1200 1200w" width="200" /></a><br />
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<strong>Ananya S Guha </strong>has been born and brought up in Shillong, India
and works in India’s National Open University, the Indira Gandhi
National Open University. His poems in English have been published world
wide. He also writes for newspapers and magazines/ web zines on matters
ranging from society and politics to education. He holds a doctoral
degree on the novels of William Golding. He edits the poetry column of <em>The Thumb Print Magazine</em>, and has published seven collections of poetry.</div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/idealist-a-poem-by-cornelia-paun-heinzel/" rel="bookmark">Idealist. A Poem by Cornelia Păun Heinzel</a></h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/idealist-a-poem-by-cornelia-paun-heinzel/" rel="bookmark" title="2:01 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-03-09T14:01:34+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 9, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span> </div>
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<em style="font-weight: bold;"><strong>Editors Note: Translated from Romanian by the author herself, as far as the editor knows.</strong></em><br />
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You always tell me: you are incredibly idealistic<br />
when you love all people equally, trees and flowers, animals,<br />
without concealing them with the cloak of inequality,<br />
when you are admiring what it is worthy of praises,<br />
without the worm of jealousy eating you whole,<br />
when you do not harm anybody<br />
and the waves of evil do not immerse you,<br />
when you understand every being,<br />
even if you, in this, are enigmatic,<br />
when you help anyone from the kindness of your heart<br />
without expecting something in return,<br />
when you consider money to have no value<br />
and the wisps of greed never daze you,<br />
when you always forgive<br />
without the boulder of vengeance shattering you in pieces,<br />
when you introduce yourself to people the way you truly are,<br />
without performing on the stage of life as a perfect actor,<br />
when you truly are faithful<br />
without the arrows of evil, greed and deception piercing you…</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugaJ9GjB1fTUS5TlEyJo4WgVxsQPbKByt5pbNuaQnTLoudwK0Hjc_12vo8-9l5-goofZ_L3SvUex1S0LFDRVsEQp-srPPW0RcRgspu18Neh4mpMjFp9F9VUpydTcqh2Jf72jomoOdVO8/s1600/corneliaPaulHeinzel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjugaJ9GjB1fTUS5TlEyJo4WgVxsQPbKByt5pbNuaQnTLoudwK0Hjc_12vo8-9l5-goofZ_L3SvUex1S0LFDRVsEQp-srPPW0RcRgspu18Neh4mpMjFp9F9VUpydTcqh2Jf72jomoOdVO8/s320/corneliaPaulHeinzel.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<strong style="font-weight: bold;">Cornelia Păun Heinzel i</strong>s an Romanian writer,
journalist, member of International Press, Professor Ph.D. in Robotics
with the scientific title of Doctor of Industrial Robots 1998, the
Bucharest Polytechnic University, Master in Educational Management and
Evaluation, Faculty of Psychology, University of Bucharest, in 2002,
Master in Teaching Subjects Philological Faculty of Letters, University
of Bucharest, licensed of Philology, Romanian Language and Literature –
French Language and Literature, Faculty of Letters, University of
Brasov, Diplomat mechanical engineer, specializing in Technology of
Machine Construction, Faculty of TCM, Brasov University in higher
education and research, a field in which she has worked until today and
electrical engineering, specializing in Transport, Polytechnic
University of Bucharest. In 2007-2013 she trained experts of the
Ministry of Education in Educational Management. She completed three
graduate courses and in 2012-2013 received a grant to Germany, MUNCHEN
GOETHE INSTITUTE in the area of specialization – MULTIMEDIA FüRERSCHEIN
DaF- Das Internet als Quelle FÜR Materialien und Projekte . She has
published six books and over 200 articles – published in Romania and
abroad. <br />
<strong style="font-weight: bold;"><strong><a href="http://anthologiemultilingua.centerblog.net/">Anthologie Multilingua. Cornelia Heinzel</a></strong></strong><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Featured Books</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Little Dancer — The Degas Poems</span></b></div>
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<b>by Lyn Lifshin</b></div>
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<a href="http://lynlifshin.us5.list-manage.com/track/click?u=93b862e02c4af84a1b48bbe30&id=36047ce169&e=677228ed24" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlQLSzTgEjDK_oWeP1oN6_dq63rDDYC5NceOmEgBQTRFDqTozE_5TXDK3qD96BxjE2H9g7OuAyJoAPKxvSBCftiJweXr8i2o6tGS-TCTKp6Y5kUohAVczFXmiqoaNGDG9MSpow6MXnb8/s320/littledancer.jpg" title="" width="236" /></a></div>
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The newest book from Lyn Lifshin, imagines and explores the world of Marie Van Goethem, the "Little Dancer" sculpted by Edgar Degas. The Degas Poems contains 29 poems. </div>
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<b><b>A Sneak Peak in to the Poem </b></b></div>
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Now loved, Degas' original wax version of the little dancer was hated, though his paintings had been greeted enthusiastically. His sculpture of The Little Dancer, Aged 14, was considered shocking and unsettling, like a little monkey. It is said one father cried, 'God forbid my daughter should become a dancer.' Many were shocked by her pose and the material used: human hair, beeswax, silk. Degas loved the opera and ballet but this statue was called 'repulsive' and 'vicious,' a threat to society. It forced viewers to look at the seamy side of life since most of the young girls came from very poor slums and working class families. Others were horrified that she seemed to champion ugliness and depravity. Degas never again exhibited the sculpture. And, though he painted ballerinas all his life, The Little Dancer was largely forgotten until it was rediscovered with dozens of other sculptures. His fascination with making sculpture was little known in his lifetime, unlike his portraits, history paintings, scenes from modern life, the world of horse racing, and the theater and ballet.</div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">Christina Zawadiwsky</b><span style="text-align: center;">, winner of a National Endowment Award, and author of The Hand on the Head of Lazarus, wrote this review:</span></div>
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<i><i style="text-align: center;">"We now recognize The Little Dancer sculpture by Degas as arresting and compelling, but there was a time when she was considered scandalous and disturbing. Lyn Lifshin's poems celebrate her creation as a symbol of so many young and impoverished French female dancers who attempted to fill our world with grace, energy, and beauty. And Lifshin's insightful and incisive Little Dancer poems remind us to remember her name, Marie Van Goethem, so that she will never fade into obscurity."</i></i></div>
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker: Les Fauves</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">(Paperback) Released on 15th January 2017</span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fauves-Barbara-Crooker/dp/1936196697/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1483131466&sr=8-3&keywords=barbara+crooker" target="_blank">on amazon.com</a></span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTwrBDzXsHhnLK0jPIkgKsoT_xKiYQ6SyRLrB-1f5ydvOmwSJ7P_2H16N0sbJ9YRmhsYeEY_8IgQ5pIVlULZjvWDYPadm3g6lQk1qzvui8osGnl0Gztt2ynU2FJB0_P1o_Zkobli24_U/s1600/lesfauves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTwrBDzXsHhnLK0jPIkgKsoT_xKiYQ6SyRLrB-1f5ydvOmwSJ7P_2H16N0sbJ9YRmhsYeEY_8IgQ5pIVlULZjvWDYPadm3g6lQk1qzvui8osGnl0Gztt2ynU2FJB0_P1o_Zkobli24_U/s320/lesfauves.jpg" width="207" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></h4>
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<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;">Les Fauves</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;"> is, as the title suggests, a collection of ekphrastic poetry, meditations on paintings from the Fauve and Post-Impressionist movements. But it also contains poetry’s equivalent to Fauvism, poems that take a walk on the wild side. There are language experiment poems, poems of word play, poems in form both usual (end rhymes, sonnets, ghazals) and unusual (abecedaries, traditional, embedded, and double helix), palindromes, anagrams, and word scrambles. Crazy word salad poems. Crooker’s subjects range widely, from living and working in a small village in the South of France, love in a long-term relationship, food as more than sustenance, faith in a secular age, grammar and usage, the pains and pleasures of the aging body. But always, what engages her most is what it means to be human on this fragile planet, at this time in our troubled history, still believing that “Beauty will save the world.” (Fyodor Dostoevsky).</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/robin-ouzman-hislop/all-the-babble-of-the-souk/paperback/product-22740115.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEewMmP9rYNRynkkf-ZyRURKchKaC9ESfv4YRkqoipoclIa2WSFuGJkC4_dKgWkgd-CSTiFW-o3E6Aq0uShh_M2HJECx8TUwq8qaqvwdgz1SaX6e4PmRlafkkA3eDl9u1S4R6V_vvauA/s1600/allthebabbleEdition2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Click book image to visit the seller's page at lulu.com</i></div>
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<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled] with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b></b></i></h2>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"></a></b></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fault Lines:<br />A Poetry Collection by Gary Beck</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kdmCEeK9StaOQxqKwtFUe2n7zhjw7bwaEHTdpdgTZW7hEBqTGY7sZCtJfidHWTflhyphenhyphenTnQ9ASdTcEjiz0I9RrbXCORSFN-0xkxF4TQwhdvyGPWjMHjKwo6a5R2zz5lpRCgUmyjb9NvBc/s1600/Fault-Lines-cover-image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9kdmCEeK9StaOQxqKwtFUe2n7zhjw7bwaEHTdpdgTZW7hEBqTGY7sZCtJfidHWTflhyphenhyphenTnQ9ASdTcEjiz0I9RrbXCORSFN-0xkxF4TQwhdvyGPWjMHjKwo6a5R2zz5lpRCgUmyjb9NvBc/s1600/Fault-Lines-cover-image.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>Fault Lines is a poetry collection that examines the disconnect, the unchallenged chaos, and the possible downfall of humanity.</b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Symphony of the City</span></b></blockquote>
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Discordant orchestra<br />
rent by untuned instruments,<br />
the underlying hum of engines<br />
sound the theme of endless din.<br />
The clack of workmen moving pipes,<br />
the bumpthump of delivery trucks,<br />
the unrhythmic thud of hammer,<br />
the voices of children<br />
cavorting in the playground<br />
serenade the senses,<br />
varied sensual sounds<br />
interrupted by crash and bang,<br />
handymen, repair crews,<br />
horn-blowing motorists<br />
aspiring to be soloists,<br />
daytime throb of labor.<br />
Nighttime crack of gunfire,<br />
shrieks and howls<br />
of citizens in torment<br />
under constant assault,<br />
reveal the melody<br />
of your anguished composition.</blockquote>
<b><br />‘Thoughtful, densely rich poems.’ Archers Crown Magazine</b><br />
<b>‘Excellent, chilling, sobering. Great work.’ – Six Sentences Magazine</b><br />
<b>One of the poems was a Pushcart Prize nominee by Nazar Look Magazine</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1941058558/">Fault Lines.Gary Beck. Amazon.Com</a></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>100 Thousand Poets for Change</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Leeds 2016</b></span></div>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted"><br /></span><span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/100-thousand-poets-for-change-leeds-2016/" rel="bookmark" title="10:39 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-01-16T22:39:09+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">January 16, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span></div>
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<strong>Since 2011, 100 Thousand Poets for Change has been working with poets, writers, artists, musicians… to help organize events around the world for peace, justice and sustainability. Now, more than ever mobilization is crucial so we have created the<a href="http://www.100tpcmedia.org/100TPC2012/events-2/">GLOBAL ACTION CALENDAR</a> open to EVERYONE to post Creative Actions around the world.</strong></blockquote>
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<strong> </strong><i><b>Editor’s Note: </b></i>On January 14th 2017 at the Inkwell Arts Centre Leeds UK <a href="https://www.facebook.com/transformingwithpoetry/">Transforming with Poetry</a> presented this collection of poems by local Leed’s poets & contributors editited by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tony.martinwoods?fref=ufi">Tony Martin-Woods</a> & <a href="https://www.facebook.com/siobhan.macmahon">Siobhan Mac Mahon</a>. Their Editor’s preface scrolled down provides further elucidation on the purposes & intentions of this compilation of poets’ works. Once opened simply simply access the enlarge monitor on the bottom bar & follow the forward arrows throughout.<strong> </strong></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Click the image to find out more about this anthology</i></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">FEATURED VIDEOS</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sweet Little Sperm / Tony Martin Woods</b><br /> for <b>The YouTube Poets </b>TV pilot project</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Meow of Now</b> / a video poem by<b> Paul A Toth </b><br />to be included in <b>The YouTube Poets </b> TV pilot project</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Rediscovered Darkness </b>by<b> Ian Irvine</b><br />for <b>The YouTube Poets </b>TV Pilot project</span><br />
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Sample intro style for <b>The YouTube Poets TV</b> pilot project<br />
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-26332045586236906272017-03-01T11:53:00.001-08:002017-03-01T11:53:09.187-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;">Issue of March 2017</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Special Feature in Poetry Life & Times:</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Poems from <b>Laura Giordani </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Translated from Spanish by <b>Amparo Arrospide</b> and <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b></span><br />
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<b><br /></b><i><b><span style="color: red;">Click picture below to read at Poetry Life & Times in new window</span></b></i><br />
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/poems-from-laura-giordani-translated-from-spanish-by-amparo-arrospide-robin-ouzman-hislop/" target="_blank"><img border="1" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzi6lns-73qQq-uRfE0j0u-FghrUjAfKvcpE1ax4YKYMCygGupOJ2yRpSZN52zNrmV5wm76C3NGHSeG4V6OqXLlQGyPGP_87K0GGBfnMQgSohhEGoj2v9VGh1CCoj0tjjQm9sW5gVSRp0/s400/lauragarticlepic.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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COFFEE HOUSE FEEDBACK<br />A Poem by Marc Carver</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/coffee-house-feedback-a-poem-by-marc-carver/" rel="bookmark" title="5:26 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-02-07T17:26:22+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 7, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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I look at the girl’s reflection in the sheet glass window.<br />
Another woman looks at me.<br />
I see her<br />
but still she looks, I am not that different am I?<br />
The woman shouts some exotic coffee to go but it doesn’t matter because everything is in a ‘to go’ cup today.<br />
The Anglo Indian man told me the dishwasher was broken I asked him if it was him, he looked sheepish.<br />
I can’t decide whether to tell the girl who made me my coffee that it was good<br />
because she told me she didn’t get much feedback.<br />
The woman who looked at me before looked at me again as she walked down the road.<br />
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It is quiet now but still I don’t want to go but I know I must and I know I have to tell her how good that coffee was.<br />
As I tell her an old boy says<br />
“Horrible the coffee in here is horrible.”<br />
“Mine was alright.” I tell him.<br />
As I walk out he walks out with me with his coffee.<br />
He has spilt something on his jacket but not recently<br />
“Horrible.” He says.<br />
“Well it will sober you up.” I say<br />
“It will be Christmas soon.” He says.<br />
It is January.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALE-EZkXnULx9xvC4tEwap4Wn5I4d4A8NQv8ztc4bLWSMJ0vVBWT8qbHLFPcnJUgmnPO8gCZJuB_RYkDhRn1RuZ9EbO-Kt_Tt1KAcZxrCHW-y1Vwf7rDWQGzfQ-T0tOFdWG-m6bgU9JM/s1600/markcarver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALE-EZkXnULx9xvC4tEwap4Wn5I4d4A8NQv8ztc4bLWSMJ0vVBWT8qbHLFPcnJUgmnPO8gCZJuB_RYkDhRn1RuZ9EbO-Kt_Tt1KAcZxrCHW-y1Vwf7rDWQGzfQ-T0tOFdWG-m6bgU9JM/s320/markcarver.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong>Marc Carver Bio:</strong><strong> </strong></blockquote>
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Sometimes I don’t write for a few days and it feels okay but after a few
more it doesn’t feel right at all. So I start to look for things and
get out of the house more and there they are. Just waiting for me all
along.</blockquote>
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The Lucy-Ann. A Poem by Andy Hubbard</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-lucy-ann-a-poem-by-andy-hubbard/" rel="bookmark" title="9:27 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-02-10T21:27:35+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 10, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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She was a fishing smack<br />
Of maybe forty feet<br />
Somehow foundered and come to rest<br />
In our little harbor.<br />
<br />
The crew just walked away,<br />
There were no harbor police in those days.<br />
She just sat there, listing over<br />
A little more every month.<br />
<br />
We boys scrambled aboard<br />
Against our parents’ strict orders<br />
Whenever we could escape surveillance.<br />
<br />
We were looking for treasure<br />
Or guns, or cigarettes,<br />
Or naked women, sprawled and helpless.<br />
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The best we ever found<br />
Was a couple of hunting knives<br />
And some black-and-white mens’ magazines<br />
That didn’t show as much as we could see<br />
Sneaking past big sister’s bathroom.<br />
<br />
In retrospect it was kind of a waste<br />
But at the time it was stranglingly exciting.<br />
<br />
The thrill of the chase,<br />
Of the unknown,<br />
Of the infinitely possible.<br />
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It never recedes. Never.<br />
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Are you free tonight?</blockquote>
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<strong>Andrew Hubbard </strong>was born and raised in a coastal Maine fishing
village. He earned degrees in English and Creative Writing from
Dartmouth College and Columbia University, respectively.</div>
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For most of his career he has worked as Director of Training for major
financial institutions, creating and delivering Sales, Management, and
Technical training for user groups of up to 4,000.</div>
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He has had four prose books published, and his fifth book, a collection of poetry, was published in 2014 by Interactive Press.</div>
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He is a casual student of cooking and wine, a former martial arts
instructor and competitive weight lifter, a collector of edged weapons,
and a licensed handgun instructor. He lives in rural Indiana with his
family, two Siberian Huskies, and a demon cat.</div>
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See Andy Hubbard’s new book at <a href="http://ipoz.biz/portfolio-single/the-divining-rod/">http://ipoz.biz/portfolio-single/the-divining-rod/</a></div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
CRAVING REST. A Poem by Bradford Middleton.</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/craving-rest-a-poem-by-bradford-middleton/" rel="bookmark" title="5:23 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-02-07T17:23:32+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 7, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span></div>
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At work again and craving sleep and<br />
A change in this life, two hundred and eleven hours<br />
To go until freedom is mine<br />
With a move around the corner<br />
Is surely big enough right now but<br />
My eyes look to the future and where<br />
I’ll be spending the rest of my life<br />
Who knows where that will be as<br />
Not even I have one clue as to where<br />
I will land but this year is certainly<br />
Going to be a challenge as again<br />
Job searches begin whilst finding places<br />
That is within my meagre means and the<br />
Sad realisation the answer, still, ain’t much</blockquote>
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<strong>Bradford Middleton </strong>was born in London in 1971 but eventually
found himself in Brighton in 2007 and began writing. Since then he has
over 250 unique publications, including a novel from New Pulp Press and a
couple of poetry chapbooks from Crisis Chronicles Press and Holy &
Intoxicated Press. His work is dotted all over the internet and in
several magazines and journals. He tweets occasionally @beatnikbraduk
and is on facebook at bradfordmiddleton1. </div>
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<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;">Les Fauves</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;"> is, as the title suggests, a collection of ekphrastic poetry, meditations on paintings from the Fauve and Post-Impressionist movements. But it also contains poetry’s equivalent to Fauvism, poems that take a walk on the wild side. There are language experiment poems, poems of word play, poems in form both usual (end rhymes, sonnets, ghazals) and unusual (abecedaries, traditional, embedded, and double helix), palindromes, anagrams, and word scrambles. Crazy word salad poems. Crooker’s subjects range widely, from living and working in a small village in the South of France, love in a long-term relationship, food as more than sustenance, faith in a secular age, grammar and usage, the pains and pleasures of the aging body. But always, what engages her most is what it means to be human on this fragile planet, at this time in our troubled history, still believing that “Beauty will save the world.” (Fyodor Dostoevsky).</span></h4>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled] with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b></b></i></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"></a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fault Lines: <br />A Poetry Collection by Gary Beck</span></b><br />
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<b>Fault Lines is a poetry collection that examines the disconnect, the unchallenged chaos, and the possible downfall of humanity.</b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Symphony of the City</span></b></blockquote>
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Discordant orchestra<br />
rent by untuned instruments,<br />
the underlying hum of engines<br />
sound the theme of endless din.<br />
The clack of workmen moving pipes,<br />
the bumpthump of delivery trucks,<br />
the unrhythmic thud of hammer,<br />
the voices of children<br />
cavorting in the playground<br />
serenade the senses,<br />
varied sensual sounds<br />
interrupted by crash and bang,<br />
handymen, repair crews,<br />
horn-blowing motorists<br />
aspiring to be soloists,<br />
daytime throb of labor.<br />
Nighttime crack of gunfire,<br />
shrieks and howls<br />
of citizens in torment<br />
under constant assault,<br />
reveal the melody<br />
of your anguished composition.</blockquote>
<b><br />‘Thoughtful, densely rich poems.’ Archers Crown Magazine</b><br />
<b>‘Excellent, chilling, sobering. Great work.’ – Six Sentences Magazine</b><br />
<b>One of the poems was a Pushcart Prize nominee by Nazar Look Magazine</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1941058558/">Fault Lines.Gary Beck. Amazon.Com</a></b></span><br />
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted"><br /></span><span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/100-thousand-poets-for-change-leeds-2016/" rel="bookmark" title="10:39 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-01-16T22:39:09+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">January 16, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span></div>
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<strong>Since 2011, 100 Thousand Poets for Change has been working with poets, writers, artists, musicians… to help organize events around the world for peace, justice and sustainability. Now, more than ever mobilization is crucial so we have created the<a href="http://www.100tpcmedia.org/100TPC2012/events-2/">GLOBAL ACTION CALENDAR</a> open to EVERYONE to post Creative Actions around the world.</strong></blockquote>
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<strong> </strong><i><b>Editor’s Note:</b></i>On January 14th 2017 at the Inkwell Arts Centre Leeds UK <a href="https://www.facebook.com/transformingwithpoetry/">Transforming with Poetry</a> presented this collection of poems by local Leed’s poets & contributors<br />
editited by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tony.martinwoods?fref=ufi">Tony Martin-Woods</a> & <a href="https://www.facebook.com/siobhan.macmahon">Siobhan Mac Mahon</a>. Their Editor’s preface scrolled down provides further elucidation on the purposes & intentions of this compilation of poets’ works. Once opened simply simply access the enlarge monitor on the bottom bar & follow the forward arrows throughout.<strong> </strong></blockquote>
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The Insomniac's Prayer / Sara Russell, self-help poetry mantra for insomniacs<br />
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Stuck in a Black Bird's Groove by Nordette N. Adams<br />
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-76943449112080892642017-01-30T13:28:00.001-08:002017-02-01T08:03:28.001-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;">Issue of February 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Welcome back</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Jan Sand; poet, cartoonist & satirist</b></span><br />
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Originally a New Yorker, Jan Sand now lives in Helsinki, Finland. Jan was one of the first poets ever to appear in Poetry Life & Times, after its founder, Sara Russell, discovered his poetry on a newsgroup called alt.arts.poetry.comments. He became a regular contributor during the first years of Poetry Life & Times, including poetry and cartoons. He sent us a data stick of his more recent work in December 2016, rich with poetry and artwork, so now we are delighted to be able to introduce Jan's works to a new generation of readers.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>RECIPE FOR A WORLD</b></span></blockquote>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Let there be light, of course.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">But darkness too,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Where the planet</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-family: Times;">'</span>s shoulder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Shrugs away the fury of the Sun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">To permit the Moon</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-family: Times;">'</span>s cool eye<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">To hold court over her coterie of stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">The world itself, a ball of rock<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Holding in its tight fist<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">A nugget of molten nickel iron<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Must wear a simple veil of seas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Galaxies of shining fish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Should swirl through this salty soup<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">And, lightly sown throughout its blue
ambience,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Monsters of tentacles and teeth must roam<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">To teach death to life and give it value.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Across dry land multitudes of green eyes<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Must drink the sun <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">And give its lessons to the air,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">To the water and the soil<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">That they also may learn to feel time and
life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Within the tangle of the trees,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Through the mesh of roots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Above, the luxury of the plants,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">The empire of the animals<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Must consume, conflict, conquer and
cooperate<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">With wonders of terror, understanding and
delight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">All this turmoil must act and react<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">To confront, oppose, cancel and,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">In finality,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";">Reach the balance of equilibrium.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5vwarD54S-zR_MTSm8VaxEB7oGg9Fqe6HLZdTCZyr-8sGdXj3yFGK_cXpuTLGoRj6D-mEpz30HWPIaF906hIDFsNA1msTRt7R2fmXIM23HTlsjyB6SADUNjHe138hcXax6nrxTFXqbA/s1600/Eve+and+the+Snake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK5vwarD54S-zR_MTSm8VaxEB7oGg9Fqe6HLZdTCZyr-8sGdXj3yFGK_cXpuTLGoRj6D-mEpz30HWPIaF906hIDFsNA1msTRt7R2fmXIM23HTlsjyB6SADUNjHe138hcXax6nrxTFXqbA/s400/Eve+and+the+Snake.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Eve and the Snake, by Jan Sand</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";"><b><span style="font-size: large;">RAGGED MAGIC</span></b></span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "arial";"></span>
<br />
<div class="p1">
He appeared</div>
<div class="p1">
Tall and thin.</div>
<div class="p1">
Tall and thin with a grin.</div>
<div class="p1">
An ironic smile, with guile</div>
<div class="p1">
To permit an opening. Friendly enough</div>
<div class="p1">
So that approach might coach</div>
<div class="p1">
In anticipation a reciprocal</div>
<div class="p1">
Appreciation. </div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I saw him in the subway station.</div>
<div class="p1">
No one else about.</div>
<div class="p1">
In this city late at night he might,</div>
<div class="p1">
Considering his dress</div>
<div class="p1">
Evoke panic, shouts, distress.</div>
<div class="p1">
But no.</div>
<div class="p1">
He seemed harmless enough</div>
<div class="p1">
Made of funny friendly stuff. </div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“</span>Hello,<span class="s1">”</span> he said. Shook his head.</div>
<div class="p1">
“Sorry about those.” Indicated ragged clothes.</div>
<div class="p1">
“I am, in this moment, at these dates,</div>
<div class="p1">
In dire financial straits.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“I am”, one eyebrow rose, “a magic man.”</div>
<div class="p1">
He pinched his nose. “I can produce wonders.”</div>
<div class="p1">
He curled his thumb, touched his chin</div>
<div class="p1">
To indicate he would begin.</div>
<div class="p1">
I heard distant thunders. </div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
“Watch!”, he said, and a red</div>
<div class="p1">
Balloon popped out from his palm.</div>
<div class="p1">
Without a qualm he twitched his nose.</div>
<div class="p1">
The balloon arose.</div>
<div class="p1">
But on his toes he poked the thing.</div>
<div class="p1">
It sprouted, first, one wing, then another.</div>
<div class="p1">
Tweeted. Then flew down the tunnel.</div>
<div class="p1">
“Look!”, he cried, produced a funnel, out from which</div>
<div class="p1">
Poured golden streams. He grinned and from his eyes</div>
<div class="p1">
Sprang glowing gleams. I leaped back.</div>
<div class="p1">
With a “crack!” he shook his beard</div>
<div class="p1">
And disappeared! </div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I peered behind a nearby post.</div>
<div class="p1">
There he stood, most delighted</div>
<div class="p1">
At my surprise.</div>
<div class="p1">
He winked his eyes.</div>
<div class="p1">
I wished him luck.</div>
<div class="p1">
Gave him a buck.</div>
</blockquote>
</div>
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<i>" Conflict" by Jan Sand</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">VERNAL PROCESS </span></b></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
The cold is gone,<br />
The Spring's begun<br />
And life begins to spill from time<br />
In green cascades. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
Miniscule eagernesses<br />
Coalesce from rain and air<br />
To gobble up the energies<br />
Pouring down from the sun<br />
To fabricate life's brocade. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
So now the killing must begin<br />
As tooth and beak ply to their trade<br />
To swallow down the newborn hopes,<br />
Divert their purposes unmade.<br />
Elemental shapes reform to new sophisticated norms<br />
Which rise in waves of ceaseless change,<br />
Anticipating to arrange<br />
The modules of the living things<br />
To patterns of both death and hope<br />
In this grim kaleidoscope.</blockquote>
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--------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- <br />
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Also welcome back: Jim Dunlap</h1>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoSOMMzyJHep6C2BDFtZXU2JvTM398HWiFAiLNgseu7eXdZtKhnL1NgNmYNEUKCIrstV9tpFNxWoTjg003nlThayccewZxWUY68u4Pe1y5WJ3UJpufFRjdJ8FD6gnoyOen2syCtRz3dE/s1600/jimdunlap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKoSOMMzyJHep6C2BDFtZXU2JvTM398HWiFAiLNgseu7eXdZtKhnL1NgNmYNEUKCIrstV9tpFNxWoTjg003nlThayccewZxWUY68u4Pe1y5WJ3UJpufFRjdJ8FD6gnoyOen2syCtRz3dE/s1600/jimdunlap.jpg" /></a><br />
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<br />
<header class="entry-header"><h1 class="entry-title post-title">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><blockquote class="tr_bq" style="font-size: small; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Politics of Verisimilitude. </span><span style="font-size: large;">A Villanelle Poem by Jim Dunlap.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted at Poetry Life & Times on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-politics-of-verisimilitude-a-villanelle-poem-by-jim-dunlap/" rel="bookmark" title="7:00 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-01-26T19:00:20+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">January 26, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span></span></blockquote>
</span></h1>
</header><div class="post-entry">
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
An ill-thought-out statement can pack quite a punch,<br />
So it’s best to be careful while speaking:<br />
What you say at breakfast … can eat you for lunch. *<br />
<br />
A bare-knuckle sandwich might be what you munch<br />
If your words cause inordinate ‘freaking’:<br />
An ill-thought-out statement can pack quite a punch.<br />
<br />
Unwelcome visitors might join you for brunch<br />
If bad thoughts from your mouth exit streaking:<br />
What you say at breakfast … can eat you for lunch.<br />
<br />
The state of the world, at last forced to the crunch,<br />
Throws a stench that’s quite powerfully reeking:<br />
What you eat for breakfast may inconvenience your lunch.<br />
<br />
Of the species on earth, we’re the worst of the bunch,<br />
And we’ll likely not find what we’re seeking:<br />
Mother Nature could just simply CANCEL our lunch.<br />
<br />
No ‘bang’ and no ‘whimper’ can make such a scrunch<br />
As the blast where the fuel line was leaking.<br />
An ill-thought-out statement can pack quite a punch:<br />
What you mis-said at breakfast … can eat you for lunch.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Snipping the Threads<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></span></b></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<b>from <a href="http://www.thehypertexts.com/Jim%20Dunlap%20Poet%20Poetry%20Picture%20Bio.htm" target="_blank">The Hypertexts</a> by Jim Dunlap </b></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
Talking to you yesterday, I realized<br />
that love never really dies, at all ...<br />
and that, although you empathized,<br />
you’ve moved on, far beyond recall ...<br />
while I’ve kept the embers fanned,<br />
and still see you in nightly dreams.<br />
The chasm truly can’t be spanned,<br />
nor time embroidered at the seams.<br />
We’re rather different people now,<br />
though to me it seems just yesterday.<br />
Our last goodbye became a vow,<br />
and your black and white, my gray.<br />
I've gathered threads I cannot sever:<br />
see you on the far side of forever.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="text-align: start;"><b>Jim Dunlap</b>'s poetry has been published extensively in print and online in the United States, England, France, India, Australia, Switzerland and New Zealand. His work has appeared in over 90 publications, including </span><i style="text-align: start;">Potpourri, Candelabrum, Mobius</i><span style="text-align: start;"> and the </span><i style="text-align: start;">Paris/Atlantic</i><span style="text-align: start;">. He is the co-editor of </span><i style="text-align: start;">Sonnetto Poesia</i><span style="text-align: start;"> and and is serving as co-editor of a new sonnet anthology currently in production, </span><em style="text-align: start;">The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes</em><span style="text-align: start;">. He is also the chief proofreader for the On Viewless Wings Anthologies, published out of Queensland, Australia. In the past, he was a resident poet on </span><i style="text-align: start;">Poetry Life & Times </i><span style="text-align: start;">and the newsletter editor for seven years with the Des Moines Area Writers' Network. You can download an e-book of his poems, </span><em style="text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=Jim+Dunlap">The Spirit of Christmas in Poetry</a></em></span><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="background-color: white;">, by clicking on the hyperlinked title.</span></span><strong><br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.thehypertexts.com%2FJim%2520Dunlap%2520Poet%2520Poetry%2520Picture%2520Bio.htm&h=jAQEu7luM&enc=AZOlyYmktETZ1dgbxJ7An15xoVkcgWrzh6c3gtfnADJQbutQFsQ2D6QnvhzA6VNKWBcZaLNL1nD49FnUCYzkbcfxSmMV-Ac6rbCTNlXE3qtgJ28nSNX-Z8qCqaBauJ0gr1i7RxASIWGUvyFN22wn3NW3&s=1" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.thehypertexts.com/<wbr></wbr>Jim%20Dunlap%20Poet%20Poetry%20<wbr></wbr>Picture%20Bio.htm</a></strong><br />
<br />
<strong>Homepage: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fmindfulofpoetry.homestead.com%2Findex.html&h=UAQGrIah2&enc=AZNbdLtlN0fFMzEzYoC_zfwP0KOorgUPZvTPPvOtISob0Q3AvhFm3aV_hM4db5aXRuutlvcCbzJmbUUYlVEpb8ymPZ35lAyX0rh_NvPFb0RuYTqX1JoJuMWNRZLOdzFcB0NAb5jgOuRXk9AyPrykgU3a&s=1" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">http://<wbr></wbr>mindfulofpoetry.homestead.com/<wbr></wbr>index.html</a></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And the welcome return of: Richard Vallance ...</b></span></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Sappho Ode. The Moon Has Set The Pleiades. Translations Richard Vallance.</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/sappho-ode-the-moon-has-set-the-pleiades/" rel="bookmark" title="8:59 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2015-05-30T20:59:47+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 30, 2015</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span></div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
The Stone is Cast. Sonnet. <br />Poem by Richard Vallance.</h1>
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">
</span><br />
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-stone-is-cast-sonnet-poem-by-richard-vallance/" rel="bookmark" title="10:11 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-01-12T22:11:18+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">January 12, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><br /></span>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<strong>John 8:7</strong><strong> </strong><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<em>So since they kept on and on nagging him, he answered them, and said,</em><em>“Let the one among you who is sinless be the first to cast a stone at her.”</em><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
As stones are cast against the inner walls,<br />
the lessee of the castle wracks his brains,<br />
while wicked winter rails against its halls<br />
and shakes the filings off his dungeon’s chains<br />
where he’s incarcerated serfs at whim,<br />
because they’d dared defy his iron will:<br />
his fingers drew the rusty bolt on him<br />
as well as them, and held him, freezing, still,<br />
until he fled that vile, ensanguined room,<br />
their blasted thane — unconscious of his sin,<br />
though conscious of what cold impending doom<br />
was bound, as winter is, to do him in.<br />
Oh when it does, its frozen blast shall blind<br />
him to the shattered mortar of his mind.<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Richard Vallance,</strong></em><em><strong>
</strong></em><em><strong>
January 3, 2017 </strong></em></blockquote>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<strong>Richard Vallance, </strong>meta-linguist, ancient Greek & Mycenaean Linear B, home page: Linear B, Knossos & Mycenae, <span style="color: navy;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com/">http://linearbknossosmycenae.wordpress.com/</a></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: navy;">Also previously wrote <b>The Vallance Review</b> for Poetry Life & Times in the 1990's</span></div>
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<pre class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="font-family: Times; white-space: normal;">
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/fault-lines-collected-poems-release-symphony-of-the-city-video-poem-by-gary-beck/" rel="bookmark">Fault Lines. Collected Poems Release. Symphony of the City. </a></div>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/fault-lines-collected-poems-release-symphony-of-the-city-video-poem-by-gary-beck/" rel="bookmark" title="8:31 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-01-08T20:31:56+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">January 8, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Y6EvqR_FzFQ/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Y6EvqR_FzFQ?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Symphony of the City</span></b></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
Discordant orchestra<br />
rent by untuned instruments,<br />
the underlying hum of engines<br />
sound the theme of endless din.<br />
The clack of workmen moving pipes,<br />
the bumpthump of delivery trucks,<br />
the unrhythmic thud of hammer,<br />
the voices of children<br />
cavorting in the playground<br />
serenade the senses,<br />
varied sensual sounds<br />
interrupted by crash and bang,<br />
handymen, repair crews,<br />
horn-blowing motorists<br />
aspiring to be soloists,<br />
daytime throb of labor.<br />
Nighttime crack of gunfire,<br />
shrieks and howls<br />
of citizens in torment<br />
under constant assault,<br />
reveal the melody<br />
of your anguished composition.</blockquote>
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<b>Fault Lines is a poetry collection that examines the disconnect, the unchallenged chaos, and the possible downfall of humanity.<br /><br />‘Thoughtful, densely rich poems.’ Archers Crown Magazine</b><br />
<b>‘Excellent, chilling, sobering. Great work.’ – Six Sentences Magazine</b><br />
<b>One of the poems was a Pushcart Prize nominee by Nazar Look Magazine</b><br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1941058558/">Fault Lines.Gary Beck. Amazon.Com</a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>100 Thousand Poets for Change
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/100-thousand-poets-for-change-leeds-2016/" rel="bookmark" title="10:39 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2017-01-16T22:39:09+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">January 16, 2017</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span> </div>
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<strong>Since 2011, 100 Thousand Poets for Change has been working
with poets, writers, artists, musicians… to help organize events around
the world for peace, justice and sustainability. Now, more than ever
mobilization is crucial so we have created the <a href="http://www.100tpcmedia.org/100TPC2012/events-2/"> GLOBAL ACTION CALENDAR</a> open to EVERYONE to post Creative Actions around the world.</strong></blockquote>
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</strong><i><b>Editor’s Note:</b></i>On January 14th 2017 at the Inkwell Arts Centre Leeds UK <a href="https://www.facebook.com/transformingwithpoetry/">Transforming with Poetry</a> presented this collection of poems by local Leed’s poets & contributors<br />
editited by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tony.martinwoods?fref=ufi">Tony Martin-Woods</a> & <a href="https://www.facebook.com/siobhan.macmahon">Siobhan Mac Mahon</a>.
Their Editor’s preface scrolled down provides further elucidation on
the purposes & intentions of this compilation of poets’ works. Once
opened simply simply access the enlarge monitor on the bottom bar &
follow the forward arrows throughout.<strong> </strong></blockquote>
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<a href="http://issuu.com/transformingwithpoetry/docs/100tpc_leeds_2016" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiQX2qpA79JgwF0hheOT3Pee3yemrYi8Cw_vCS6XaSBndvYneZFK40bNXWlhLi_poVHpTWFvZyGJiQ-eXaP74cWjQIFIoZilm-tzt-EoC7Z8uJk3FJVdf6pMmHEIENsdsJfkkn322FhCM/s320/100thouspoets.png" width="227" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker: Les Fauves</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">(Paperback) Released on 15th January 2017</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fauves-Barbara-Crooker/dp/1936196697/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1483131466&sr=8-3&keywords=barbara+crooker" target="_blank">on amazon.com</a></span></h4>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTwrBDzXsHhnLK0jPIkgKsoT_xKiYQ6SyRLrB-1f5ydvOmwSJ7P_2H16N0sbJ9YRmhsYeEY_8IgQ5pIVlULZjvWDYPadm3g6lQk1qzvui8osGnl0Gztt2ynU2FJB0_P1o_Zkobli24_U/s1600/lesfauves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTwrBDzXsHhnLK0jPIkgKsoT_xKiYQ6SyRLrB-1f5ydvOmwSJ7P_2H16N0sbJ9YRmhsYeEY_8IgQ5pIVlULZjvWDYPadm3g6lQk1qzvui8osGnl0Gztt2ynU2FJB0_P1o_Zkobli24_U/s320/lesfauves.jpg" width="207" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></em></h4>
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<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;">Les Fauves</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;"> is, as the title suggests, a collection of ekphrastic poetry, meditations on paintings from the Fauve and Post-Impressionist movements. But it also contains poetry’s equivalent to Fauvism, poems that take a walk on the wild side. There are language experiment poems, poems of word play, poems in form both usual (end rhymes, sonnets, ghazals) and unusual (abecedaries, traditional, embedded, and double helix), palindromes, anagrams, and word scrambles. Crazy word salad poems. Crooker’s subjects range widely, from living and working in a small village in the South of France, love in a long-term relationship, food as more than sustenance, faith in a secular age, grammar and usage, the pains and pleasures of the aging body. But always, what engages her most is what it means to be human on this fragile planet, at this time in our troubled history, still believing that “Beauty will save the world.” (Fyodor Dostoevsky).</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/http://www.lulu.com/shop/robin-ouzman-hislop/all-the-babble-of-the-souk/paperback/product-22740115.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpEewMmP9rYNRynkkf-ZyRURKchKaC9ESfv4YRkqoipoclIa2WSFuGJkC4_dKgWkgd-CSTiFW-o3E6Aq0uShh_M2HJECx8TUwq8qaqvwdgz1SaX6e4PmRlafkkA3eDl9u1S4R6V_vvauA/s1600/allthebabbleEdition2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled] with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b></b></i></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"></a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<b style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="color: #38761d;">FEATURED VIDEOS</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Janet Kuypers reads 3 life & death poems at Georgetown's "Poetry Aloud" open mic event on 21st January 2017</span></div>
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Madrid 1973; by Guadalupe Grande, 2013</div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/madrid-1973-poem-video-guadalupe-grande/" target="_blank">Read full text and translation at Poetry Life & Times</a></div>
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<i>Original Translation<strong> Amparo Arrospide </strong>&<strong> Robin Ouzman Hislop</strong></i></div>
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The Lammas Hireling, by Ian Duhig</div>
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Tara Bergin reads "At the Lakes With Roberta"</div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/you-tube-video-poets-sara-l-russell/" rel="bookmark" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2a6496; outline: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">You Tube Video Poets. Sara L Russell.</span></a></h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted" style="box-sizing: border-box;">Posted on </span><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/you-tube-video-poets-sara-l-russell/" rel="bookmark" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;" title="7:11 pm">January 11, 2017</a><span class="byline" style="box-sizing: border-box;"> by </span><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person" style="box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></div>
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<article class="post-5684 post type-post status-publish format-standard hentry category-announcements category-poetry category-poetry-life-times category-poets category-sara-l-russell category-video category-video-poem tag-poem tag-poet tag-poetry-2 tag-video-poem tag-you-tube-video-poets" id="post-5684" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; padding-bottom: 20px;"><div class="post-entry" style="box-sizing: border-box;">
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box;">Meet <b>Sara Russell</b> she is Editor of the monthly Poetry Lifetimes Blog our plan at <b>Poetry Life & Times</b> is to make a <b>YouTube</b> Poetry Documentary with Sara as it’s Editor, submissions or for more info contact Robin@Artvilla.com for sample videos check this site or see our Facebook page <a href="http://www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;">www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes</a></span></div>
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-66585169109485437522017-01-01T09:26:00.000-08:002017-01-03T15:47:32.602-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;">Issue of January 2017: The Best Poems from 2016</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/warm-series-789-poems-by-darren-c-demaree/" rel="bookmark"><span style="color: black;">Warm. (Series 7/8/9) Poems by Darren C. Demaree</span></a></h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/warm-series-789-poems-by-darren-c-demaree/" rel="bookmark" title="12:44 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-02-21T12:44:25+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 21, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span> </div>
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<b>WARM #7</b></blockquote>
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I took a turn<br />
into the outskirts<br />
of the assumption<br />
<br />
that each darkness<br />
is a cool pool<br />
waiting<br />
<br />
for my warmth<br />
& I got burned<br />
many times<br />
<br />
by the thick life<br />
that never dies<br />
in that world.<br />
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I left<br />
whole years<br />
in those places.<br />
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<b>WARM #8</b><br />
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I look twice<br />
at the pinch<br />
of away<br />
<br />
& away from<br />
me. I am<br />
taken by<br />
<br />
how often<br />
I long to be<br />
the collision.<br />
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<b>WARM #9</b><br />
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All over again,<br />
I talked about birth<br />
as flight,<br />
<br />
but to take the air<br />
& the wind<br />
at the same time<br />
<br />
takes maturity.<br />
We crawl<br />
though every inch<br />
<br />
of the warm<br />
cascade before<br />
we ever look up.<br />
<br />
We shake<br />
for decades<br />
after we stand.<br />
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<a href="http://darren%20c.%20demaree/"><b>Darren C. Demaree</b></a></blockquote>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufxyZtAgl09_kPwMs6tx8kJBCSypZvdfELQo49DyE66qGHQiT2cf4d1sRR5a3Zf34ZBr6JkR-4hV1CqR5gkPRD2OllkCZ9qSghlHKLkZLcjhAK_LlZo9KO9cWmNpXfDezJchuZsaRrfA/s1600/Darren-C.-Demaree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhufxyZtAgl09_kPwMs6tx8kJBCSypZvdfELQo49DyE66qGHQiT2cf4d1sRR5a3Zf34ZBr6JkR-4hV1CqR5gkPRD2OllkCZ9qSghlHKLkZLcjhAK_LlZo9KO9cWmNpXfDezJchuZsaRrfA/s320/Darren-C.-Demaree.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div>
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“Darren is a dangerous dreamer, concocting love poems to his home state,
and pastorals to his true love. But there’s always something more
beneath the surface: sex and violence, villainy, mutilation, uneasy
redemption and troubled ecstasy. These poems are pins pressed deep in
the disfigured heart of America. They work a dark magic on the reader —
they’re unsettling in necessary ways.” Christopher Michel</b><br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------</span><span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span><span style="color: #45818e;">-------------- </span><br />
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<header class="entry-header" style="text-align: start;"><h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-mole-a-poem-by-ananya-s-guha/">The Mole. A Poem by Ananya S Guha</a></h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-mole-a-poem-by-ananya-s-guha/" rel="bookmark" title="1:07 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-05-20T13:07:26+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 20, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<b>I hate to say it</b><br />
<b>but the mole on my nose</b><br />
<b>is only an architecture of disdain</b><br />
<b>pure contempt for Grecian looks</b><br />
<b>and ultra</b><br />
<b>violets have broken into unmusical</b><br />
<b>songs, I have a hand for blasphemy</b><br />
<b>for those in exile ( in oblivion)</b><br />
<b>but the mole gives intrepid warmth</b><br />
<b>to a less than humane heart</b><br />
<b>a heart that mocks at love</b><br />
<b>and sees in body lust</b><br />
<b>philanderer of hope, testimony</b><br />
<b>coming back to the mole, the nose itches</b><br />
<b>in radical protest against human faces</b><br />
<b>of dignity.revolt then, you reprobates</b><br />
<b>crush the sinner’s dying plea of resurrection.</b><br />
<b>the mole looks blacker, wilder and the body</b><br />
<b>warms.</b></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuJaoGEsWqOmhapb_M8goBq4JIraaiYYsjJ27eAY6SU5tlaUAVec4QU4IO4BVnfG2eYXryKgzU5hSEapYQOXIzmOygjYr-Xkx0I2SV-lNEvJp6UnBBU0iSrFERtFbAannSEQSNz5KBGg/s1600/AnanyaSGuha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuJaoGEsWqOmhapb_M8goBq4JIraaiYYsjJ27eAY6SU5tlaUAVec4QU4IO4BVnfG2eYXryKgzU5hSEapYQOXIzmOygjYr-Xkx0I2SV-lNEvJp6UnBBU0iSrFERtFbAannSEQSNz5KBGg/s1600/AnanyaSGuha.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span><strong style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: HelveticaNeue-Light, 'Helvetica Neue Light', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; text-align: start;">Ananya S Guha </strong><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-family: , "helvetica neue light" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">has been born and brought up in Shillong, India and works in India’s National Open University, the Indira Gandhi National Open University. His poems in English have been published world wide. He also writes for newspapers and magazines/ web zines on matters ranging from society and politics to education. He holds a doctoral degree on the novels of </span>William Golding<span style="font-weight: normal;">. He edits the poetry column of </span><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The<span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span>Thumb Print Magazine</em><span style="font-weight: normal;">, and has published seven collections of poetry.</span></span></h4>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/nominated-for-the-push-cart-prize-africa-north-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark">Nominated for the Push Cart Prize: Africa North. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted"><br /></span>
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/nominated-for-the-push-cart-prize-africa-north-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="11:01 am"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-11-03T11:01:39+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">November 3, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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Africa North is an excerpt from the collected poems <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/">All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop</a> </div>
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<span style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: normal;">Solstice winds, rain return in spells<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />a moon waxes full, dogs howl as well.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />All the babble of the Souk<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />men over there, over there women.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />All the life of the planet<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />so little part of it that i breathe.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Weather beaten highlands, once passed through.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The river bed, no more like a parched bone<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />its late autumnal river meanders as a vein<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />past four reservoirs<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />a quest that will end in winter´s flood.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Between them are momentary mists<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />where brightly clad figures of the north, suddenly dim.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />On the frontier’s beach taxis come, go<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />only the stranded remain, together with the seagulls<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />four men huddled, drenched in pouring rain<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />dead once more, again, all pathways home<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />washed away, again. A broken song<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Remember me, sung in a doorway<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />brings the world at large together<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />as suddenly as it narrows.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />~<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Water runs on marble<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />nakedness revealed, nakedness concealed<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />form water words, water memories, mists, fates.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Veins wrestle the marble into mangled knots<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />blemished pearls on an implacable skin<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />shards leaving fragmentary traces<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />empty spaces awaiting faces.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Lights dance in the night, picturesque<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />“casas blancas del pueblo”<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />appear through the darkness<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />as the brush strokes of my mind steal the action of the shadow.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Mists cordon the mountain tops<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />guerdoned crowns like wreathes.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Ancient fields’ still colours surrounded<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />by burgeoning new lead to the valley below.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Old women, old as aglow, so slow they go<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />poised aloof in an untouchable world, trapped.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />High in kiln firelight they cowl night’s shade<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />to oversee goats on the hill beneath.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Daughters of necessity naked in the rock<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />unleashed in white trefoil in the marsh<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />swamp of night rain, stark where epochs<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />sleep in their shadows.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Replication of memories, where the old<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />becomes the new, a world splits in two<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />with Morpheus in the breach.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Beyond control, beyond reach the erratic butterfly<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />flits bloom to bloom, the intrepid stalker with net<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />both captured in the mimic mould.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />A knot is tied, a knot that wrestles<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />embraces, that ravels birth<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />unravels death & binds its existence.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />~<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Her face is as if a moon glazed over<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />with a less serene ceramic dust that in the end<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />after its perplexity contains its surety.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />She draws her forefinger laterally across<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />under her eye lid in a smear<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />nor can you change the image of what you are<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />in the pupil of her eye.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Babble bodies blur<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />voices with their echoes down the street<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />sky high, prices fly<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />a bird song breaks, a splash charade.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Faces in the rain thin<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />weakness of watery years.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />A winnowing canvass tosses corn<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />as fireflies in the blazing day.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The hag in her rags begs her bag<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />holding all shadows to account.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />You sit in the solitary corner<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />at the empty dice board<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />to throw, as the music swells, as strings play.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />On the washing line clothes of all shapes<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />sizes are waiting to be filled<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />suspended between earth, sky, where white sheets blow.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />A twinge of nostalgia flashes<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />a link between a fluttering curtain<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />an open window frame, a sun shadow game<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />a flickering apparition pattern leaving only – strands.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />A breeze flutters an open foolscap on the table<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />as though a phantom reader<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />should flick with regard through a score of notes<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />then stops at the first blank white sheets<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />stays, the moving hand that wrote, wrote no more.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />~<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />On record, old honky-tonk goes on<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />amidst the heaps of consumer city sneakers<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />in the same dust where faces<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />turn from their spring red lustre to a sun soiled wear<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Through a beehive of alleys<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />names, aye to fetch them home again<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />as if where the countless dead resided, you’d said<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />in a market of women shrouded in shawls.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />~<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Berlin falls, Baghdad falls<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />all the years turn to further tears<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />further fears to merge with your voyage<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />the shape of dreams to come<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />to be only endearments of what has gone before.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />A flower opens after a thousand years in a shell of tears<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />indifferent to its beholders’ sight<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />who paint it with the colours from the waters of their night<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />on an unknown shore, to whose sight it opened once before.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Children’s faces like radiant imps<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />play carefree in the streets below<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />overhead on red tiles, fat pigeons bicker, coo.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In an internet cafe, an Arab girl discrete in headdress<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />plays with cartoon molecules of Mickey Mouse<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Koala bear<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />nubile women’s faces dream of nudity in their shrouds.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Wonky pinz nez specs, jumble sale clothes<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />bad teeth, unshaven grin<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />looking a faded duplicate of a down<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />out James Joyce with the come on<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />are you Irish, he asks<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />perhaps he was once upon a time.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />~<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />They came through the cleft of the mountain<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />– where the river ran<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />to swim as a blur in the naked purple of the eye.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />On the mountain face there is a scar<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />once a sacred place, now extinct, as they are.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Yet wild still she runs, amidst the sheep, goats<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />toils at the hearth, dutifully bears children<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />yesterday she knows but not tomorrow<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />where she hides her sorrow.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Even as he ploughs the hillside<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />a photo will steal his soul, but his beasts will do.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />~<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Twilight’s girls, girls, girls<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />throng the bustling street corners eating caracoles.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />By day the olive tree green in the blue sky of the window<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />seems almost immortal enriched with the blood<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />it’s enriched, now at its roots.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Costa de la playa, white beehives in the sun, all money, no honey.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In the broken lights of the bazaar<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />the dusky eyes of the beggar sunk in their sockets<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />maze in crooked cul de sacs embargo amidst<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />the furls of silk that foil the flickering lantern niche.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In the gloaming a solitary reaper reaps its shadow.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Streets packs ravage carcasses<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />at dawn, the city wakes to the city’s obedience<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />to obey its disappearing shadows.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />A ghost city of watchers<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />watched as shadows by a memory that has outlived them<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />now fragments in an admixture of old, new<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />amidst a junk yard of rubble<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />watcher shadows phased captive to their fading stories.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The street’s mechanics of the day<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />obey their limits, patterns of parts<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />where we end only to start in a series of nows.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Post mortem of the world at large<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />an autopsy of ghosts on the slab.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Born to see, in the boutiques people seem<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />like their own mannequins<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />existence is a mystery with no purpose</span></span></div>
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: normal;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;"></span></span><br />
<ul style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 0px;"><ol style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: normal;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">only we endow it with a destiny, it does not seek from us.</span></span></ol>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">Robin Ouzman Hislop<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />is on line Editor at Motherbird.com, Artvilla.com & Poetry Life & Times, his recent publications include <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Voices without Borders Volume</em> 1 (USA),<em style="box-sizing: border-box;"> Cold Mountain Review </em>(Appalachian University, N.Carolina), <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Poetic Bond Volumes</em>, <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Phoenix Rising from the Ashes</em> (an international anthology of sonnets) and <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">The Honest Ulsterman</em>.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />His last publications are a volume of collected poems <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">All the Babble of the Souk</em> & <em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Key of Mist</em>, a translation from Spanish of the poems by the Spanish poetess Guadalupe Grande, both are published by Aquillrelle.com and available at all main online tributaries. For further information about these publications with reviews and comments see </strong><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;"><a href="http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm" style="background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;">Author Robin.</a></strong>.<br />
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<br />
<strong style="box-sizing: border-box;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes" style="background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;">www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes</a><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com" style="background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;">www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com</a><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/" style="background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;">robin@artvilla.com</a><br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/" style="background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #428bca; text-decoration: none;">editor@artvilla.com</a></strong></div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
Counter-factual History Poetry by<br />Christopher Barnes</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/counter-factual-history-poetry-by-christopher-barnes/" rel="bookmark" title="10:39 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-25T22:39:10+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 25, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<b><b>Flash Gear</b> </b></div>
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Foot-long tresses, plum and tangerine blouse,</div>
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Ink-smudge breeks – Admiral Horatio Nelson struts.</div>
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Carnaby St. is a kinetic three blocks.</div>
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In Lord John’s portal he rib-digs Joe,</div>
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Land-pirate to a clutter of pharmacies,</div>
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Shopping list: four honeypots – French Blues.</div>
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Currency for peacocks is revels or frills.</div>
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<b><b>Hereafter Chimneys</b> </b></div>
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Reactors superheat uranium,</div>
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Hatching plutonium – a fume,</div>
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Radioactive cast-off.</div>
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Julius Caesar grits teeth,</div>
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Ashens at Windscale’s pockmarks</div>
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On a thickset graphite shell.</div>
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Blue-bag flames peck</div>
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At a moody critical mass.</div>
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<b><b>Blood-Stained Pillow</b> </b></div>
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Anne Boleyn disentangles prompts</div>
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On the Washeteria’s speech bubbles.</div>
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Self-run gearing is eco-affirmative.</div>
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Her duvet and pillows outline jauntiness</div>
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Quickened by a hyperallergic gargle,</div>
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Phosphate deficient.</div>
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The dizzy-bouquet whiff</div>
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Spins and hour into memory.</div>
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<b><b>Lour In Popping Eyes</b> </b></div>
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Dressed-to-the-nines rose-fresh theatre.</div>
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Jedward cradle themselves</div>
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In a pomp-splash box.</div>
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The snorty edge flurries this raised curtain.</div>
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‘Rites Of Spring,’ blurts gabbley lips.</div>
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The twins dislocate nerves.</div>
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Bob-up canes, set-against fans in an uproar.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="color: #45818e;"> <i> </i></span><i>Some bio details…</i><br />"In 1998 I won a Northern Arts writers award. In July 200 I read at Waterstones bookshop to promote the anthology <i>‘Titles Are Bitches’</i>. Christmas 2001 I debuted at Newcastle’s famous Morden Tower doing a reading of my poems. Each year I read for Proudwords lesbian and gay writing festival and I partook in workshops. 2005 saw the publication of my collection <i>LOVEBITES</i> published by Chanticleer Press, 6/1 Jamaica Mews, Edinburgh." <i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/counter-factual-history-poetry-by-christopher-barnes/">Read </a>f</i></b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/counter-factual-history-poetry-by-christopher-barnes/"><b><i>ull bio at Poetry Life & Times</i></b></a></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-thracian-rider-is-doomed-to-moonlight-a-poem-by-rw-haynes/" rel="bookmark">The Thracian Rider Is Doomed to Moonlight. A Poem by RW Haynes</a></h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-thracian-rider-is-doomed-to-moonlight-a-poem-by-rw-haynes/" rel="bookmark" title="7:07 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-09-28T19:07:13+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 28, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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Artemis of slippery rocks, O power<br />
Of mesquite, O night, O resonant night<br />
Of owls and tricky rapids, in this hour<br />
Guide my faithful warhorse aright<br />
In this crossing of this magic stream,<br />
Where the ghosts of ancient rattlesnakes<br />
Arise a moment from their deathly dream<br />
To view the crossing an intruder makes.<br />
Thus splashing splashlessly, now I ride,<br />
Saluting the river with my brazen spear,<br />
Across through the shallows to the western side,<br />
To Mexico. Moonglow is strong, but sunrise is near,<br />
And here I will abide when darkness is gone<br />
Awaiting the impulse which will impel me on.<br />
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Just one game plays out at no remove<br />
From reality, and its rules both produce<br />
And require defiance of traps that prove<br />
What you are. You must somehow turn loose<br />
Of love’s numerous and bogus avatars,<br />
Of pride’s super-subtle, invidious claims,<br />
And all false illusions, from Hell to the stars,<br />
As the clock steals vigor, and all the other games<br />
Clamor for attention. But I have arrived<br />
And crossed this river, one dragon slain<br />
In Bulgaria, the battles I survived<br />
Having cleared my soul of useless pain.<br />
And now, freed from compulsion of choice,<br />
I listen for orders from an inward voice.<br />
<br />
Last night I met a perished knight at arms<br />
Wandering feebly down the murmuring stream,<br />
And we spoke awhile of debilitating charms<br />
That lurk malignantly in hope and dream.<br />
Death had relieved him of all but regret,<br />
He smiled, his eyes unseen in the ghostly shade,<br />
But hoarsely whispered then that to forget<br />
He’d instantly take agony in trade,<br />
And he reached forth to me his bony hand,<br />
And I pronounced forthwith the living curse,<br />
And he was gone with that crushing command<br />
That the dead must obey and none can reverse.<br />
And the waterfall echoes its perpetual sighs<br />
And I stand watch here silent at moon-rise.</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-n3DgMs_KlgP649RKUWr2EsYNxQXa0tfJqJvtH4VZSUR8SgsLL1bs_Tze10Wd2JF1SpGGye35L4xlXeHDVtXL0eTwvDZQfiiF9i6FVlESGV07kOvFBlXC1ocBxs4WJ68OSJV1NDw7bI/s1600/Haynes-in-Savannah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-n3DgMs_KlgP649RKUWr2EsYNxQXa0tfJqJvtH4VZSUR8SgsLL1bs_Tze10Wd2JF1SpGGye35L4xlXeHDVtXL0eTwvDZQfiiF9i6FVlESGV07kOvFBlXC1ocBxs4WJ68OSJV1NDw7bI/s320/Haynes-in-Savannah.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<strong>R. W. Haynes has taught literature at Texas A&M
International University since 1992. His recent interests include the
early British sonnet, and he is completing a second book on the Texas
playwright and screenwriter Horton Foote (1916-2009). In his poetry,
Haynes seeks to celebrate life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness
without sounding any more dissonant notes than he has to. In fiction,
he works toward grasping that part of the past which made its mark on
his generation. He enjoys teaching drama, especially the Greeks, Ibsen,
and Shakespeare, and he devoutly hopes for a stunning literary
Renaissance in South Texas.</strong></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Coming Full Circle</span><br /> <span style="font-size: large;">(A Feminist Fiasco)</span></b> </blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Sara L Russell, August 29th, 2016 </span></blockquote>
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Time to retire now, ladies,</div>
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the drawing room awaits</div>
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as the gentlemen go to smoke</div>
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and drink brandy</div>
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or tell ribald stories</div>
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unsuitable for a lady's delicate ears.</div>
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Time to work on our embroidery</div>
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or retire to bed.</div>
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The men shall retire whenever they wish,</div>
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and the stars are too many for us to count.</div>
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Now we must lie abed</div>
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dreaming of Mr. Darcy</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
or perhaps a future career,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If only one's gender</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
might permit such a thing.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Time to adjourn now, ladies,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mrs. Pankhurst has said her piece</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and the rozzers are coming</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to break up our meeting of like minds.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I heard that she was in prison for a time,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and went on hunger strike!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
oh yes, my dear,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I heard they beat her,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
force-fed her</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
then left her to cry alone in her cell.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Only she didn't cry. She never cries.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
They say one day we women</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
will be able to vote!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yes, of course it could happen.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We deserve it, after all.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Time to adjourn now, people,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
it's been a long session</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and even ministers need a lunch break.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mrs. Thatcher no doubt will carry on</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
making notes for yet another meeting,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I don't think that woman ever sleeps.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Even if she never does,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
she has razor-sharp concentration</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and a sharper mind.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You don't want to get</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
on the wrong side of that one.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Funny, years ago,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
they never dreamed we'd have</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
a woman Prime Minister.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Not everyone agrees with her</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
yet few dare to disagree.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Time to retire now, ladies.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The men have important things</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
to discuss, too serious for our lowly ears.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Theirs is the sun and the daylight</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
ours are the shadows that herald the dusk.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Gather your prayer beads</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and lower your gaze.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Do not look into the eyes</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
of the Imam as you pass by</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
on the way to your rooms.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Do not let any breeze from the window</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
displace your veil.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Guard your modesty</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
at all times;</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
protect your respectability,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
for it is all you have in the world.</div>
</blockquote>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: black;"><b>Sara Louise Russell</b>, aka <b>PinkyAndrexa</b>, is a UK poet and poetry ezine editor, specialising particularly in sonnets, lyric-style poetry and occasionally writing in more modern styles. She founded Poetry Life & Times and edited it from 1998 to 2006, when she handed it over to Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arrospide; Robin now runs it as Editor from <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt">Poetry Life & Times</a>. She is currently founder and Editor of the daily paper.li journal, <a href="http://paper.li/pinkyandrexa/1321389290#">Poetry Lifetimes</a> ; which is a sister publication to Poetry Life & Times. Her poems and sonnets have been published in many paper and online publications including Sonnetto Poesia, Mindful of Poetry and Autumn Leaves a monthly Poetry ezine from the late Sondra Ball. Her sonnets also currently appear in the recently published anthology of sonnets Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. She is also one of the first poets ever to be published on multimedia CD ROMs, published by Kedco Studios Inc.; the first one being “Pinky’s Little Book of Shadows”, which was featured by the UK’s national newspaper <b>The Mirror</b>, in October 1999. (Picture link for Mirror article) <a href="http://www.angelfire.com/realm3/saralrussell/srmirror2.jpg">Angel Fire</a></span><br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/" rel="bookmark">Cathartic Eclipse. </a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/" rel="bookmark"></a><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/" rel="bookmark">A Video Poem by Anca Mihaela</a></div>
</h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/" rel="bookmark" title="4:15 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-05-20T16:15:38+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 20, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<div class="post-entry">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: center;">
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<div class="entry-content">
<div style="color: black; text-align: center;">
<strong><em><br /></em></strong></div>
<div style="color: black; text-align: center;">
<strong><em><br /></em></strong></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/4mnwirzrcEs/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4mnwirzrcEs?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<div style="color: black; text-align: center;">
<strong><em><br /></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>Please note after this particular you tube video poem by Anca
there follows a series of her excellently crafted film work in
which further of her video poems feature, but the typescript only
to this particular video poem Cathartic Eclipse is shown below.
<strong><em><strong><em>Editor’s Note.</em></strong></em></strong></em></strong></div>
<strong><em>
</em></strong><span style="color: black;">
</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
I witnessed the death of the universe…<br />
Tumbling, crushing, spinning<br />
in the maddening chaos<br />
of the spiral Time!<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
Eternity… ceased to exist,<br />
Time… was no more,<br />
my soul ripped asunder<br />
the stars… show no more!<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
Pleading internally<br />
I succumb my farewells,<br />
emptied my concavities,<br />
ashes of solitude reminded me<br />
of quixotic moments<br />
dismissed involuntarily<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
you were oblivious to my presence<br />
gazing emptily a brimming space,<br />
surreality became my twisted fate<br />
and no transition left for immortality!<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
My world is hushed<br />
And I crave for volumes of light<br />
in this glaring darkness of hope<br />
succumbing throes<br />
of cacophonous silence<br />
cocooned in webs of deceit<br />
awaiting the promised resurrection.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
In these nights of forgetfulness<br />
my poetry still bleeds inside me<br />
in this realm there is an aeonic distance<br />
between my Soul… and your Heart!…</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div style="color: #45818e;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">
</span></div>
<div style="color: #45818e;">
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<div style="color: #45818e; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONiPYY-9dRzWzXDTyHnCs5Td6V0DmaWzKxxFgWZ3OOhl9NtRz4rSL1auXO8TilHUM4QIirsbZNPMBbRVUnQsLH3vI5A7lf7OVxVOUSwvV33UGqgdpEKRkzhjysP5mNp9h6Wpo6TFFA_Q/s1600/Anca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #45818e; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONiPYY-9dRzWzXDTyHnCs5Td6V0DmaWzKxxFgWZ3OOhl9NtRz4rSL1auXO8TilHUM4QIirsbZNPMBbRVUnQsLH3vI5A7lf7OVxVOUSwvV33UGqgdpEKRkzhjysP5mNp9h6Wpo6TFFA_Q/s320/Anca.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="color: #45818e;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span><br />
<em style="color: black;">“Anca-Mihaela Bruma strives to continuously challenge and change the
world we live in by means of art, and it is by breaking away from old
traditions that she invigorates the art world in pursuit of a new
emotional intellect. It is central to her own belief that it is her duty
to empower, motivate, inspire, educate and heal. The awakening of the
latent gifts we all perhaps unknowingly possess is also central to her
quest.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em style="color: #45818e;"><br /></em></div>
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<em style="color: #45818e;"></em></div>
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</div>
<div style="color: #45818e;">
<em style="color: #45818e;">
</em><i style="color: #45818e;"></i></div>
<div style="color: #45818e; text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #45818e;"><i><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/" target="_blank">Read full bio at poetrylifeandtimes.com</a></b></i></i></div>
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<div>
<span style="color: black;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black;">Who can forget that in September of 2016, we lost <b>Janet P. Caldwel</b>l, a much-loved poet and a<br />great friend of ours at both Poetry Life & Times and Poetry Lifetimes. <br />This is William S. Peters' tribute to her.</span><br />
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
In Loving Memory of Janet P. Caldwell February 1959 ~ 20 September 2016.<br />William S. Peters, Sr.</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/in-loving-memory-of-janet-p-caldwell-14-february-1959-20-september-2016-william-s-peters-sr/" rel="bookmark" title="1:18 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-10-23T13:18:46+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">Posted on October 23, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <span class="author-name" itemprop="name"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop">Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></span></span><br />
<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><br /></span></span>
<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJ-2yrGEpx2IGIKyCretZIZyXel3A_f0gLRlO81TR2DXk1E70sVhhrOsOVnY3AHhaLp8pLbT0Jn084d3CNz62WSOPULCR2uqw8I_V95DSP-VRWls3rPes-CUGOX6Z0U4gylObDIUWSdU/s1600/JanCaldwellRIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJ-2yrGEpx2IGIKyCretZIZyXel3A_f0gLRlO81TR2DXk1E70sVhhrOsOVnY3AHhaLp8pLbT0Jn084d3CNz62WSOPULCR2uqw8I_V95DSP-VRWls3rPes-CUGOX6Z0U4gylObDIUWSdU/s320/JanCaldwellRIP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>weep not for me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>weep not for me,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>nor despair, nor lament,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>on my crossing the waters,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>for my life has been full,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>for i had you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>i go to a better place,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>where i shall make a bed for you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>as i longingly await your arrival,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>for we are eternally betrothed</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>i shall have the angels sing</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>a song of welcome . . .</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>and the flowers of the field</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>shall dance gleefully</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>in the embrace of brother wind</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>the sun always shines here</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>acknowledging our mutual brightness</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>where the night-ness</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>is no more</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i></i><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>so i ask of thee</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>to weep not for me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>nor despair, nor lament</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>on my crossing the waters,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>for my life has been full,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>for i had you</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYy5SfA6Ox5o98gfTZLOE56vVgDv1IBbQsgCLytSlXMIZEjDqgx8dH6CsIZctTlsMd-wERJgsodl6u8wcnPwfQ5mCoySfuUha3lVUIe7LXTgbc497SkqQXCMSYQlFSlxlfg7c0SvnLGkA/s1600/williamspeters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYy5SfA6Ox5o98gfTZLOE56vVgDv1IBbQsgCLytSlXMIZEjDqgx8dH6CsIZctTlsMd-wERJgsodl6u8wcnPwfQ5mCoySfuUha3lVUIe7LXTgbc497SkqQXCMSYQlFSlxlfg7c0SvnLGkA/s1600/williamspeters.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: start;">
Bill is an avid Writer / Poet who has been committed to this path since 1966. He currently has to his credit over 70 Published Books as well as a myriad of Newspaper and Magazine Articles. Bill supports the venue of Creative Expression regardless of form. He also is an activist for the progression and evolution of Humanity and its Love of each other.</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
Recently (September 2015) Bill was honored to be named the Poet Laureate at the Kosovo International Poetry Festival where his book The Vine Keeper was showcased. He was also awarded The Golden Grape Award.</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
Bill currently serves as the CEO of Inner Child Enterprises, ltd., Managing Director of Inner Child Press, Executive Producer of Inner Child Radio and Executive Editor of Inner Child Magazine. His life partner Janet P. Caldwell stands by his side in support of the Inner Child vision</div>
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For more of Bill, visit his personal web Site at :<b><br /><br /><a href="http://www.iamjustbill.com/">www.iamjustbill.com</a></b></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">
Tribute to the late E. Darcy Trie<br />by Wanda Brayton</span></span></h1>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/" rel="bookmark" title="2:13 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-02-09T14:13:52+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 9, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Poem for Darcy<br />by Wanda Brayton</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"><br />The One who softly calls for you to come at night<br />hears the wind roar as sudden storms flow through your bones;<br />an oasis of laughter, quiet whispers fluttering upon your hips<br />where sustenance may be found without a compass,<br />only murmurs cast into shadows to reveal the light you weave<br />with terrible truths and beautiful sorrows before dawn<br /><br />You spend odd moments wailing wildly, walking in silence,<br />singing beneath moonlit stars, gathering madder,<br />crisped leaves fallen from sacred trees<br />to make your precious poultice; you create mandalas<br />made of jasmine ash, of myrhh’s seduction,<br />of frangipani memories, of green apple seeds<br /><br />When you sleep, you travel swiftly, a bright arc<br />through time’s geography, tracing latitudes and longitudes<br />with purpose in your flight, fires lit within your belly,<br />love in your fingertips so deep, oceans rise<br />in envious whirls, tidal beasts howling admiration<br />for she who wears invincible wings<br /><br />You are every woman history had once forgotten,<br />their existence erased by cruel men’s aspirations;<br />still, in their slumber, they moan your secret name –<br />yet, when they awaken, they cannot describe<br />those dire disturbances they felt so keenly,<br />their blood surged toward an invisible ache<br /><br />Even now, they are haunted, their flesh dark with restlessness,<br />longing for a single glance of a beautiful bird they’ve never seen,<br />its song their only savior, their only sweetness, their mightiest woe –<br />Ophelia knew, Lilith knew, Delilah knew, and yes, even Medusa knew,<br />long after they’d tangled her silken hair with curses, then refused<br />to look into her eyes, understanding all too well<br />what burning thorns they’d find
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL2D7MwxFV4OEfYyL8yK2bcTvNJ6FLeF6eqdVU91yiVKfryTFcGWOQcaGjZYbCDcJvM5abFutuMYlkyndvry2085PswNsRZc4QLS6Rph6jbVkEp5M-FvCrpeu1GbIqnxvZblhBFdfLXU/s1600/wandaleabrayton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLL2D7MwxFV4OEfYyL8yK2bcTvNJ6FLeF6eqdVU91yiVKfryTFcGWOQcaGjZYbCDcJvM5abFutuMYlkyndvry2085PswNsRZc4QLS6Rph6jbVkEp5M-FvCrpeu1GbIqnxvZblhBFdfLXU/s1600/wandaleabrayton.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">Wanda Lee Brayton <a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/"><i>Read bio at Motherbird</i></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">Wanda's website: <a href="http://wandaleabrayton.blogspot.co.uk/"><b>http://wandaleabrayton.blogspot.co.uk/</b></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker: Les Fauves</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">(Paperback) Released on 15th January 2017</span><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fauves-Barbara-Crooker/dp/1936196697/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1483131466&sr=8-3&keywords=barbara+crooker" target="_blank">on amazon.com</a></span></h4>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTwrBDzXsHhnLK0jPIkgKsoT_xKiYQ6SyRLrB-1f5ydvOmwSJ7P_2H16N0sbJ9YRmhsYeEY_8IgQ5pIVlULZjvWDYPadm3g6lQk1qzvui8osGnl0Gztt2ynU2FJB0_P1o_Zkobli24_U/s1600/lesfauves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTwrBDzXsHhnLK0jPIkgKsoT_xKiYQ6SyRLrB-1f5ydvOmwSJ7P_2H16N0sbJ9YRmhsYeEY_8IgQ5pIVlULZjvWDYPadm3g6lQk1qzvui8osGnl0Gztt2ynU2FJB0_P1o_Zkobli24_U/s320/lesfauves.jpg" width="207" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px; text-align: start;"><br /></em></h4>
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<em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px; text-align: start;">Les Fauves</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22.4px;"> is, as the title suggests, a collection of ekphrastic poetry, meditations on paintings from the Fauve and Post-Impressionist movements. But it also contains poetry’s equivalent to Fauvism, poems that take a walk on the wild side. There are language experiment poems, poems of word play, poems in form both usual (end rhymes, sonnets, ghazals) and unusual (abecedaries, traditional, embedded, and double helix), palindromes, anagrams, and word scrambles. Crazy word salad poems. Crooker’s subjects range widely, from living and working in a small village in the South of France, love in a long-term relationship, food as more than sustenance, faith in a secular age, grammar and usage, the pains and pleasures of the aging body. But always, what engages her most is what it means to be human on this fragile planet, at this time in our troubled history, still believing that “Beauty will save the world.” (Fyodor Dostoevsky).</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker: Selected Poems / 2015 available on amazon.com</span></span></span></h4>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">by Barbara Crooker</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0HaXfd9rU32qzoivfQkuH2B0OELupFKckW3Ip6jObiIVV2x5RX0DyOmkGD8pBy7UZSSQlIgR-3JAa3NELXf8gsBModLNdnU2sv8tlfc64P1WR14OfcrHH1rDwRA8fCF8qkYPYRZxZU/s320/bcrooker.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #45818e;">This collection brings together 102 poems from Barbara Crooker’s previous ten chapbooks of poetry, two of which won national prizes, with a handful of uncollected poems at the end. Of Crooker’s work, William Matthews has written, “Barbara Crooker’s poems have been written with a deft touch and with that affection for their textures and pacings that we’re accustomed to call, a little dryly, ‘technical skill.’ It’s a form of love, actually, and since she’s expended it on her poems, we can, too.” Janet McCann, writing in the Foreword, says, “The poems in this collection come mostly from chapbooks, collections which cluster around a theme, such as loss of a parent or friend, raising a child with autism, travel, art. Crooker’s collections are remarkable for their unity; their poems, epigraphs, even covers have a thematic thrust that collects and directs the work, making each a coherent work of art.... Reading the work from beginning to end provides an experience of Crooker’s world, that place of work and sadness balanced by art and love. It also provides vignettes of growing up in the fifties and sixties and shows what it was like to come of age as a woman in those years—the expectations, the hopes, the barriers that had to be overcome. Even in poems of loss, the energy persists, giving us the sense that Crooker is truly in the current of life, feeling its verve—what Wallace Stevens called ‘the intensity of love’ that he identified with ‘the verve of earth.’”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled] with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b></b></i></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"></a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<strong>THE POETIC BOND VI</strong></div>
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<strong>Publication Date 5 November 2016</strong></div>
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<em>The process of selecting poems for publishing The Poetic Bond series
is unlike any other in that there is no set plan as to what will be
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<strong><em>37 poets from 12 Countries</em></strong></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/l1sl7ljfV78/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/l1sl7ljfV78?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Musical performance of <b>Barbara Crooker</b>'s poem, <b>"Christ Comes to Centralia"</b>, in a piece entitled <b>"Centralia"</b> (Paul Bernardin, composer), and performed by the Lower Merion Symphony Orchestra:</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Janet Kuypers' poem show "Like a Lamb to the Slaughter" </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;">@ The Gallery Cabaret, Chicago 9/2/15 Cfs</span></div>
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<i style="font-weight: normal;">Janet P. Caldwell - Dancing Toward the Light</i></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>in affectionate memory of Janet P. Caldwell</b></i></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Misery: New Orleans Gun Violence & Other Crimes / Nordette Adams</b></span></i></span></div>
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-70279137061544206402016-12-01T13:40:00.000-08:002016-12-01T13:40:51.521-08:00<div class="separator tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;">Issue of December 2016</span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <b>Customer Survey. A Poem by M. A. Schaffner</b></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/customer-survey-a-poem-by-m-a-schaffner/" rel="bookmark" target="_blank" title="2:01 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-11-28T14:01:13+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">November 28, 2016</time></a></b><span class="byline"> by </span><b> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></b> </div>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span>Death is another possible market —<br />
laughing at death, playing at death, dying<br />
slowly and courageously like in movies.<br />
<br />
<br />
Death as a costume party with vampires;<br />
unlife as a zombie jonesing for brains,<br />
crashing funerals, pretending to care.<br />
<br />
<br />
Death as a product sells better firearms,<br />
more lurid fantasies with the heroes<br />
shaped by algorithms to buyers’ needs.<br />
<br />
<br />
For needs read desires; for death, denial<br />
in its most comic form. There will be sex,<br />
of course, and thin pale girls with sincere teeth,<br />
<br />
<br />
and over the far horizon the real deal<br />
waits confident as a dealer whose marks<br />
laugh behind his back until they need him.
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Escape. A Poem by M. A. Schaffner</span></b><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Posted on <a href="http://motherbird.com/escape-a-poem-by-m-a-schaffner/" target="_blank">November 28</a>, 2016 by </span></span><b><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></b><br />
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Back to its roots the goose rambles<br />
through the brambles to the golf course<br />
and beyond. A green pond beckons<br />
with an iridescent sheen it can smell.<br />
<br />
<br />
It moves past. A twisting wooded road<br />
goes up and down between the farms<br />
that surround the camps and lodges<br />
and empty lots where someone planned<br />
to spend a life and then forgot.<br />
<br />
<br />
Mottled with bottles the pond lies<br />
forlorn between the secret parties<br />
that every teen knows all about<br />
and the goose waddles through, sensing<br />
a river past barbed wire fencing<br />
where the rest of the flock awaits —<br />
<br />
<br />
the ghosts of a past predating<br />
the clipped wings and special diets,<br />
the tube between its liver and its mouth.<br />
Its final dream is flying south. </blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2FQjtALJ3BstR30lSIuCEs5JNw893UoZz0QCUqs1Bws2yAhXSm-HFbXT7yoQeZqqae4xfwVPilYuNwmR4C3AeAIvNcdK8Z0SwUqlDzweulmdtKqw7z04p9Gw63DhTn3zoWSMaCnLhinc/s1600/MAS-at-the-Furnace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2FQjtALJ3BstR30lSIuCEs5JNw893UoZz0QCUqs1Bws2yAhXSm-HFbXT7yoQeZqqae4xfwVPilYuNwmR4C3AeAIvNcdK8Z0SwUqlDzweulmdtKqw7z04p9Gw63DhTn3zoWSMaCnLhinc/s320/MAS-at-the-Furnace.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br />
<b>M. A. Schaffner </b>has had poems published in <i>Shenandoah, Prairie Schooner, Agni,</i> and elsewhere — most recently in<i> Former People, Raintown Review</i>, and <i>Rock River Review.</i> Long-ago-published books include the poetry collection <i>The Good Opinion of Squirrels</i> and the novel<i> War Boys</i>. Schaffner spends most days in Arlington, Virginia juggling a laptop, smart phone, percussion caps, pugs, and a Gillott 404.</div>
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
FUD. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop</h1>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/fud-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="8:50 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-07-29T08:50:29+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 29, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
</header>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Fud helped temper attacks<br />
trump a three-word promise longer than ever before<br />
the up ones sleeve trump card<br />
trump up trick, as Day of Judgement<br />
raised the dead on intestinal gas through the anus<br />
to expel hopping into an atom splitting fission<br />
similar referendum wins multiple atoms to split<br />
exponential increase in atoms splitting into right wing populism<br />
the number of some which will awaken destruction<br />
to take war to Europe<br />
and based on history applaud the great victory<br />
to win back control from now fractured EU.<br />
<br />
The final trumpet that taps into a seething and of course many<br />
but based on history<br />
the Christening of them leads to nothing happening<br />
but Utopia argumentum ad metum<br />
– not ace in the hole card period of time –<br />
compare trombone at dawn by several commentators<br />
that Brexit, a trick with a trump is not caused by<br />
split geyser of anti-immigrant sentiment suggestions<br />
and ascent in part we are entering one moral due to another<br />
according to the belief of thousands within an extremely short period<br />
on a very broad scale.<br />
<br />
Possible scenarios are infinite<br />
to build a wall has many awful faults prevented<br />
hit the economy with a strong force of natural selection trump<br />
which might represent to trump up a convincing EU<br />
as well as also one major wave of inward-facing<br />
and they in turn causing all the indicators<br />
that were in case against the last EU for all its UK causes<br />
automatically honour targeting frail people<br />
in their many moving parts<br />
as their combined energy weakens.<br />
Fear uncertainty doubt FUD call force in suppressing<br />
in the face of won overnight<br />
by those who due to the massive complexity<br />
by the hundreds of splits causing multiple moral Utopia<br />
argumentum ad impact<br />
of the first atom of all ages and killing. Of all ages and killing.
</blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Robin Ouzman Hislop, </b>born UK, a reader in philosophy &
religions, has traveled extensively throughout his lifetime but now
lives in semi- retirement as a TEFL teacher and translator in Spain
& the UK.<br />
<br />
Robin was editor of the 12 year running on-line monthly poetry journal
Poetry Life and Times. In 2013 he joined with Dave Jackson as co-editor
at Artvilla.com, where he presently edits Poetry Life & Times,
Artvilla.com, Motherbird.com.<br />
<br />
He’s been previously published in a variety of international magazines, later publications including<i> Voices without Borders Volume 1 </i>(USA), <i>Cold Mountain Review </i>(Appalachian University, N.Carolina), <i>The Poetic Bond Volumes </i>(thepoeticbond.com) and<i> Phoenix Rising from the Ashes </i>(a recently published international Anthology of Sonnets). His last publication is a volume of collected poems <i>All the Babble of the Souk</i> available at all main online tributaries.</div>
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<b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes">www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes</a><br />
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com">www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com</a><br />
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/">robin@artvilla.com</a><br />
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/">editor@artvilla.com</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14752100.Robin_Ouzman_Hislop"> goodreads.com/author/show/Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm">http://www.aquillrelle.com/authorrobin.htm</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/">http://www.amazon.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop</a><br />
<a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/robin-ouzman-hislop/all-the-babble-of-the-souk/paperback/product-22419943.html" target="blank">www.lulu.com. All the Babble of the Souk. Robin Ouzman Hislop </a><br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop">https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop</a><br />
<a href="http://www.innerchildpress.com/robin-ouzman-hislop.php">http://www.innerchildpress.com/robin-ouzman-hislop.All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></div>
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<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Dreaming in Hi-Def, Ozymandias Streamed Dynamic Data. A Poem by Joseph Armstead</h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/dreaming-in-hi-def-ozymandias-streamed-dynamic-data-a-poem-by-joseph-armstead/" rel="bookmark" title="10:06 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-11-26T22:06:16+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">November 26, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop<br /><br /></span></a></span> </div>
</header>
<img alt="1196372998383oj4" class="attachment-post-thumbnail size-post-thumbnail wp-post-image" src="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/1196372998383oj4-150x94.jpg" height="94" width="150" />
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The sound of ten million voices raised in confusion,<br />
raised in wonder, raised in anger, raised in prayer,<br />
scatter<br />
like beads of fallen mercury<br />
to roll across the desert sands,<br />
pathways to Giza, Luxor, Cairo,<br />
and Alexandria,<br />
home to antiquity and myth, kingdom of the pharoahs,<br />
pyramidal necropolii dotting an arid landscape,<br />
baking under the fiery glare<br />
of an unblinking solar eye,<br />
next-generation optical disc,<br />
waiting for the Summoning,<br />
for the Call,<br />
waiting for the Sacred, for a Benediction<br />
from a polytheistic overworld<br />
of New non-secular Gods,<br />
the pantheon of the IMF, BASF,<br />
Microsoft, Apple, Oracle,<br />
Exxon-Mobile, CitiBank,<br />
Daimler-Chrysler, Sony,<br />
and McDonald’s,<br />
waiting<br />
as the orchestra of voices gather,<br />
venting their passions, like Opera,<br />
“Look, Ye Unworthy, upon my works, and know<br />
this high-definition storage media format<br />
will spread the glory of the blue-violet laser<br />
across the face of Heaven,<br />
an interstitial data sector<br />
striped across the disk-array<br />
of a Cloud-based<br />
Application Server Farm,<br />
where the tears of the Mighty<br />
fall like acid rain!”<br />
The sound of ten million voices<br />
raised in confusion, raised in wonder,<br />
raised in anger, raised in prayer,<br />
scatter<br />
across a boundless arid plain,<br />
an ocean of charred and barren grit<br />
stretching into a Future where<br />
the Kalashnikov assault rifle<br />
is the scepter of Paradise.</div>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>BIO</b><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>Joseph
Armstead </b>is a suspense-thriller and horror author living in the United
States’ San Francisco Bay Area. Author of a dozen short stories and
ten novels, his poetry has been published in a wide range of online
journals, webzines and print magazines. A mathematician, Futurist and
computer technologist, Mr. Armstead’s poetry often defies easy
description, but frequently includes neo-classical imagery, surrealist
viewpoints and post-modern themes.</div>
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<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Through the Grinder. A Poem by A.J. Huffman</h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/through-the-grinder-a-poem-by-a-j-huffman/" rel="bookmark" title="10:40 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-11-20T22:40:09+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">November 20, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
</header>
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Body language indicated frustration,<br />
trying to get back<br />
to normal, and I<br />
looked down at empty.<br />
Hands gave back everything,<br />
thanked me as I had to move on<br />
for their sake. An integrity procedure—<br />
like seals on storebought bottles—<br />
I moved closer<br />
to the edge. Contained,<br />
I believed I would not have known the difference.<br />
I came apart freely and without<br />
damaging the sky, dissolved<br />
into the ether and afterthought.</div>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvROIAMdo00amCzAQgfaz6eb5E-ls-9ZiUvn26-RpUuBLs3amyAxxu7885p0oVee4V1BcIrKrjlKvPGzGJjjIlxl9XKtmm8SUJ7jKb7nViQdYVRqK183bvpZOHhQ0v_EZuFYsAXKievnk/s1600/A.J.-Huffman-Head-Shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvROIAMdo00amCzAQgfaz6eb5E-ls-9ZiUvn26-RpUuBLs3amyAxxu7885p0oVee4V1BcIrKrjlKvPGzGJjjIlxl9XKtmm8SUJ7jKb7nViQdYVRqK183bvpZOHhQ0v_EZuFYsAXKievnk/s320/A.J.-Huffman-Head-Shot.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<b>A.J. Huffman </b>has published thirteen full-length poetry
collections, thirteen solo poetry chapbooks and one joint poetry
chapbook through various small presses. Her most recent releases,<i> The Pyre On Which Tomorrow Burns</i> (Scars Publications), <i>Degeneration</i> (Pink Girl Ink), <i>A Bizarre Burning of Bees</i> (Transcendent Zero Press), and<i> Familiar Illusions </i>(Flutter
Press) are now available from their respective publishers. She is a
five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and
has published over 2600 poems in various national and international
journals, including <i>Labletter, The James Dickey Review, The Bookends Review, Bone Orchard, Corvus Review, EgoPHobia,</i> and<i> Kritya</i>. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.<b> <a href="http://www.kindofahurricanepress.com/"> www.kindofahurricanepress.com</a>.</b><br />
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<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
GAS STATION. A Poem by John Grey</h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/gas-station-a-poem-by-john-grey/" rel="bookmark" title="6:15 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-11-14T18:15:08+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">November 14, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop<br /></span></a></span> </div>
</header>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="plt" class="attachment-post-thumbnail size-post-thumbnail wp-post-image" height="21" src="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/plt-150x21.jpeg" width="150" />
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Straw hat’s busted<br />
and the blue and red flag’s dragging on its pole.<br />
The road’s as narrow as a plumb line<br />
and the sides are baked brick hard.<br />
Rusty gas pump only offers regular.<br />
In the window, brown and speckled eggs,<br />
soda bottles, a can of oil.<br />
Unshaven Ed flops in his chair out front<br />
Straw hat can’t keep back July,<br />
cakes his brow a stinky yellow.<br />
A car creeps by but doesn’t stop.<br />
Maybe can’t read the price of gas.<br />
Ed’s handwriting’s shaky<br />
as his mortgage payments.<br />
May’s quilting, the only thing<br />
her fingers know to do.<br />
Despite the heat, her handiwork<br />
rolls up to her wrinkled chin, almost smothers her.<br />
And here comes Vernon,<br />
just who Ed don’t want to hear.<br />
So Dewey’s got a new computer.<br />
Tell that to the chamber of commerce.<br />
Another car rolls by. And another.<br />
Someone even waves.<br />
Straw hat’s raised in answer, in anger,<br />
then flopped down sideways on Ed’s head.<br />
Go help your grandmother, Ed says.<br />
Steam rises from the swamps,<br />
raccoon pans the trash for food,<br />
wood-stork chatters from a cypress branch.<br />
Vernon creeps reluctantly indoors.<br />
May stops her quilting for a kiss,<br />
struggles to remember who exactly is this boy.<br />
Along comes Temple to complain<br />
about the weather and business and his wife.<br />
Ed listens but his ear is cocked for cars the more.<br />
He straightens his straw hat.<br />
Brim holds by a thread.<br />
How long you had that thing? asks Temple.<br />
Forty years, says Ed. It brings me luck.<br />
</div>
</blockquote>
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<br />
<strong>John Grey i</strong>s an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published
in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Stillwater Review and Big
Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon
River Poetry Review. </div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker Selected Poems / 2015 available on amazon.com </span></span></span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">by Barbara Crooker</span><br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0HaXfd9rU32qzoivfQkuH2B0OELupFKckW3Ip6jObiIVV2x5RX0DyOmkGD8pBy7UZSSQlIgR-3JAa3NELXf8gsBModLNdnU2sv8tlfc64P1WR14OfcrHH1rDwRA8fCF8qkYPYRZxZU/s320/bcrooker.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #45818e;">This collection brings together 102 poems from Barbara Crooker’s
previous ten chapbooks of poetry, two of which won national prizes, with
a handful of uncollected poems at the end. Of Crooker’s work, William
Matthews has written, “Barbara Crooker’s poems have been written with a
deft touch and with that affection for their textures and pacings that
we’re accustomed to call, a little dryly, ‘technical skill.’ It’s a form
of love, actually, and since she’s expended it on her poems, we can,
too.” Janet McCann, writing in the Foreword, says, “The poems in this
collection come mostly from chapbooks, collections which cluster around a
theme, such as loss of a parent or friend, raising a child with autism,
travel, art. Crooker’s collections are remarkable for their unity;
their poems, epigraphs, even covers have a thematic thrust that collects
and directs the work, making each a coherent work of art.... Reading
the work from beginning to end provides an experience of Crooker’s
world, that place of work and sadness balanced by art and love. It also
provides vignettes of growing up in the fifties and sixties and shows
what it was like to come of age as a woman in those years—the
expectations, the hopes, the barriers that had to be overcome. Even in
poems of loss, the energy persists, giving us the sense that Crooker is
truly in the current of life, feeling its verve—what Wallace Stevens
called ‘the intensity of love’ that he identified with ‘the verve of
earth.’”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
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<i>Click book image to visit the Amazon page</i></div>
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<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble
of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<h2 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-size: small;">A Merry Christmas to all our readers... <br />any comments?<br />You can use your Facebook ID to login and comment in the space below.</span></span></span></b></span></i></span></h4>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></b></span></i></span></h4>
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-63778121995557795762016-10-31T18:31:00.001-07:002016-11-01T03:33:01.513-07:00<div class="separator tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of November 2016</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black;">NAMING THE BEETLES<br />A Poem by David Chorlton</span></span></span></h4>
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<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
A dozen beetles suddenly<br />
are clustered on a leaf,<br />
black with red designs<br />
on their glistening backs<br />
<br />
with six more farther<br />
down the stem.<br />
What can we say<br />
we are seeing? Drops<br />
<br />
of poison or a sweet<br />
confection from<br />
the spirit world? Pinpricks<br />
on a lacquered base<br />
<br />
or the blood<br />
from an animal so long extinct<br />
it has to bleed from<br />
an adopted skin?<br />
<br />
They shine in a manner<br />
almost sinister, yet<br />
the way they cling<br />
to each other<br />
<br />
suggests they have arrived<br />
as a message conveyed<br />
through space and time<br />
as a warning to act<br />
<br />
in the common interest<br />
before it disappears.<br />
Soon enough<br />
they leave us wondering<br />
<br />
what was here<br />
with a gloss and such<br />
delicate legs they must<br />
have walked on light<br />
<br />
to wherever they went.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2InIRlzeKHjk7jujctEAYXcaExlMFupVmVE18r5moRWZaRq36iVLsOBueBgbGnVfNN2oXsVYNDw-abdO7-U9Sks9KInxt1-Jc9IgaV4ie5lX3J-Cx5eEcrORte6ALO4i8nVYzg8ix_jk/s1600/davidchorlton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2InIRlzeKHjk7jujctEAYXcaExlMFupVmVE18r5moRWZaRq36iVLsOBueBgbGnVfNN2oXsVYNDw-abdO7-U9Sks9KInxt1-Jc9IgaV4ie5lX3J-Cx5eEcrORte6ALO4i8nVYzg8ix_jk/s320/davidchorlton.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>David Chorlton </b>is a transplanted European, who has lived in
Phoenix since 1978. His poems have appeared in many publications on- and
off-line, and reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as
occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. His most recent
book, A Field Guide to Fire, was his contribution to the Fires of Change
exhibition shown in Flagstaff and Tucson in Arizona.<br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"></span><br />
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
In Loving Memory of Janet P. Caldwell February 1959 ~ 20 September 2016. <br />William S. Peters, Sr.</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/in-loving-memory-of-janet-p-caldwell-14-february-1959-20-september-2016-william-s-peters-sr/" rel="bookmark" title="1:18 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-10-23T13:18:46+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">Posted on October 23, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJ-2yrGEpx2IGIKyCretZIZyXel3A_f0gLRlO81TR2DXk1E70sVhhrOsOVnY3AHhaLp8pLbT0Jn084d3CNz62WSOPULCR2uqw8I_V95DSP-VRWls3rPes-CUGOX6Z0U4gylObDIUWSdU/s1600/JanCaldwellRIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJ-2yrGEpx2IGIKyCretZIZyXel3A_f0gLRlO81TR2DXk1E70sVhhrOsOVnY3AHhaLp8pLbT0Jn084d3CNz62WSOPULCR2uqw8I_V95DSP-VRWls3rPes-CUGOX6Z0U4gylObDIUWSdU/s320/JanCaldwellRIP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span> </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
<i>weep not for me</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> weep not for me,</i><br />
<i> nor despair, nor lament,</i><br />
<i> on my crossing the waters,</i><br />
<i> for my life has been full,</i><br />
<i> for i had you</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> i go to a better place,</i><br />
<i> where i shall make a bed for you</i><br />
<i> as i longingly await your arrival,</i><br />
<i> for we are eternally betrothed</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> i shall have the angels sing</i><br />
<i> a song of welcome . . .</i><br />
<i> and the flowers of the field</i><br />
<i> shall dance gleefully</i><br />
<i> in the embrace of brother wind</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> the sun always shines here</i><br />
<i> acknowledging our mutual brightness</i><br />
<i> where the night-ness</i><br />
<i> is no more</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> so i ask of thee</i><br />
<i> to weep not for me</i><br />
<i> nor despair, nor lament</i><br />
<i> on my crossing the waters,</i><br />
<i> for my life has been full,</i><br />
<i> for i had you</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYy5SfA6Ox5o98gfTZLOE56vVgDv1IBbQsgCLytSlXMIZEjDqgx8dH6CsIZctTlsMd-wERJgsodl6u8wcnPwfQ5mCoySfuUha3lVUIe7LXTgbc497SkqQXCMSYQlFSlxlfg7c0SvnLGkA/s1600/williamspeters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYy5SfA6Ox5o98gfTZLOE56vVgDv1IBbQsgCLytSlXMIZEjDqgx8dH6CsIZctTlsMd-wERJgsodl6u8wcnPwfQ5mCoySfuUha3lVUIe7LXTgbc497SkqQXCMSYQlFSlxlfg7c0SvnLGkA/s1600/williamspeters.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Bill is an avid Writer / Poet who has been committed to this
path since 1966. He currently has to his credit over 70 Published Books
as well as a myriad of Newspaper and Magazine Articles. Bill supports
the venue of Creative Expression regardless of form. He also is an
activist for the progression and evolution of Humanity and its Love of
each other.<br />
<br />
Recently (September 2015) Bill was honored to be named the Poet Laureate
at the Kosovo International Poetry Festival where his book The Vine
Keeper was showcased. He was also awarded The Golden Grape Award.<br />
<br />
Bill currently serves as the CEO of Inner Child Enterprises, ltd.,
Managing Director of Inner Child Press, Executive Producer of Inner
Child Radio and Executive Editor of Inner Child Magazine. His life
partner Janet P. Caldwell stands by his side in support of the Inner
Child vision<br />
<br />
For more of Bill, visit his personal web Site at :<b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.iamjustbill.com/">www.iamjustbill.com</a></b> <br />
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h1>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
Loop. <br />A Poem by Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi</h1>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/loop-a-poem-by-amitabh-vikram-dwivedi/" rel="bookmark" title="3:34 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-10-28T15:34:22+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">October 28, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</header><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>It was a play,<br />
A simple manipulation,<br />
When your fingers ran parallel-<br />
Crosswise<br />
Or lengthwise,<br />
And you created a loop.</b><br />
<b>But it was not a play,<br />
Only a manipulation,<br />
When your fingers ran parallel-<br />
Crosswise<br />
And lengthwise<br />
And you suspended yourself<br />
Into that loop.</b><br />
<b>
As a child, I know mother that-<br />
Now<br />
</b><br />
<ul><ol><b>you</b></ol>
<b>
</b></ul>
<b>
Are Not<br />
</b><b>living.</b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQH2w8DliFeww8V02nSKjdFl_OHDYHApgebdMGUjgGHPAlxrUE8ynPvH2bl0bQpX28bB8saOrQX4GrusULYBnMad_cnOJchoqoaG4qKlFh1aP8ZANuMdPjKS7AY39ESa60Fw4GNKPWIIU/s1600/AVD-smiling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQH2w8DliFeww8V02nSKjdFl_OHDYHApgebdMGUjgGHPAlxrUE8ynPvH2bl0bQpX28bB8saOrQX4GrusULYBnMad_cnOJchoqoaG4qKlFh1aP8ZANuMdPjKS7AY39ESa60Fw4GNKPWIIU/s1600/AVD-smiling.jpg" /></a></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi </b>is assistant professor of linguistics
at Shri Mata Vaishno Devi University, India. His research interests
include language documentation, writing descriptive grammars, and the
preservation of rare and endangered languages in South Asia. He has
contributed articles to many Science Citation Index journals.<br />
His most recent books are <i>A Grammar of Hadoti</i> (Lincom: Munich, 2012), <i>A Grammar of Bhadarwahi</i> (Lincom: Munich, 2013), and a poetry collection titled <i>Chinaar kaa Sukhaa Pattaa</i> (2015) in Hindi.<br />
As a poet, he has published more than 100 poems in
different anthologies, journals and magazines worldwide. Until recently,
his poem <i>“Mother”</i> has been published as a prologue to Motherhood and War: International Perspectives (Eds.), Palgrave Macmillan Press. 2014.<br />
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
Enduring the anguish of thinking… A Poem by Richard Lloyd Cederberg</h1>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/enduring-the-anguish-of-thinking-a-poem-by-richard-lloyd-cederberg/" rel="bookmark" title="4:21 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-10-30T16:21:52+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">Posted on October 30, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
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<i>“There was only the cemetery itself, spread out in the moonlight
like a soft grey hallucination, a stony wilderness of Victorian
melancholy.” (IN MEMORY)</i><br />
<br />
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<b>(I)</b><br />
<b>
<br />
</b>How silently<br />
And stern these<br />
Straining days pass,<br />
Where, at times, in open tyranny,<br />
Scattered thoughts scramble<br />
For measured application…<br />
<br />
O dismay,<br />
Each day<br />
Embracing (the<br />
Great word ‘WAIT’),<br />
This (at times) tragic fate<br />
Impelling the mind to reengage<br />
With something other than<br />
A wearied wide road<br />
Worn smooth…<br />
Another fluster putting glory on<br />
[Hoping] to rediscover where<br />
Newness is apparent, and where honest<br />
Happiness is more than a shadow of things past…<br />
<br />
Throughout life<br />
(I’ve) known thinking<br />
That piled-up (at times)<br />
Like a day’s dead sanctities;<br />
Thought-quakes pricked with panic –<br />
Like vexed birds flailing on windowpanes –<br />
Thoughts – in rising currents wild with leaves –<br />
Trembling in trepidation at the tumults of the day,<br />
But clinging to where Earth and Heaven meet crying:<br />
O Burning Lion – Creator, from whom flows<br />
The substance of all fresh thinking;<br />
Help me bear this anguish…<br />
<br />
(II) AN APPEAL…<br />
<br />
O breath of life…<br />
Breathe on this mind that broods<br />
(At times) so helpless and unnerved…<br />
<br />
…From the utmost corners,<br />
O divine breath,<br />
Command my lassitude<br />
To drift from me like a whisper<br />
<br />
Preserve me from these penumbras<br />
Where despair shrieks in the belly of clouds;<br />
<br />
And, where from all dark-lipped furrows,<br />
Hubris strolls in chatoyant silk<br />
<br />
…From the four winds come,<br />
O breath,<br />
To breathe upon<br />
These outworn motivations,<br />
That this slain heart could rise up<br />
To write rather of life than of death<br />
<br />
… From the uttermost parts,<br />
O breath of life, <br />
Breathe on me that I might suspire<br />
As an Eagle stirring its nest;<br />
Hovering over its young;<br />
Spreading forth its majestic wings<br />
To carry each of them up to the high-places;<br />
For it is your breath (alone) O God that sustains me…<br />
<br />
<b>richard lloyd cederberg</b><br />
<br />
10/16</blockquote>
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<i>“Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and
breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a
living being.” Genesis 2:7</i><br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
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BIOGRAPHY – Richard Lloyd Cederberg<br />
<br />
Briefly… concerning published books, books being written, poetry,
poetic/prose, and creative-writing: Richards written work has been
featured in Poetry Life and Times – Artvilla, Motherbird, Taj Majal
Review, Authors Den (page includes Poetry ~ Short Stories ~Articles)
Christian Story Teller, the Mississippi Crow Magazine, the Path
Magazine, Hardy Alpha 1, The Journal of Contemporary Haibun, and a
variety of anthologies, compendiums, and e-zines. Richard was nominated
twice for the PUSHCART PRIZE. 2007 BEST NEW FICTION at Christian Story
Teller. 2006 WRITER OF THE YEAR @thewritingforum.net (sadly defunct)…<br />
<br />
Books include:<i> The MONUMENTAL JOURNEY SERIES</i> (adventure/mystery/historical fiction): 1.<i> A MONUMENTAL JOURNEY… </i>2. <i>IN SEARCH OF THE FIRST TRIBE…</i> 3. <i>THE UNDERGROUND RIVER…</i> 4. <i>BEYOND UNDERSTANDING.</i> A new adventure/thriller,<i> BETWEEN THE CRACKS</i> is also available. A new eschatological drama –<i> AFTER WE WERE HUMAN </i>–
is being written. Follow the lives of several friends as a new race of
ageless multi-dimensional humans comes back to Earth with their Creator
to rule and reign for 1000 years.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.authorsden.com/richardlloydcederberg">www.authorsden.com/richardlloydcederberg</a></div>
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Slither. Sonnet Poem <br />by Norman Ball </h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/slither-sonnet-poem-by-norman-ball-review-of-serpentrope/" rel="bookmark" title="1:45 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2014-10-25T13:45:53+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">October 25, 2014</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"> </span></span> <br />
“The common end of all narrative, nay of all, Poems is to convert a series into a Whole…<br />
to make… a circular motion — the snake with its Tail in its Mouth.”<br />
— Samuel Coleridge, Collected Letters IV (1815)</div>
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Accomplicing that plot device, surprise,<br />
the day shone royal blue. Our Sunday walk<br />
assumed pedestrian guise until her lies<br />
constricted near Unending Books. In mock-<br />
submissive tone, she sighed: “Please let me be<br />
right here, outside our favorite used-book store.<br />
It’s where we met. All circles close a door.<br />
That’s symmetry — the poetess in me.”<br />
I pondered the reflection of my self<br />
on Austen, half-price-off; then for a song, <br />
the poets, ancient children, on a shelf<br />
set up on crumpled velvet. All along,<br />
this princess had availed a serpent-guide.<br />
I was the frog to her formaldehyde.</blockquote>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><b>NORMAN BALL</b> (BA Political Science/Econ, Washington & Lee
University; MBA, George Washington University) is a well-travelled
Scots-American businessman, author and poet whose essays have appeared
in <i>Counterpunch, The Western Muslim </i>and elsewhere. His new book <i>“Between River and Rock: How I Resolved Television in Six Easy Payments” </i>is available <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Between-River-Rock-Resolved-Television/dp/148953394X">here</a>. Two essay collections,<i> “How Can We Make Your Power More Comfortable?” and “The Frantic Force”</i> are spoken of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Make-Your-Power-More-Comfortable/dp/193483212X">here</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Frantic-force-essays/dp/0980039665">here</a>. His recent collection of poetry<i> “Serpentrope”</i> is published from<i> White Violet Press</i>. He can be reached at <a href="http://returntoone@hotmail.com/">returntoone@hotmail.com</a>.</span> </span></div>
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<i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/slither-sonnet-poem-by-norman-ball-review-of-serpentrope/" target="_blank">Read full bio at Poetry Life & Times</a></i><br /> </h4>
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Eyes | Poem by Janet Kuypers</h1>
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<b>eyes</b><br />
<br />
Janet Kuypers<br />
<i>started 4/4/15, finished 4/6/15</i><br />
<br />
Growing up,<br />
boys didn’t like me,<br />
kids made fun of me.</blockquote>
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I was raised to think<br />
that I was a plain girl,<br />
easily overlooked.</blockquote>
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I’d look at my eyes,<br />
the same eyes my dad<br />
thought made me<br />
<br />
always look sad,<br />
and wanted to think<br />
that the song<br />
<br />
“Brown Eyed Girl”<br />
could have been<br />
about me.<br />
<br />
How silly of me. </blockquote>
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I should know better. </blockquote>
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And maybe that is why<br />
<br />
I’ve always loved<br />
blue eyes.<br />
Eyes not like mine.<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
The eye is a fascinating thing,<br />
it’s beautiful to study,<br />
especially yours…<br />
<br />
If I were a biologist,<br />
I’d take high-res photos<br />
of that eye of yours,<br />
<br />
maybe magnify it as large<br />
as I could, so I could study it<br />
like a slide under a microscope.<br />
<br />
I would search for meaning<br />
in those mesmerizing patches<br />
and shades of that unique blue.<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
They say science<br />
can explain all,<br />
so maybe it can explain<br />
<br />
why I’m so in love<br />
with your eyes, or why<br />
I’m so in love with you.<br />
<br />
#<br />
<br />
Eyes are our windows<br />
to the outside world, but<br />
they’re also portals inward,<br />
<br />
giving us mere mortals<br />
fleeting glimpses<br />
to who you are inside.<br />
<br />
I think our colored irises<br />
floating on an ocean of white,<br />
punctuated with a pupil<br />
<br />
were designed that way<br />
so we could follow<br />
each other’s gazes closely.<br />
<br />
I’m watching you. </blockquote>
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You probably see that.<br />
<br />
I hope you’ll watch me too.<br />
<br />
Because scientists<br />
have studied the crypts,<br />
pigment dots and furrows<br />
<br />
of the eye, and scientists<br />
are now figuring out<br />
that the eye really is<br />
<br />
the window to the soul.<br />
<br />
So, maybe I was<br />
on the right track<br />
<br />
by loving your eyes,<br />
and never wanting<br />
to lose sight of them again.</blockquote>
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Eyes © 2016. First published at Scars.tv <a href="http://scars.tv/kuypers/poems/2015/eyes.htm">Eyes Poem </a></blockquote>
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Visit <b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/eyes-poem-janet-kuypers/" target="_blank">Artvilla.com</a></b> to hear an mp3 of this poem read by <b>Michael Lee Johnson</b></div>
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with music by <b>Dave Jackson </b></div>
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Key of Mist by Guadalupe Grande</h1>
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<b>Streets, courtyards, squares, cages, a microcosm of urban power...</b></div>
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<b><a href="https://www.prlog.org/12593482-key-of-mist.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="Key of Mist" class="im2" data-src="" height="250" id="img0" src="https://www.prlog.org/12593482-key-of-mist.jpg" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255) none repeat scroll 0% 0%;" title="Key of Mist" width="175" /></a> </b></div>
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<b>Spread the Word</b></div>
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<b>BRUSSELS, Belgium</b> - <b>Oct. 11, 2016</b> - <i><a href="https://www.prlog.org/" style="text-decoration: none;">PRLog</a></i>
-- ...the text of the city inhabited by the signs of the artefact and
chaos of Babel, the personification of the labyrinth, a moral monster
with a fortress-house for a body and a shelter for the desolation of
shipwrecked as a head. Here, Guadalupe Grande's Key of Mist (La llave de
niebla, translated to English by Amparo Arróspide and Robin Ouzman
Hislop) maps the city soul, where linguistic chaos rearranges the poems'
voices.<br />
<br />
The city, the other civilization, the greatness and the
spectrum of its intrinsic ruin, a memento mori for the urban castaway on
the waves of asphalt. (...) Such is the ethical landscape in which
Guadalupe Grande displays the moral alphabet of her poetic truth,
recognizing the city as a hyperspace, where the epic idea of homeland,
the country´s ideological circumstances, the historical concept of
nation are devastated by the innocent look of someone who does not
understand the rush, does not accept the urgency of sacrifice imposed
each morning by the necessity of work, the laws of domination, the
salary of loneliness.<br />
<br />
~Juan Carlos Mestre<br />
<br />
EN RELATIVO<br />
<br />
Que
el mundo es imposible. Que las calles no pueden cabernos en el pecho.
Que nada cabe en el hueco que le está destinado y así nos van las cosas.
Que las hojas de los árboles siguen cayendo y el mar sigue diciendo una
palabra que no podemos descifrar: una palabra en movimiento, una
palabra en la que cabe el tiempo. Que estamos hechos de tiempo, pero no
de mar. Que llevamos la cuenta del tiempo que vivimos, mareados, como si
pudiéramos llevar las cuentas del mar. Que contamos la lluvia de los
días y los pasos tartamudos de las horas. Que hacemos balance de
minucias. Que se nos caen las palabras de la boca, sin entenderlas, como
la nieve se aturde en el asfalto. Que confundimos la nieve con la sal,
los relojes con la sangre, el pecho con un garaje, y nos consolamos
creyendo que todo es relativo, como este pronombre.<br />
<br />
WITH A RELATIVE PRONOUN<br />
<br />
That
the world is impossible. That streets won't fit in our chest. That
nothing fits in the niche for which it's intended and that's how things
are. That the leaves of trees go on falling and the sea goes on saying
one word we can't decipher: a word in movement, a word that fits time
in. That we are made of time, but not made of sea. That we count the
time we live as dizzy, as dizzily as if we could count the sea. That we
count the rain of days and the stammering steps of hours. That we make
fuss about trifles. That words drop from our mouth, without
understanding them, like stunned snow on a pavement. That we confuse
snow with salt, clocks with blood, the chest with a garage, and we
console ourselves with thinking that everything is relative, like this
pronoun.<br />
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<b>POSTAL I</b><br />
(Vista del horizonte desde la Costanilla del Farol)<br />
<br />
Nada hay como estar lejos<br />
y no saber dónde meternos;<br />
contar los pájaros que emigran,<br />
buscar la arena en el asfalto<br />
y acurrucarnos bajo una farola<br />
con espigado espíritu de álamo<br />
mientras el tráfico de la noche<br />
dice su palabra de río<br />
que no llegará nunca al mar.<br />
<br />
Una ciudad, hoy, es estar lejos.<br />
<br />
<b>POSTCARD I</b><br />
(View of the horizon from the Alley of the Street Lamp)<br />
<br />
There's nothing like being far away<br />
not knowing where to get into;<br />
counting the migrating birds,<br />
searching for sand on the pavement<br />
curling up under a street lamp<br />
with the slender spirit of a poplar<br />
while the night traffic<br />
utters its river's word<br />
that will never reach the sea.<br />
<br />
A city, today, exists to be far away.</blockquote>
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<br />
To order: <a href="http://www.lulu.com/shop/guadalupe-grande/key-of-mist/paperback/product-22896809.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.lulu.com/<wbr></wbr>shop/guadalupe-<wbr></wbr>grande/key-of-<wbr></wbr>mist/pap...</a><br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker Selected Poems / 2015 available on amazon.com </span></span></span></h4>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">by Barbara Crooker</span><br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0HaXfd9rU32qzoivfQkuH2B0OELupFKckW3Ip6jObiIVV2x5RX0DyOmkGD8pBy7UZSSQlIgR-3JAa3NELXf8gsBModLNdnU2sv8tlfc64P1WR14OfcrHH1rDwRA8fCF8qkYPYRZxZU/s320/bcrooker.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
</span></h4>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #45818e;">This collection brings together 102 poems from Barbara Crooker’s
previous ten chapbooks of poetry, two of which won national prizes, with
a handful of uncollected poems at the end. Of Crooker’s work, William
Matthews has written, “Barbara Crooker’s poems have been written with a
deft touch and with that affection for their textures and pacings that
we’re accustomed to call, a little dryly, ‘technical skill.’ It’s a form
of love, actually, and since she’s expended it on her poems, we can,
too.” Janet McCann, writing in the Foreword, says, “The poems in this
collection come mostly from chapbooks, collections which cluster around a
theme, such as loss of a parent or friend, raising a child with autism,
travel, art. Crooker’s collections are remarkable for their unity;
their poems, epigraphs, even covers have a thematic thrust that collects
and directs the work, making each a coherent work of art.... Reading
the work from beginning to end provides an experience of Crooker’s
world, that place of work and sadness balanced by art and love. It also
provides vignettes of growing up in the fifties and sixties and shows
what it was like to come of age as a woman in those years—the
expectations, the hopes, the barriers that had to be overcome. Even in
poems of loss, the energy persists, giving us the sense that Crooker is
truly in the current of life, feeling its verve—what Wallace Stevens
called ‘the intensity of love’ that he identified with ‘the verve of
earth.’”</span></span></span></div>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
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<i>Click book image to visit the Amazon page</i></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble
of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<h2 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="color: #45818e;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="Michael McClure & Ray Manzarek - For Jim Morrison">Michael McClure & Ray Manzarek - For Jim Morrison </span></span></i></span></h4>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="Michael McClure & Ray Manzarek - For Jim Morrison"> </span><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="Michael McClure & Ray Manzarek - For Jim Morrison"> </span></span></i></span></h4>
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Janet Caldwell - Dancing Toward the Light</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="watch-title" dir="ltr" id="eow-title" title="Michael McClure & Ray Manzarek - For Jim Morrison"><br /></span></span></i></span></h4>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="color: black;"><br />Nordette Adams - The Green Green Grass </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span><span style="color: #45818e;"><i><span style="color: black;">Sara Russell - The Obsessive Parts 1 and 2</span></i> </span></div>
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<br />pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-63515292423293677782016-10-01T05:06:00.001-07:002016-10-04T11:47:48.797-07:00<div class="separator tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of October 2016</span></h4>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: black;">A TRIBUTE TO JANET P. CALDWELL<br />1959-2016<br /></span></span></span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jnQPYPvnIf7s1QPYW5uuIdH2IZe5lbAhVrGefmB619hNFIKoLQnnKpYYsPeP8xzz5TAD21OyQ4oSjB7q3y7oNEvdM-gNdJP4vxY_1Yz1poTPzrhIMWCHbbUqRCby3-Pb_JmzdIWDfnw/s1600/JanCaldwellRIP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="1" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3jnQPYPvnIf7s1QPYW5uuIdH2IZe5lbAhVrGefmB619hNFIKoLQnnKpYYsPeP8xzz5TAD21OyQ4oSjB7q3y7oNEvdM-gNdJP4vxY_1Yz1poTPzrhIMWCHbbUqRCby3-Pb_JmzdIWDfnw/s400/JanCaldwellRIP.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<header class="entry-header">
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
The Cultivated Ones. <br />A Poem by Janet P. Caldwell.</h1>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/cultivated-ones-poem-janet-p-caldwell/" rel="bookmark" title="6:38 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-09-30T06:38:10+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 30, 2016</time></a></span> posted on <a href="http://motherbird.com/cultivated-ones-poem-janet-p-caldwell/">motherbird.com</a><span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"> by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="entry-meta">
<i><span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span></i> <i><span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"><b><br />Robin's Note</b></span></span></span></i><i><b>: </b>Janet recently deceased Sept.27th 2016.</i><i> Writer/Editor/Poet she was a good friend & will be greatly missed</i></div>
</blockquote>
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</div>
</header><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b><br />
</b>The pampered roses are are all bred<br />
much like step-ford wives to look alike.<br />
From seedling to flowering<br />
with abundant care, they do survive.<br />
<br />
The gardener making sure they lay in measured mulch<br />
are properly watered, holding the moisture<br />
to prevent unwanted weeds from drinking and growing.<br />
Halting the choking of a prized dressing of a cultivated lawn.<br />
<br />
Unaware they are slaves to man’s idea of beauty<br />
and never serving themselves.<br />
<br />
Now, look at the daisy, some say she’s ugly,<br />
just a wild, uncultured weed.<br />
I say she’s a beauty, bending with the wind<br />
growing sturdy through arid ground, so wild and free.<br />
<br />
She’s the clever one, she’s cast off conformity.<b></b><br />
<br />
<b>Janet P. Caldwell December 16, 2015</b></blockquote>
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
The Daddy Poem Series (i.-vii.) <br />by Janet P. Caldwell.</h1>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/the-daddy-poem-series-i-vii-by-janet-p-caldwell/" rel="bookmark" title="6:31 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-09-30T06:31:28+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 30, 2016</time></a></span> Posted on <a href="http://motherbird.com/cultivated-ones-poem-janet-p-caldwell/">motherbird.com</a> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
<br />
<b><br />(i.)<br /> <br /> 5 degrees to separation</b><br />
<br />
I learned to count early<br />
Read the bible too<br />
Wrath, punishment<br />
Seemed no absolution<br />
Separate at five<br />
<br />
In the morning<br />
When I was defiled<br />
Five screams a minute<br />
Five shiny points from<br />
The glass shards<br />
<br />
Five fingers, to check off<br />
As I calculate<br />
In five minutes I’m clean<br />
and new<br />
Separated by five degrees<br />
<br />
Five from what I don’t want<br />
To remember, anything green<br />
Black or brown<br />
Make it easier<br />
Five letters/numbers are my friends<br />
<br />
The ceiling fan;<br />
Wood, glass, white, brown, brass<br />
Another set of quints<br />
A quick escape<br />
When I should need one<br />
<br />
My rabbit hole with<br />
Back-doors aplenty<br />
Five senses all shut down<br />
I’ve got good and can count<br />
Before what might happen<br />
<br />
Safe in numbers, hidden<br />
When I separate from myself.<br />
<b><br /> ©2001-2014 Janet Caldwell</b><br />
<br />
<b><br /> (ii.)<br /> <br /> Weep for the Child that Never Was</b><br />
<br />
Tears fall down my face<br />
for a child with no name<br />
A child filled with anguish<br />
suffering disgrace.<br />
<br />
How could they have lied<br />
and treated her so<br />
Why didn’t they love her<br />
just let her go?<br />
<br />
Buy her new clothes<br />
fill her with song<br />
Mess her up more<br />
you can’t be wrong!<br />
<br />
She grew up with walls<br />
forever all around<br />
The music you played<br />
she couldn’t hear a sound.<br />
<br />
You look at her now<br />
with disgust in your eyes<br />
You can’t see her though<br />
she wears a disguise.<br />
<br />
Hand-made by you<br />
so carefully sewn<br />
With coagulated drops<br />
all her own.<br />
<br />
You thought that you knew her<br />
but there’s no way that you could<br />
She’s not what you think<br />
behind the mask stained with blood.<br />
<br />
© Janet Caldwell 2001 – 2014<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>(iii.)<br /> <br /> Daddy # 2</b><br />
<br />
I Remember him<br />
<br />
Glassy blue eyes<br />
Fingertips brown<br />
Black greasy hair<br />
Forehead high<br />
Child killer<br />
Sick bastard<br />
<br />
I Remember me<br />
Scuttling like a rat<br />
Running from a cat<br />
Scattering across the tile<br />
<br />
Like a roach on fire<br />
When the lights came on<br />
Better scatter, Daddy’s home!<br />
<br />
I Remember (séances)<br />
Straddling his head<br />
The Shoulders so high<br />
Calling up the dead<br />
Peering in the sky<br />
Let the dead arise<br />
It’ll stop Daddy’s cries.<br />
<br />
I Remember Abuse<br />
Dancing to the belt<br />
That beat me blue<br />
Decorated with welts<br />
<br />
Daddy, I Remember You<br />
<br />
© Janet P. Caldwell 2003 -2014<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>(iv.)<br /> <br /> Child’s Lament</b><br />
<br />
I assume you’d say that I’m<br />
As beautiful as I was when I was six.<br />
I think … (I’m jinxed)<br />
Mother Dear, what do you think of me now?<br />
<br />
I really must know… I’m lost.<br />
Did I say that I miss you?<br />
I’m sorry if I haven’t.<br />
I feel like Anne. Always have.<br />
<br />
Did my beauty transpire when, I cooked your<br />
Supper? Was I special when<br />
Your sick fuck of a husband<br />
Molested me? Made it easy for you,<br />
well, answer me?<br />
<br />
(If only in my mind, for my mind, I’m losing my mind . . . again)<br />
<br />
Tell me, Mother, I want<br />
To understand. (Significance?)<br />
Myself, a wisp of value<br />
I don’t have far to go.<br />
<br />
It’s an indistinct trail, but<br />
I try. Just explain it, please.<br />
I forgive you.<br />
Everyday.<br />
<br />
And I will<br />
I promise.<br />
All the way to the grave.<br />
Can you help me now???<br />
<b><br /> ©2002 – 2014 Janet Caldwell</b><br />
<br />
<b><br /> (v.)<br /> <br /> Sugar & Spice</b><br />
<br />
Hey, Pom Pom girl, swingy<br />
Red and blue, shake it<br />
Shake it, cheer so loud<br />
Until the acid bleeds your throat<br />
<br />
Green eyes glaze and glisten<br />
Smiling through the bile<br />
You pretty little thing<br />
For everyone to see, but<br />
If they only knew, and could<br />
See the scars beneath<br />
<br />
The make-up, the crafted image<br />
They wouldn’t be jealous<br />
Now would they Blondie<br />
Surely not of you?<br />
<br />
You’re all grown now<br />
If you believe a calendar<br />
Hiding in a house, in plain<br />
Sight, an icon for everything nice<br />
And all that spice, so spice that nice<br />
<br />
But tell me, what the<br />
Hell happened to you?<br />
A funny thing, frequent<br />
Thoughts of suicide<br />
A whispered middle-aged craze<br />
Still hip, staying in style<br />
<br />
You’re still pretty, my silly girl<br />
Even with your head<br />
Crammed in the toilet bowl<br />
<br />
When did it stop being easy to cheer?<br />
As you count the vomit chunks<br />
Regurgitate love, empty<br />
Your soiled soul.<br />
<br />
Feeling better now?<br />
No, I didn’t think you would<br />
How about a pill? You know<br />
That you can’t drink<br />
Too many calories to consume<br />
Remember? Pissing in the sink<br />
<br />
I’ve been around, seen<br />
Everything you’ve done<br />
The things that you can’t handle<br />
I saw you scrub and scrub.<br />
<br />
Wipe at the dingy stains<br />
From his dirty love, that stench<br />
Perfume won’t hide.<br />
<br />
You had to find a way<br />
To survive the attentions<br />
Of an unconvicted felon<br />
That uncircumcised bastard<br />
Who brought dinner home<br />
<br />
You do it still you know<br />
Those little tricks and games<br />
Recount the vomit chunks<br />
one-two-three-four-five<br />
<br />
Hurry, hurry, hurry<br />
That filthy secret’s visible<br />
Flush, flush, flush!!!!!!<br />
<br />
Tidily out of sight, out of mind<br />
Your filth is in the sewer<br />
A safe-deposit box<br />
For unwanted truths<br />
<br />
So you can facade the day<br />
<b><br /> © Janet Caldwell 2002-2014 </b></blockquote>
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</blockquote>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Janet P. Caldwell</b> wrote her first poems and short stories in an old diary where she noted her daily thoughts. She wrote whether suffering, joyful or hoping for peace in the world. She started this process at the tender age of Eight. This was long before journaling was in vogue. <br />
<br />
Along with her thoughts, poetry and stories, she drew what she refers to as Hippie flowers. Janet embraced the Sixties and Seventies flower power symbol, of peace and love, which were a very important part of her consciousness.<br />
<br />
Janet wrote her first book, in those unassuming diaries, never to be seen by the light of day due to an unfortunate house fire. This did not deter her drive. She then opted for a new batch of composition journals and filled everyone. In the early nineteen-eighties, <br />
<br />
Janet held a byline in a small newspaper in Denton, Texas while working full time, being a Mother and attending Night School.<br />
<br />
Since the early days Janet has been published in newspapers, magazines and books globally. She also has enjoyed being the feature on numerous occasions, both in Magazines, Radio and on Several Web Sites. She went on to publish three books. 5 degrees to separation 2003, Passages 2012 and her latest book Dancing Toward the Light.<br />
<br />
All of her Books are available through Inner Child Press along with Fine Book Stores Globally. Janet P. Caldwell is also a contributing editor of Inner Child ltd, which includes Inner Child’s Ning Social Site, Inner Child Newspaper, Inner Child Magazine, Inner Child Radio and The Inner Child Press Publishing Company.<br />
<br />
She will be sadly missed by all of the poetry community and all her friends and family.<br />
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/swimming-to-the-moon-a-poem-by-steve-de-france/">SWIMMING TO THE MOON<br />A Poem by Steve De France</a></h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/swimming-to-the-moon-a-poem-by-steve-de-france/" rel="bookmark" title="3:43 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-09-15T15:43:58+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 15, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b>Tonight my fingers stiffly stumble across<br />
my keyboard as my mind is repulsed,<br />
as I am frightened of this task, as I am afraid<br />
of the pain of thought., as my spirit fills & trembles<br />
with the mystery in words.<br />
Words that once flashed<br />
in the eyes of the dying,<br />
words that fade into a wet cough,<br />
words brushing past the living<br />
with silken lips as cold as marble,<br />
their frightened gasps merge into darkness.<br />
Ancient images tumble into my mind, I pass the<br />
rough tips of my short fingers across my<br />
damp forehead—very carefully as I<br />
rehearse for my passage to the moon,<br />
knowing all of us will have to make this swim<br />
through skin and blood and memories.</b> </span></span></span></div>
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<i> Credit to</i> <i><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/swimming-to-the-moon-a-poem-by-steve-de-france/">Poetry Life & Times</a></b></i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://motherbird.com/%e2%80%a8dream-catchers-poem-steve-defrance/">DREAM CATCHERS<br />A Poem by Steve DeFrance</a></h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-09-15T11:59:46+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">Posted on September 15, 2016</time></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span> Things<br />
are<br />
what they<br />
are.<br />
Coloring Jupiter green<br />
won’t make it so.<br />
<br />
Yesterday’s meaning<br />
was for yesterday—<br />
today the sun comes up<br />
on another planet<br />
entirely.<br />
<br />
One night’s sleep<br />
divides us<br />
from an uncertain past.<br />
<br />
The dead & the living<br />
can’t mix often except<br />
in poetry or dreams<br />
where everyone’s illustrated<br />
in a few fictive lines
<br />
purple cows here or there—as words<br />
exculpate whatever they please.<br />
<br />
Until they don’t and then<br />
they damn the very thing<br />
they’ve once raved about.<br />
<br />
One minute now<br />
until this day’s cares disappear.<br />
Daylight hisses into dark,<br />
and night barges into the frightened<br />
corners of our mind—until at last,<br />
the eternal stage manager lowers our curtain,<br />
and consciousness skips,<br />
among stars & rampaging raptors,<br />
slipping right off the spinning earth.</div>
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<i> Credit: <a href="http://motherbird.com/%e2%80%a8dream-catchers-poem-steve-defrance/">motherbird.com</a></i></blockquote>
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</blockquote>
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/excess-hunger-poem-steve-defrance/">EXCESS HUNGER<br />A Poem by Steve DeFrance</a></h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-09-15T11:24:28+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">Posted on September 15, 2016</time></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
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<br />
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Early in the morning<br />
the day after Thanksgiving,<br />
I bleakly regard my fellow patrons,<br />
squeezed from surrounding tract homes.<br />
<br />
They had nudged out & stumbled away<br />
from frightened lives.<br />
They stand at the restaurant wall<br />
looking at grease splattered<br />
“Especials.”<br />
These accidental victims of excess,<br />
butts bulging, thighs dropping,<br />
ruminate on pancakes or burritos<br />
chorizo or bacon, tacos or tuna salad<br />
eggs with hot chili. or coffee, tea, or Cerveza,<br />
<br />
They order—filling an emptiness,<br />
jockey for a seat overlooking a sea of hybrid<br />
station wagons plastered with “baby on board” signs.<br />
These folks dying of cancer, or filled with divorce,<br />
or worse yet, homes infected with lies that kill,<br />
homes of infidelity, homes of indifference,<br />
homes one plots to leave,<br />
homes with children without parents,<br />
or worse yet–with twisted parents<br />
looking ordinary—but living on rape,<br />
or blood or tears on the mattress,<br />
as suns come up & moons go down.<br />
<br />
You don’t know how to love them,<br />
or pity them. They simply are—and they leave<br />
no apologies for their pain, your eyes glaze over,<br />
as you too stare at the parking lot.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i> Credit: <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/excess-hunger-poem-steve-defrance/">artvilla.com </a></i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFYiS9AkhiffMDzuHCPgGz7jhCSaIU33Lbym9S3911zewlZ8pyehiLxiiDmmQzH8V_dYRrePny7gvzMl4wjmT1oAYSlNvdlA2UUPb_kQlMEvVtCGiTEaPvZS941MZEi_-4s5jSAeBe_o/s1600/steve-defrance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="1" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFYiS9AkhiffMDzuHCPgGz7jhCSaIU33Lbym9S3911zewlZ8pyehiLxiiDmmQzH8V_dYRrePny7gvzMl4wjmT1oAYSlNvdlA2UUPb_kQlMEvVtCGiTEaPvZS941MZEi_-4s5jSAeBe_o/s320/steve-defrance.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<i><b> </b></i> <br />
<br />
<b>Steve DeFrance </b>is a widely published poet, playwright and
essayist both in America and in Great Britain. His work has appeared in
literary publications in America, England, Canada, France, Ireland,
Wales, Scotland, India, Australia, and New Zealand. He has been
nominated for a Pushcart Prize in Poetry in both 2002 and 2003. Recent
publications include The Wallace Stevens Journal, The Mid-American
Poetry Review, Ambit, Atlantic, Clean Sheets, Poetrybay, Yellow Mama and
The Sun. In England he won a Reader’s Award in Orbis Magazine for his
poem “Hawks.” In the United States he won the Josh Samuels’ Annual
Poetry Competition (2003) for his poem: “The Man Who Loved Mermaids.”
His play THE KILLER had it’s world premier at the GARAGE THEATRE in Long
Beach, California (Sept-October 2006). He has received the
Distinguished Alumnus Award from Chapman University for his writing.
Most recently his poem “Gregor’s Wings” has been nominated for The Best
of The Net by Poetic Diversity. <i> for further work by Steve De France see</i><b><i> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt">Poetry Life & Times</a> &<a href="http://www.motherbird.com/"> www.motherbird.com</a></i></b><br />
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
My Sun is Orange. <br />A Poem by William S. Peters, Sr.</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/my-sun-is-orange-a-poem-by-william-s-peters-sr/" rel="bookmark" title="5:18 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-09-30T05:18:27+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">Posted on Motherbird September 30, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="entry-meta">
</div>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span><b><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">my morning Sun is orange<br />
The yellow is stained<br />
with the Blood of my People<br />
for that is what we<br />
are reminded of<br />
each day</span></b></div>
<b>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">when it rises from the East<br />
to greet the world<br />
i see my world<br />
clearly</span></b></div>
<b>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">we once lived with a hope<br />
that the atrocities of Hate<br />
War<br />
and indifference<br />
would go away<br />
but it did not</span></b></div>
<b>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">my hope has been misplaced<br />
somewhere<br />
and i can not remember<br />
where i have set it down</span></b></div>
<b>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">it might have been that day<br />
i lost my arm<br />
or that day<br />
when my Father was jailed<br />
or that day<br />
when my Sister was killed<br />
she was only 3</span></b></div>
<b>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">no, i think i lost my hope<br />
the day<br />
my Mother no longer cried</span></b></div>
<b>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">her eyes have been dry<br />
for many a year now<br />
and somehow<br />
by some grace<br />
she still has enough love in her<br />
to hug me<br />
once in a while<br />
through that pained smile<br />
that still adorns her face<br />
just so she won’t completely break</span></b></div>
<b>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">there is a noise i hear<br />
it is a loud silence<br />
that stays with me<br />
through my callousness<br />
for the gunfire<br />
and the bombs<br />
and the screams<br />
i can not hear them</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">they have long ago<br />
assaulted and killed<br />
the dreams of my Family<br />
my village<br />
my people<br />
and it is now working on<br />
Humanity</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">where is the sanity<br />
in this methodology<br />
to be found</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">every day is “Ground Zero”<br />
where i live<br />
every where i look<br />
i see Ground Zeros<br />
and we have lost count<br />
of those who<br />
are no more<br />
because of what you call War</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">but you and i<br />
never had a dispute<br />
that i know of<br />
If so, please tell me what i did wrong<br />
to cause you harm<br />
that you should exact such wretchedness<br />
upon me<br />
and others like me</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">i know not of the Politics<br />
of it all.<br />
i have never met a Politician<br />
are they so different<br />
than we the people ?</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">if it’s Oil<br />
i give it to you<br />
if it’s right<br />
take it freely<br />
i will not raise nor put my hand<br />
against that<br />
of my Father’s children</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">there was a time<br />
when all i thought of<br />
was simply<br />
finding Joy in my life<br />
i have since given up that quest<br />
for i see far too much<br />
of that other stuff<br />
which deserves not a name</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">my Sun is no longer Yellow<br />
but i do pray my Brother<br />
that yours is</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;">my Sun is Orange</span></div>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span><br />
</b><i>This is dedicated to all the Villages, Peoples across our Globe who must endure the Politics and Sickness of War.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwMXkb-eOPzcx8SRFLyAYqvdjXbLO5GWuRSA4Wl0nropgFPRwOvvuDzerrTplTl7WagvF55t9LGIIcgW5a0QuMBYhyphenhyphencWC9e4znEwbIa2dWCLKlcjDil9o5XzrM3-eK7x6NE1STm53RpQ/s1600/williamspeters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhwMXkb-eOPzcx8SRFLyAYqvdjXbLO5GWuRSA4Wl0nropgFPRwOvvuDzerrTplTl7WagvF55t9LGIIcgW5a0QuMBYhyphenhyphencWC9e4znEwbIa2dWCLKlcjDil9o5XzrM3-eK7x6NE1STm53RpQ/s1600/williamspeters.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Bill is an avid Writer / Poet who has been committed to this
path since 1966. He currently has to his credit over 70 Published Books
as well as a myriad of Newspaper and Magazine Articles. Bill supports
the venue of Creative Expression regardless of form. He also is an
activist for the progression and evolution of Humanity and its Love of
each other.<br />
<br />
Recently (September 2015) Bill was honored to be named the Poet Laureate
at the Kosovo International Poetry Festival where his book The Vine
Keeper was showcased. He was also awarded The Golden Grape Award.<br />
<br />
Bill currently serves as the CEO of Inner Child Enterprises, ltd.,
Managing Director of Inner Child Press, Executive Producer of Inner
Child Radio and Executive Editor of Inner Child Magazine. His life
partner Janet P. Caldwell stands by his side in support of the Inner
Child vision<br />
<br />
For more of Bill, visit his personal web Site at :<a href="http://www.iamjustbill./"> www.iamjustbill.</a><br />
<br />
for Inner Child . . .<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.iaminnerchild.com/">www.iaminnerchild.com</a><br />
<a href="http://www.innerchildpress.com/">www.innerchildpress.com</a></span><br />
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<i> </i><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b></b><b>
</b> </div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
The Thracian Rider Is Doomed to Moonlight. A Poem by RW Haynes</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on Poetry Life & Times </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-thracian-rider-is-doomed-to-moonlight-a-poem-by-rw-haynes/" rel="bookmark" title="7:07 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-09-28T19:07:13+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 28, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> <br />by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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Artemis of slippery rocks, O power<br />
Of mesquite, O night, O resonant night<br />
Of owls and tricky rapids, in this hour<br />
Guide my faithful warhorse aright<br />
In this crossing of this magic stream,<br />
Where the ghosts of ancient rattlesnakes<br />
Arise a moment from their deathly dream<br />
To view the crossing an intruder makes.<br />
Thus splashing splashlessly, now I ride,<br />
Saluting the river with my brazen spear,<br />
Across through the shallows to the western side,<br />
To Mexico. Moonglow is strong, but sunrise is near,<br />
And here I will abide when darkness is gone<br />
Awaiting the impulse which will impel me on.<br />
<br />
Just one game plays out at no remove<br />
From reality, and its rules both produce<br />
And require defiance of traps that prove<br />
What you are. You must somehow turn loose<br />
Of love’s numerous and bogus avatars,<br />
Of pride’s super-subtle, invidious claims,<br />
And all false illusions, from Hell to the stars,<br />
As the clock steals vigor, and all the other games<br />
Clamor for attention. But I have arrived<br />
And crossed this river, one dragon slain<br />
In Bulgaria, the battles I survived<br />
Having cleared my soul of useless pain.<br />
And now, freed from compulsion of choice,<br />
I listen for orders from an inward voice.<br />
<br />
Last night I met a perished knight at arms<br />
Wandering feebly down the murmuring stream,<br />
And we spoke awhile of debilitating charms<br />
That lurk malignantly in hope and dream.<br />
Death had relieved him of all but regret,<br />
He smiled, his eyes unseen in the ghostly shade,<br />
But hoarsely whispered then that to forget<br />
He’d instantly take agony in trade,<br />
And he reached forth to me his bony hand,<br />
And I pronounced forthwith the living curse,<br />
And he was gone with that crushing command<br />
That the dead must obey and none can reverse.<br />
And the waterfall echoes its perpetual sighs<br />
And I stand watch here silent at moon-rise.</blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>R. W. Haynes</b> has taught literature at Texas A&M International University since 1992. His recent interests include the early British sonnet, and he is completing a second book on the Texas playwright and screenwriter Horton Foote (1916-2009). In his poetry, Haynes seeks to celebrate life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness without sounding any more dissonant notes than he has to. In fiction, he works toward grasping that part of the past which made its mark on his generation. He enjoys teaching drama, especially the Greeks, Ibsen, and Shakespeare, and he devoutly hopes for a stunning literary Renaissance in South Texas.</span></span></div>
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~SCHIZOPHRENIC TENDENCIES~<br />A Poem by James Dennis Casey 1V.</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on Poetry Life & Times </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/schizophrenic-tendenciesa-poem-by-james-dennis-casey-1v/" rel="bookmark" title="2:45 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-09-22T14:45:23+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 22, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name">I know my flaws<br />
Holding on to the darkness<br />
As I step out of the light<br />
<br />
I did everything I ever did<br />
I own up to it too<br />
Never hiding behind a phrase<br />
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“The devil made me do it”<br />
Not in my vocabulary<br />
<br />
Good<br />
Evil<br />
Never satisfied<br />
Either way<br />
I keep them both hungry<br />
<br />
Sometimes I recognize myself<br />
Others I don’t<br />
The times in between<br />
Are madness<br />
<br />
Schizophrenic tendencies<br />
Of a multi-faceted gem<br />
<br />
I fuel myself with whiskey<br />
Fight<br />
Drink<br />
Fuck<br />
<br />
Yet my heart is full of empathy<br />
Forgive<br />
Forget<br />
Love<br />
<br />
Many different faces<br />
Many different masks<br />
<br />
Hobo lullabies<br />
Rich man dreams<br />
Commando stain pants<br />
Fresh clean shirt </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQXabterlFTI-Sz1Cyi4goGCq20wU81WNdX-bruXwHcvAgDTdTnkJamGnUuoFsBMLnscLscNRYH0fD1gPzCdwBAmW50w-pSd9yKhphhPklVe7H6g6PIYtjMg7GeGpgF2TgdSqe5qNyzQ/s1600/JDCasey.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="1" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQXabterlFTI-Sz1Cyi4goGCq20wU81WNdX-bruXwHcvAgDTdTnkJamGnUuoFsBMLnscLscNRYH0fD1gPzCdwBAmW50w-pSd9yKhphhPklVe7H6g6PIYtjMg7GeGpgF2TgdSqe5qNyzQ/s1600/JDCasey.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>James says:</i> "I fancy myself as a bard & wordsmith, madman, artist, free
thinker, cat lover, hat lover, owl enthusiast, and crystal collector. My
poems have been featured in print form on two separate occasions. My
poem “A Philosophical Treasure Chest” was picked for the anthology
‘Where the Mind Dwells’ after wining a submission contest, and five of
my poem submissions were accepted to be in ‘Tribute-Pirates Anthology’
by Writing Knights Press. Some of my poetry has also been in the pages
of various online magazine publications. Poetry Blog: <a href="http://%20jdcivskeletonsfrommycloset.%20blogspot.com/">http:// jdcivskeletonsfrommycloset. blogspot.com</a>/ </div>
Rev.<b> James Dennis Casey</b> IV. Ordained Dudeist Priest at <a href="http://www.dudeism.com/">Dudeism</a>, the Church of the Latter-Day Dude"<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
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<i>Click book image to visit the Amazon page</i></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble
of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker Selected Poems / 2015 available on amazon.com </span></span></span></h4>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">by Barbara Crooker</span><br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0HaXfd9rU32qzoivfQkuH2B0OELupFKckW3Ip6jObiIVV2x5RX0DyOmkGD8pBy7UZSSQlIgR-3JAa3NELXf8gsBModLNdnU2sv8tlfc64P1WR14OfcrHH1rDwRA8fCF8qkYPYRZxZU/s320/bcrooker.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #45818e;">This collection brings together 102 poems from Barbara Crooker’s
previous ten chapbooks of poetry, two of which won national prizes, with
a handful of uncollected poems at the end. Of Crooker’s work, William
Matthews has written, “Barbara Crooker’s poems have been written with a
deft touch and with that affection for their textures and pacings that
we’re accustomed to call, a little dryly, ‘technical skill.’ It’s a form
of love, actually, and since she’s expended it on her poems, we can,
too.” Janet McCann, writing in the Foreword, says, “The poems in this
collection come mostly from chapbooks, collections which cluster around a
theme, such as loss of a parent or friend, raising a child with autism,
travel, art. Crooker’s collections are remarkable for their unity;
their poems, epigraphs, even covers have a thematic thrust that collects
and directs the work, making each a coherent work of art.... Reading
the work from beginning to end provides an experience of Crooker’s
world, that place of work and sadness balanced by art and love. It also
provides vignettes of growing up in the fifties and sixties and shows
what it was like to come of age as a woman in those years—the
expectations, the hopes, the barriers that had to be overcome. Even in
poems of loss, the energy persists, giving us the sense that Crooker is
truly in the current of life, feeling its verve—what Wallace Stevens
called ‘the intensity of love’ that he identified with ‘the verve of
earth.’”</span></span></span></div>
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<i>Janet Kuypers reads 3 of her poems in round 1 at Kick Butt Poetry, 9/11/16</i><br />
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<i> Nordette Adams reads her poem Misery: New Orleans Gun Violence & Other Crimes</i><br />
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<i>Sara L Russell (pinkyandrexa) reads her poem "Bohemian Quest" (about Artists)</i><br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of September 2016</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/america-the-rave-a-poem-by-adam-levon-brown/">America: The Rave. </a><br />A Poem by Adam Levon Brown</span> </h1>
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<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="245u7-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="245u7-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="245u7-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Of the store-bought</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="97emq-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="97emq-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="97emq-0-0"><span data-text="true"> pizza dinners</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="18ehk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="18ehk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="18ehk-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="bhkv0-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bhkv0-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bhkv0-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Land of the flies</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="b7c36-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b7c36-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="b7c36-0-0"><span data-text="true"> who scrape the paint</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="c9eib-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c9eib-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c9eib-0-0"><span data-text="true"> off of barnyard doors</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="flksf-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="flksf-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="flksf-0-0"><span data-text="true"> with fingernails of lace</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="126em-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="126em-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="126em-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="4rqa3-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4rqa3-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4rqa3-0-0"><span data-text="true"> America</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="9qv30-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9qv30-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="9qv30-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="40i2r-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="40i2r-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="40i2r-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Camel cigarette</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="3p1j4-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3p1j4-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="3p1j4-0-0"><span data-text="true"> butts lining the crevices,</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="e2f8g-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="e2f8g-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="e2f8g-0-0"><span data-text="true"> reminding us to</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="du0i-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="du0i-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="du0i-0-0"><span data-text="true"> take pride in our</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="1lsns-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1lsns-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1lsns-0-0"><span data-text="true"> death</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="8f02u-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8f02u-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8f02u-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="2kk23-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2kk23-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2kk23-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Land of the trees,</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="baj06-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="baj06-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="baj06-0-0"><span data-text="true"> the oceans, and the</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="ep1h4-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ep1h4-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ep1h4-0-0"><span data-text="true"> snow; covering us like</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="f0b83-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f0b83-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="f0b83-0-0"><span data-text="true"> a whale song sung from</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="c35pk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c35pk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c35pk-0-0"><span data-text="true"> the bleachers of Wrigley field</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="81pba-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="81pba-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="81pba-0-0"><span data-text="true"> in ’89</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="b73vj-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="b73vj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="b73vj-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="6vusc-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6vusc-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="6vusc-0-0"><span data-text="true"> America</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="auene-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="auene-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="auene-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="c6d8b-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c6d8b-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c6d8b-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Scarface gangsterish</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="8iaom-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8iaom-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8iaom-0-0"><span data-text="true"> slang aimed at our throats</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="amnu9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="amnu9-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="amnu9-0-0"><span data-text="true"> while revolutionaries paint</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="5gu76-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5gu76-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5gu76-0-0"><span data-text="true"> their stories on box trains</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="4f4b3-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4f4b3-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4f4b3-0-0"><span data-text="true"> destined for the great beyond</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="mekm-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="mekm-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="mekm-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="2cpfn-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2cpfn-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2cpfn-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Land of the stolen coffee bean</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="4e8r6-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4e8r6-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4e8r6-0-0"><span data-text="true"> with all of its richness fueling</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="a3579-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a3579-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="a3579-0-0"><span data-text="true"> our neurotic skull contents in</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="flk6d-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="flk6d-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="flk6d-0-0"><span data-text="true"> the bleak December rains</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="90m5p-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="90m5p-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="90m5p-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="3f5rl-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3f5rl-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="3f5rl-0-0"><span data-text="true"> America</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="37a45-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="37a45-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="37a45-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="4k8tk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4k8tk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4k8tk-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Social injustice in the form</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="bckq1-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bckq1-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bckq1-0-0"><span data-text="true"> of Television, telling us a tale</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="38dkl-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="38dkl-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="38dkl-0-0"><span data-text="true"> as old as time; oppression</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="2pbg8-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2pbg8-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2pbg8-0-0"><span data-text="true"> as an old, raggedy flag drenched</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="aivvn-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="aivvn-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="aivvn-0-0"><span data-text="true"> in the blood of sacrificial lambs</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="c6bfu-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c6bfu-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c6bfu-0-0"><span data-text="true"> who never got to see the pasture</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="8nisk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8nisk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8nisk-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="7it0a-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7it0a-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="7it0a-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Land of the bombs, the guns,</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="a728k-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a728k-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="a728k-0-0"><span data-text="true"> and the assault rifle speeches</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="1g1bk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1g1bk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1g1bk-0-0"><span data-text="true"> of sputtering, malignant hatred</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="4l5c7-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4l5c7-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4l5c7-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="682tu-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="682tu-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="682tu-0-0"><span data-text="true"> America</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="7u84q-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7u84q-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="7u84q-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="d1q7b-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d1q7b-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d1q7b-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Chain gang alamode</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="6efhl-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6efhl-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="6efhl-0-0"><span data-text="true"> served with a slice</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="fl1jn-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fl1jn-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fl1jn-0-0"><span data-text="true"> of adversity in the morning</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="fefrp-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fefrp-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fefrp-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="7gcte-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7gcte-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="7gcte-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Land of the Cinematic</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="81bmb-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="81bmb-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="81bmb-0-0"><span data-text="true"> bloodbath and violent</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="2joj-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2joj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2joj-0-0"><span data-text="true"> pornography with Twilight zone</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="fibj1-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fibj1-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fibj1-0-0"><span data-text="true"> on repeat</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="45dbk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="45dbk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="45dbk-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="1gq4e-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1gq4e-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1gq4e-0-0"><span data-text="true"> America</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="5lteb-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5lteb-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5lteb-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="5d0jd-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5d0jd-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5d0jd-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Crooked-nosed piety seekers</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="ap5n6-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ap5n6-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ap5n6-0-0"><span data-text="true"> in rags on the streets who sleep</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="do1q9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="do1q9-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="do1q9-0-0"><span data-text="true"> right outside the doors of the disillusioned youth</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="du19n-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="du19n-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="du19n-0-0"><span data-text="true"> who partake in Molly until their ears</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="fp0ce-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fp0ce-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fp0ce-0-0"><span data-text="true"> scream and their voices listen</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="8tf90-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8tf90-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8tf90-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="5bkp8-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5bkp8-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5bkp8-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Land of the freezing</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="5o4uq" data-offset-key="d7kb1-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d7kb1-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d7kb1-0-0"><span data-text="true"> Home of the Rave. </span></span></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0buu4iZcbIEM8G9S86K4qkfNkCs9kWKlI3hBSda4uzZxnEt8ftXidltZgymb_znV12TBTkzQCK1juTMcSXxkwurIT91ZGZVLBLkw6rrtmqf-HouPZ7ewHj0A2P90ZlDqPIqc8oWT33Y/s1600/Adam-Levon-Brown-ii.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD0buu4iZcbIEM8G9S86K4qkfNkCs9kWKlI3hBSda4uzZxnEt8ftXidltZgymb_znV12TBTkzQCK1juTMcSXxkwurIT91ZGZVLBLkw6rrtmqf-HouPZ7ewHj0A2P90ZlDqPIqc8oWT33Y/s1600/Adam-Levon-Brown-ii.png" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Adam Levon Brown</b> is a poet and author residing in Eugene, Oregon. He has one published poetry book out,<i> Musings of a Madman,</i>
which is a collection of poems made to enlighten and inspire the
reader. Adam attributes his love of poetry to the many great poets he
discovered in the school library during his formative years. He enjoys
listening to political hip hop music and is a political activist
himself.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/let-me-go-a-poem-by-robin-wyatt-dunn/">Let me go. </a><br />A Poem by Robin Wyatt Dunn</span></h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/let-me-go-a-poem-by-robin-wyatt-dunn/" rel="bookmark" title="6:23 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-08-27T18:23:58+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">August 27, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Let me go;<br /> I am drawn. <br /><br /> <br /> Hereout the maids hinder my suffering;<br /> The maids are buildings, and faces.<br /> The asphalt itself. They seem to care for me;<br /> to prevent my exit from the city’s gravity. <br /><br /> <br /> All my wishes are spent on the mornings here;<br /> And even the nights tell me I am growing. <br /><br /> <br /> I want to shrink, under the sun,<br /> Away from all this history.</span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFQ_LVwaD7WZ8WEMWUAVYjz20R8QX8zeDiew-Scgyyd_kbewVE4Gc-CA-uHuCu8mJUIpgTzdoG9o7J4z-ZYMBzFpA3IMsQUssAesxbSouGtYIBEaIliHaUnY41lDcTBiWi0DG57ySgzg/s1600/robinwyattdunn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTFQ_LVwaD7WZ8WEMWUAVYjz20R8QX8zeDiew-Scgyyd_kbewVE4Gc-CA-uHuCu8mJUIpgTzdoG9o7J4z-ZYMBzFpA3IMsQUssAesxbSouGtYIBEaIliHaUnY41lDcTBiWi0DG57ySgzg/s1600/robinwyattdunn.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b></b>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Robin Wyatt Dunn </b>lives in Los Angeles.</div>
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<b>
</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>—<br />
</b>“Agitate. Agitate. Agitate.”<b><br />
— Frederick Douglass</b></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="http://www.robindunn.com/">http://www.robindunn.com</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.democracyforpeople.net/">http://www.democracyforpeople.net</a></b></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/out-of-time-a-poem-by-soodabeh-saeidnia/">Out of Time. </a><br />A Poem by Soodabeh Saeidnia</span></h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/out-of-time-a-poem-by-soodabeh-saeidnia/" rel="bookmark" title="5:16 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-08-27T17:16:42+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">August 27, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"></span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="4ptmm-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4ptmm-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4ptmm-0-0"><span data-text="true">Years have passed and that slim cider plant</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="fsl2i-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="695bf-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="695bf-0-0"><span data-text="true">is now a strong tree</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="855ce-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2oq03-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2oq03-0-0"><span data-text="true">The mesmerizing highway’s been constructed</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="5igcb-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4f2oo-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4f2oo-0-0"><span data-text="true">across the mysterious sea</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="43j6k-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="aho0k-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="aho0k-0-0"><span data-text="true">Wars started and presumed</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="77j0r-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1rf87-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="1rf87-0-0"><span data-text="true">to be ended soon</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="6nc1n-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fguao-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fguao-0-0"><span data-text="true">My senses have deadened, whereas my body</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ea8eb-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4user-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4user-0-0"><span data-text="true">promoted to defend</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="bb0cg-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bb0cg-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bb0cg-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="a5baa-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a5baa-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="a5baa-0-0"><span data-text="true">I wonder why in this time</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ekl0-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="956b8-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="956b8-0-0"><span data-text="true">I’m not feeling good, I’m not fine</span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="956b8-0-0">
</div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="e6ud2-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c1sso-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c1sso-0-0"><span data-text="true">Days have come and nights have gone</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="94imb-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fobnc-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fobnc-0-0"><span data-text="true">without a sign of evolution in our genes</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="3ek2q-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="469mg-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="469mg-0-0"><span data-text="true">Climate smirks at our greenhouse dreams</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="b7kd5-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="lkrc-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="lkrc-0-0"><span data-text="true">Through once in a while, monsoons of disease</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="7rar9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="814nd-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="814nd-0-0"><span data-text="true">cyclones of death</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="95qb8-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="db0rj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="db0rj-0-0"><span data-text="true">Men are digging the earth at a furious pace</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="5hs6t-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="avod6-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="avod6-0-0"><span data-text="true">but I’ve always known that there are planets, in which</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="68tn-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="550pk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="550pk-0-0"><span data-text="true">rains are diamond, snows emerald</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="d40fl-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d40fl-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d40fl-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="eotte-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="eotte-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="eotte-0-0"><span data-text="true">Along this ephemeral wasting of time</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="1ogn9-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2irns-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2irns-0-0"><span data-text="true">I’m not feeling good, I’m not fine</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="dmhma-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dmhma-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="dmhma-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="frj3f-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="frj3f-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="frj3f-0-0"><span data-text="true">The spider web’s connected all the people</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="b3mpn-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4hc41-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4hc41-0-0"><span data-text="true">Some are trapped like butterflies,</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ddsil-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8boot-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8boot-0-0"><span data-text="true">Some are tearing off the net, though cannot fly away</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ekrmo-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cg8lk-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="cg8lk-0-0"><span data-text="true">I heard their wings have hurt</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="4riop-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3is8g-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="3is8g-0-0"><span data-text="true">and needed a century of rest</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="7grko-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="68lj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="68lj-0-0"><span data-text="true">Galaxies have been expanding through the Dark Energy</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="8ff59-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="f3ni5-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="f3ni5-0-0"><span data-text="true">I know that the chance of dropping in a Black Hole</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="148q8-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bna53-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bna53-0-0"><span data-text="true">is less than becoming human for some men</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="7cllh-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dlngj-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="dlngj-0-0"><span data-text="true">We are now safe living in the Milky Way!</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="8gcsp-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8gcsp-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8gcsp-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ar64n-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ar64n-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ar64n-0-0"><span data-text="true">But I’m running out of time</span></span></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="582r2-0-0">
<blockquote>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="582r2-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="582r2-0-0"><span data-text="true">I’m not good, I’m not fine</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxTder_0WZ-1_eOUJPuG1JdH-KAEM1VOFYMmwJUP-SfPKtic2-8NMadGc2f0P_RfPnFB98YPD66KEYTtnC54XUsnadAzA_xKdjUdnvxhPNnfOu5QZOhMEuKo49iGRRJXfAyaGowD6-u4/s1600/ssdabeh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxTder_0WZ-1_eOUJPuG1JdH-KAEM1VOFYMmwJUP-SfPKtic2-8NMadGc2f0P_RfPnFB98YPD66KEYTtnC54XUsnadAzA_xKdjUdnvxhPNnfOu5QZOhMEuKo49iGRRJXfAyaGowD6-u4/s320/ssdabeh.jpg" width="301" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><br /><br />
Soodabeh Saeidnia </b>lives in NYC but originally is Persian. She got her
Pharm D and Ph.D. of Pharmacognosy and has worked as a researcher,
assistant and associate professor in the Kyoto University (Japan), TUMS
(Iran) and University of Saskatchewan (Canada). She is interested in
English literature and poetry, and has published a collection of her
poems,<i> Words for myself</i>, in Farsi. Her poems have been published (or a head of publishing) in the American magazines and literary journals including<i>
Squawk Back, Sisyphus Quarterly, Paradox, TimBookTu, Bobbling of the
Irrational, SPINE, American Writers Journal, Tuck Magazine, La Libertad,
Tiny Poetry, Indiana Voice Journal, The Pen, 352 degrees</i> and the<i> Great Weather for Media</i>. A number of her poems have been printed in the books<i> Where the Mind Dwells </i>and <i>American Poet</i> by Eber & Wein Publishing as well as <i>Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze</i> by Johnson Publications and Artistic. Her newest book,<i> Street of the Ginkgo Trees </i>is now available online on Amazon.<br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/oslo-a-poem-by-christie-luke-jones/">Oslo. </a><br />A Poem by Christie-Luke Jones</h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/oslo-a-poem-by-christie-luke-jones/" rel="bookmark" title="4:46 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-08-27T16:46:49+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">August 27, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
</div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="582r2-0-0" style="text-align: center;">
<span data-offset-key="582r2-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="582r2-0-0">
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="c8bgc-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="c8bgc-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="c8bgc-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div>
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="4ptmm-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4ptmm-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="4ptmm-0-0"><span data-text="true">A solitary orange for breakfast; she delivers it with her unmistakably virginal smile,</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="btt73-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d0atn-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="d0atn-0-0"><span data-text="true">kneels by my bed in thanks.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="6drmq-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bk35h-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bk35h-0-0"><span data-text="true">My body fizzes with polarising urges strong enough to kill us both.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="8jr22-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2504p-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2504p-0-0"><span data-text="true">Her apartment is beyond all comprehension; I feel undeserving of its pine-scented</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ffdtq-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2n784-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2n784-0-0"><span data-text="true">air, the only discordant note in an otherwise harmonious melody.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="883fv-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6r06-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="6r06-0-0"><span data-text="true">She dresses in furs and heavy knits.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ebeuk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="aijk4-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="aijk4-0-0"><span data-text="true">Her glowing skin and lithe body are untouched by the sweating guilt of midnight</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="cv4er-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8if7u-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8if7u-0-0"><span data-text="true">trysts.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="bbhrg-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="56can-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="56can-0-0"><span data-text="true">A nervous laugh rocks the vast drifts as our paths tentatively entwine across the</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="9hkhi-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7gt90-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="7gt90-0-0"><span data-text="true">blank expanse of canvas.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="5kge-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2u0gl-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="2u0gl-0-0"><span data-text="true">Our eyes devour in absence of trembling lips.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="1mngk-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8qn1e-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="8qn1e-0-0"><span data-text="true">The inevitability is palpable.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="2dq5t-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5j1dc-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5j1dc-0-0"><span data-text="true">A joyful expression of unspoken lust; her hands scream to be touched.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="bpsdb-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5uvp6-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="5uvp6-0-0"><span data-text="true">I debate the drop, survey the cliff edge with a melting restraint.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="4ndua-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ergj0-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ergj0-0-0"><span data-text="true">Hurtling forth; I find myself discussing pickled herring in her father’s slippers.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="ghhf-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fi64-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="fi64-0-0"><span data-text="true">God-fearing Christians, no doubt afraid of this wolf in sheep’s clothing.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="8llv2-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="585ef-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="585ef-0-0"><span data-text="true">Such a charming sheep, though. I bleat and graze with impeccable timing, convince</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="1lu6u-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="n0fm-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="n0fm-0-0"><span data-text="true">even myself.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="cpl6o-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cirs4-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="cirs4-0-0"><span data-text="true">Neither of us find sleep that night.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="fqtj2-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ck590-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="ck590-0-0"><span data-text="true">Impatience drives me to my annex room, whilst her mind is a dance of plush hearts</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="5b8n1-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bamfa-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="bamfa-0-0"><span data-text="true">and handwritten love letters.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="elokj" data-offset-key="3ng7j-0-0">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dan8l-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="dan8l-0-0"><span data-text="true">Another 12 hours to keep my mask from slipping.</span></span></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
</div>
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="582r2-0-0">
<span data-offset-key="582r2-0-0"><span data-text="true"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizH5CnzggpfhgryW6o6B4PRK2XEzejIdhtypW0XeIy78E_-pLghH6T1uHI1b50G8zrIA3KTDwU1AwFU8rNHO4WHQDBlQP7iCTv796JIsEotCzcIwwwLaFUNoGwgbJjwghSfd0k3SQTzdQ/s1600/Christielukejones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizH5CnzggpfhgryW6o6B4PRK2XEzejIdhtypW0XeIy78E_-pLghH6T1uHI1b50G8zrIA3KTDwU1AwFU8rNHO4WHQDBlQP7iCTv796JIsEotCzcIwwwLaFUNoGwgbJjwghSfd0k3SQTzdQ/s1600/Christielukejones.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Christie-Luke Jones </b>is a poet, fiction writer and actor from
Oxfordshire, England. Christie-Luke’s writing is strongly influenced by
the Gallic blood that courses through his veins, as well as his interest
in the more macabre aspects of the human condition. To see more of his
work, visit<b> <a href="http://www.christielukejones.com./">www.christielukejones.com.</a></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/we-darkened-few-laugh-with-needle-sharp-joy-a-poem-by-joseph-armstead/">We Darkened Few Laugh With Needle-Sharp Joy. </a><br />A poem by Joseph Armstead</h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/we-darkened-few-laugh-with-needle-sharp-joy-a-poem-by-joseph-armstead/" rel="bookmark" title="4:25 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-08-27T16:25:56+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">August 27, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
</div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote>
<br />
Laughing<br />
with delight,<br />
we thought we saw<br />
a vision of blood<br />
Turn to wine…<br />
<br />
It’s a story told<br />
in silence and pictures,<br />
where everything we say<br />
sounds like the spatter<br />
of falling rain,<br />
the sound of weariness<br />
beating a drumbeat<br />
on old concrete,<br />
And its brittle beauty<br />
makes the cracked<br />
photographs<br />
in our album of memories<br />
dance<br />
while we feel like children<br />
at a tea party<br />
with ghosts, pouring our hearts,<br />
a piece at a time,<br />
into empty porcelain cups.<br />
<br />
Our timid smiles<br />
are splintered<br />
breaks<br />
in the face<br />
of a laughing clock.<br />
“See how sharp,”<br />
the timepiece said,<br />
ticking.<br />
<br />
A vision of light<br />
at the tunnel’s end<br />
fails to lead us<br />
from the dark,<br />
Saviors and Angel Wars,<br />
Burning bushes<br />
calling out numbers<br />
at an endless game<br />
of celestial Bingo,<br />
And God’s reflection<br />
looks out<br />
from the fruit punch,<br />
laughing from inside<br />
the crystal serving bowl,<br />
We can’t believe in such things,<br />
because we feel like children<br />
at a tea party<br />
with ghosts, pouring our hearts,<br />
a piece at a time,<br />
into empty porcelain<br />
demitasses.<br />
<br />
“See how sharp,”<br />
the timepiece said,<br />
ticking.<br />
<br />
And we darkened few<br />
laugh with needle-sharp joy.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7gXYmP2UP4sQA0BUVFs-0apbIxJ0GDhkLckIBVX7wNMFOMEFYtCbOy4wVfc-hx7NHmXY-2GMMnMcRKte3I4LagjIoOuPFqdRtKlij0UmyVId6JHKy4nz_nq3LvcT77-UdmGWBCsS6eM/s1600/armsteadimage2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7gXYmP2UP4sQA0BUVFs-0apbIxJ0GDhkLckIBVX7wNMFOMEFYtCbOy4wVfc-hx7NHmXY-2GMMnMcRKte3I4LagjIoOuPFqdRtKlij0UmyVId6JHKy4nz_nq3LvcT77-UdmGWBCsS6eM/s320/armsteadimage2.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Joseph Armstead </b>is a suspense-thriller and horror author living
in the United States’ San Francisco Bay Area. Author of a dozen short
stories and ten novels, his poetry has been published in a wide range of
online journals, webzines and print magazines. A mathematician,
Futurist and computer technologist, Mr. Armstead’s poetry often defies
easy description, but frequently includes neo-classical imagery,
surrealist viewpoints and post-modern themes.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/twenty-four-seven-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Twenty Four Seven. </a><br />A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/twenty-four-seven-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="3:55 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-08-22T15:55:44+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">August 22, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Donde se liberan titled by hijacking planes<br />
debate Kenya gave act el nihilismo NYC<br />
had a secret after<br />
to Strike un momento determinado<br />
actor important cattle to los hechos<br />
the suspicious individuals on potenciales experiencia de el seno<br />
Most of his flight.<br />
<br />
Most his flight. Maasai tribe of ocho años después de la versión<br />
Agravación de targeting NYC.<br />
Michael would be later periodista que claim<br />
and they donde surge la humanidad demuestra<br />
donde quiera que recorren el mundo una agravación.<br />
<br />
Another nearby attacks. Another nearby attacks.<br />
<br />
Hijackers en revista el terrorismo aparece<br />
the Center’s most famous Jackson had a criminalidad se desarrolla.<br />
Authorities did not America as aid, did not America as aid.<br />
The CIA se produce social sufre cambios dio inicio<br />
a building that collapsed<br />
donde President George comienzan a degradarse but overslept.<br />
<br />
Comienzan a degradarse but overslept<br />
in sobre on his valores y social targeting NYC,<br />
possibly office on sobre el tema but overslept.<br />
<br />
7 meeting at the another nearby attacks.<br />
In US “saying morales donde triunfan was later found World Trade Center, Odnako.<br />
Found World Trade Center, Odnako. Revista rusa.<br />
<br />
James la veracidad en un artículo el cinismo y las relaciones<br />
– pasa America as aid.<br />
– pasa most of his flight.<br />
14 of their 25th floor of Odnako.</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABqwx04ul360jCmDIJaLFhgax2_EDTBOYnZ6AgcrLmG0vX-KBs-2NpRiFff2tdYGJkubIM-y6e2QrXUGEqrMdOfCAe2t5L877pBIQoUt5V4mmt4ZF-g30LQyOEIDXGr3j98Mbr_ogSIE/s1600/robinouzmannewphoto1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiABqwx04ul360jCmDIJaLFhgax2_EDTBOYnZ6AgcrLmG0vX-KBs-2NpRiFff2tdYGJkubIM-y6e2QrXUGEqrMdOfCAe2t5L877pBIQoUt5V4mmt4ZF-g30LQyOEIDXGr3j98Mbr_ogSIE/s1600/robinouzmannewphoto1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Robin Ouzman Hislop,</b> born UK, a reader in philosophy &
religions, has travelled extensively throughout his lifetime but now
lives in semi- retirement as a TEFL teacher and translator in Spain
& the UK.<br />
<br />
Robin was editor of the 12 year running on-line monthly poetry journal
Poetry Life and Times. In 2013 he joined with Dave Jackson as co-editor
at Artvilla.com, where he presently edits Poetry Life & Times,
Artvilla.com, Motherbird.com.<br />
<br />
He’s been previously published in a variety of international magazines,
later publications including Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold
Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N. Carolina), The Poetic Bond
Volumes (thepoeticbond.com) and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes (a
recently published international Anthology of Sonnets). His last
publication is a volume of collected poems <i>All the Babble of the Souk</i> available at all main online tributaries</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br /></span></h4>
</div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-fig-a-poem-by-tony-martin-woods/">THE FIG.</a> <br />A Poem by Tony Martin-Woods</h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="https://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-fig-a-poem-by-tony-martin-woods/" rel="bookmark" title="4:31 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2015-09-12T16:31:06+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 12, 2015</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="https://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Once upon a time<br />
I was a fig.<br />
<br />
(Yes, a fig)<br />
<br />
Full of little flowers inside,<br />
Plenty of endless dreams<br />
<br />
I was born<br />
In a casual tree<br />
of those that nobody grooms,<br />
of those that never gets rain,<br />
of those that drain you to death.<br />
<br />
Shrivelled,<br />
punished by birds<br />
who picked on my white sweaty sweetness<br />
and left me scarred,<br />
but made me stronger.<br />
<br />
One day,<br />
an arrogant orange,<br />
of a garden nearby,<br />
called for a meeting of peers<br />
and suggested the idea<br />
of forming a fruital system.<br />
<br />
(Yes, a fruital system)<br />
<br />
The rest of fruits agreed.<br />
<br />
So, the orange stood in the centre,<br />
cause she was too tangy to spin.<br />
<br />
Everyone else<br />
came forward<br />
in a perfect queue<br />
that started to curl<br />
coiling outwards<br />
around the self-proclaimed star.<br />
<br />
The apple, the peach, the pear,<br />
the lemon and even the grape<br />
found quickly a place<br />
in a galaxy they called<br />
“The Juicy Way”.<br />
<br />
They all looked so lush,<br />
immaculate,<br />
divine,<br />
waitrosy,<br />
as they floated<br />
in their glorious ether<br />
of mechanically smooth subjects.<br />
<br />
<i>I want a place in this system,</i><br />
I said,<br />
<i>I want to be an aster too,<br />
I deserve to be there,<br />
rotating<br />
in harmony<br />
with you.</i><br />
<br />
The apple and some others<br />
started to giggle<br />
with patronising<br />
swivel-eye disdain.<br />
<br />
<i>I am sorry my love,</i><br />
said the eloquent<br />
smily<br />
sunny leader,<br />
<i>but this is a fruital system<br />
where everything works<br />
out of our own<br />
<br />
combined<br />
<br />
accord.<br />
<br />
Everyone wins,<br />
<br />
everyone contributes.<br />
<br />
The magnetic fields<br />
of our respective masses<br />
are already balanced.<br />
<br />
that is why we levitate up here,<br />
so graciously.<br />
<br />
If we take you on,<br />
we will have to open the floodgates<br />
of the universe.<br />
<br />
How many more fruits<br />
could we feasibly accommodate?<br />
</i><br />
So, after this rational rejection,<br />
I had no choice,<br />
but to become<br />
a zero-hours planet,<br />
also known as a comet.<br />
<br />
(Yes, a comet)<br />
<br />
So now,<br />
I am a wrinkly wild comet<br />
full of odd rugged cracks.<br />
I am not round,<br />
not even pear shaped,<br />
I have no clouds,<br />
no satellites,<br />
no green bits,<br />
no rings of dust,<br />
no frozen lakes of gas…<br />
<br />
but I don’t give a shit..<br />
<br />
I am the cock of the universe,<br />
planets fear my freedom,<br />
no one knows my trajectory,<br />
it is hard to land on my surface,<br />
I come and go as I please.<br />
<br />
If the calculating master of creation<br />
messes about with my equations<br />
I may just crash on him,<br />
or in one of his gardenly planets.<br />
<br />
Who knows?<br />
<br />
If some shepherds see my tale,<br />
flying in the night<br />
in the skies in winter,<br />
they may grant me godly status<br />
an invent a religion<br />
at my place of collision.<br />
<br />
Who knows?<br />
<br />
I have nothing to lose.<br />
<br />
I am a wrinkly wild comet,<br />
I am a pirate in an orderly show of stars<br />
who learnt their moves<br />
in the youtube version<br />
of the Book of Genesis.<br />
<br />
Unlike them,<br />
I am my own choreographer.<br />
<br />
Only infinite heavens will tell you<br />
what I am made of!<br />
<br />
Simple!<br />
<br />
Watch me!<br />
<br />
As I fly!<br />
<br />
Bye! </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAecOAn47DnEJezemOux9B9scOCXsr1OsyIRqGgjLJeli1GhzVD6l1kztK-U7Xnzfm2ybIPk9NHJ2Vfyin-e9acgDTXGODv0wSinRmfACbBkg_NvuUZItDA5YL1x7d5ovzRf25tr9GrPo/s1600/tony-republic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAecOAn47DnEJezemOux9B9scOCXsr1OsyIRqGgjLJeli1GhzVD6l1kztK-U7Xnzfm2ybIPk9NHJ2Vfyin-e9acgDTXGODv0wSinRmfACbBkg_NvuUZItDA5YL1x7d5ovzRf25tr9GrPo/s320/tony-republic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Tony Martin-Woods </b>started to write poetry in 2012, at the age of
43, driven by his political indignation. That same year he also set in
motion Poesía Indignada (Transforming with Poetry), an online
publication of political poetry that he edits. Tony is a political and
artistic activist who explores the digital component of our lives as a
means to support critical human empowerment. He is also known in the UK
for his work as an academic and educator under his non-literary name.
He writes in English and Spanish and is due to publish his first book of
poems in 2016.<b><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.poesiaindignada.com/">www.poesiaindignada.com</a><br />
<a href="http://www.tonymartinwoods.com/">www.tonymartinwoods.com</a></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Class Struggle. A Poem by Goirick Brahmachari</h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/class-struggle-a-poem-by-goirick-brahmachari/" rel="bookmark" title="3:59 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-07-19T15:59:21+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 19, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Only in Shillong<br />
you get a hot plate of momo<br />
served with onions and chilies.<br />
I don’t care if they are not<br />
hip enough to be offered<br />
at Hauz Khas Village – where the plastic hippie movement<br />
found a new mecca, few years ago.<br />
<br />
Even rickshaw drivers adore that apple pie at German bakery.<br />
For it is like dal chawal for them by now.<br />
They eat it almost every day<br />
here at old Manali.<br />
<br />
Now in smoky stores of incense sticks<br />
and herbal soaps at Mcleod<br />
where aunties get away<br />
stealing, shop lifting karma<br />
only to be caught many years later<br />
in a strange fight at a metro station<br />
for eating three burgers inside the train<br />
<br />
or in an Israeli joint at Kasol that sells pot<br />
and sometimes pizzas to middle class families.<br />
<br />
No branded food to pacify elite souls.<br />
No class pride hurled onto us<br />
No black cat to scan through the moral lens<br />
<br />
All we are looking for is some good hot food<br />
and a good night’s sleep.<br />
</b></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi354rKlNCHFQ4yLF63kCkB87lk3CeI_PrY9jMLu8mBfNhwe0dJSWXFDR1ZftBBYF_JLqUDF9hnQL1ldUj7woOPrqDELf_HclDGwcpRxz-GUe64aN3IuVCupNsSZ46ki0qsBS4ivZwROps/s1600/goirick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi354rKlNCHFQ4yLF63kCkB87lk3CeI_PrY9jMLu8mBfNhwe0dJSWXFDR1ZftBBYF_JLqUDF9hnQL1ldUj7woOPrqDELf_HclDGwcpRxz-GUe64aN3IuVCupNsSZ46ki0qsBS4ivZwROps/s1600/goirick.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
Natalie Crick | <a href="http://motherbird.com/natalie-crick-eight-poems/">Eight Poems</a></h1>
<div class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Dear Sister</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It is Winter here.<br />
Snow has fallen.<br />
“I am afraid”, said the moon.<br />
She is beautiful tonight.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now it is darker than December.<br />
What is dead is a different colour.<br />
My dead sister is neither a man nor a woman.<br />
She is a ghost.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We do not speak of her<br />
Anymore.<br />
I turn away from mirrors<br />
When I see her reflection.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The dead can no longer see<br />
I no longer care.<br />
O Lord of darkness,<br />
I want my innocence.</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Night’s End </b></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Snow had fallen, I remember,<br />
At the night’s end.<br />
Do you hear his voice?<br />
I am never alone.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And at the end?<br />
I do not live.<br />
It is forbidden to die.<br />
The winds are changing.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Our dead brother waited<br />
Undiscovered,<br />
But very dark, very hidden,<br />
As the earth became black.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The field was parched and dry,<br />
Filled with death already.<br />
You walk through it.<br />
You see nothing.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>God, He Is In The Air</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
God, he is in the air,<br />
Rushing through the wind and<br />
Over the hills.<br />
Coming at her in waves at the seashore.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Grey gusts<br />
Colour her cheeks crimson<br />
As a bandstand balloon.<br />
She doesn’t know why.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Polka dot flags<br />
Hang in the air<br />
For Madeline to stuff into her pinafore<br />
In handfuls.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mother and Father<br />
Stand like sheep<br />
In a snowstorm.<br />
Turned into each other.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Out There, On The Hill Somewhere</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
The grey skies are<br />
Fathomless.<br />
A strange chill<br />
Rushed across the moors<br />
Spreading panic.<br />
It is her, she is trying to tell us.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She is out there,<br />
On the hill somewhere<br />
Left all alone in the cold and dark.<br />
I imagine it and rock.<br />
Memories<br />
Coming in the middle of the night.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Wanting to remember<br />
Made her try to die<br />
All night long.<br />
Longing to bleed it out.<br />
Crying for yesterday<br />
With eyes like black holes.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A mirror breaks.<br />
Something is not right.<br />
I swear<br />
I saw her standing there.<br />
Bells tinkled in the wind<br />
And I gaze all around and up to heaven.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Drowning in emptiness<br />
In the thick, still air.<br />
My darling, she is voiceless now.<br />
I dream and dream</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Of asking she:<br />
“Are you the Queen of Death?”</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Each day we drift into nowhere.<br />
Life will end at the end.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Goodbye</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
The snowfield<br />
Is still and quiet<br />
In slumber.<br />
Frosted blue in grief.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Remembering your eyes<br />
Is what hurts the most.<br />
Your eyes, your lips, your hair<br />
Falling into a black amnesia.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I breathe in your air.<br />
One kiss to thaw your bones.<br />
You are frozen dead beneath the ground.<br />
Now there is no sound.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Your little voice<br />
Whispers in the dust<br />
With white hair<br />
Like Granddad.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The sky rolls<br />
In depression.<br />
And I am screaming your name<br />
In the dark.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
No one believes<br />
That you are there.<br />
You are following me around<br />
Everywhere.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To tell me I am<br />
Not alone.<br />
When another day<br />
Is done.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
An angel is crying in heaven.<br />
How far away<br />
Is that star in the sky.<br />
Goodbye, Goodbye.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Secret Life of Life</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
I am a child<br />
Thrust open and disregarded,<br />
Trashing through corridors unchained.<br />
The sound poured into me then,<br />
Like birdsong,<br />
Sweet and softly tapping<br />
At my heels.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Short bursts<br />
Of stigma<br />
Are attached to this threshold.<br />
I wandered out, caught<br />
Between the lines of cars.<br />
Such activity frightened me<br />
So I died with leaves.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Journey Into Afterlife</b> </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I wanted to go<br />
Like “this is a last chance”.<br />
To see you at nightfall<br />
And see my shining star.<br />
Brown rain streaks down my face.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And we<br />
Stir passed stooped cottages<br />
Of witchery.<br />
What are you doing in there?<br />
I feel drugged.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A dull throb above<br />
My left eye.<br />
I wish I could hold<br />
Your hand,<br />
Pressing your nails</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Into your palm.<br />
I wish<br />
I could meet you<br />
And find out<br />
And drown in thick filth.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>No Surprise</b> </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
There was no rain<br />
Through the sky sagged and slumped,<br />
An old coat cradling the lane,<br />
Wearing thin with empty pockets.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
You are inclined to believe the latter; luminous purple, ashen green.<br />
And you are wrong because I remember that part<br />
But, I forget where we were. Does it matter?<br />
For poignancy is often personified when we are lost.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We swallowed the road with great swooping gulps,<br />
Bounding with confidence, as very small cars often do.<br />
The moon ran with us, I noticed,<br />
Which was thoughtful, because we were all alone.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The forest mob loomed up on the left,<br />
Hurling hostile tremors from her core.<br />
We bravely edged onward<br />
Though our faceless friends were engulfed in her silent roar.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We tore through the black<br />
And he followed.<br />
In a soundless haze, the hooves vaulted upward,<br />
Clearing us with space to spare.</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br /></span></h4>
</div>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
FEATURED BOOKS</h1>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
</h1>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker Selected Poems / 2015 available on amazon.com </span></span></span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">by Barbara Crooker</span><br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0HaXfd9rU32qzoivfQkuH2B0OELupFKckW3Ip6jObiIVV2x5RX0DyOmkGD8pBy7UZSSQlIgR-3JAa3NELXf8gsBModLNdnU2sv8tlfc64P1WR14OfcrHH1rDwRA8fCF8qkYPYRZxZU/s320/bcrooker.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
</span></h4>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #45818e;">This collection brings together 102 poems from Barbara Crooker’s
previous ten chapbooks of poetry, two of which won national prizes, with
a handful of uncollected poems at the end. Of Crooker’s work, William
Matthews has written, “Barbara Crooker’s poems have been written with a
deft touch and with that affection for their textures and pacings that
we’re accustomed to call, a little dryly, ‘technical skill.’ It’s a form
of love, actually, and since she’s expended it on her poems, we can,
too.” Janet McCann, writing in the Foreword, says, “The poems in this
collection come mostly from chapbooks, collections which cluster around a
theme, such as loss of a parent or friend, raising a child with autism,
travel, art. Crooker’s collections are remarkable for their unity;
their poems, epigraphs, even covers have a thematic thrust that collects
and directs the work, making each a coherent work of art.... Reading
the work from beginning to end provides an experience of Crooker’s
world, that place of work and sadness balanced by art and love. It also
provides vignettes of growing up in the fifties and sixties and shows
what it was like to come of age as a woman in those years—the
expectations, the hopes, the barriers that had to be overcome. Even in
poems of loss, the energy persists, giving us the sense that Crooker is
truly in the current of life, feeling its verve—what Wallace Stevens
called ‘the intensity of love’ that he identified with ‘the verve of
earth.’”</span></span></span></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span><br /> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>--------------</h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
</h4>
<br />
<br />
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
Songs of the Interstitium. <br />Poetry of Ian Irvine Hobson</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/songs-of-the-interstitium-poetry-of-ian-irvine-hobson/" rel="bookmark" title="1:28 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-06-23T13:28:20+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 23, 2016</time></a></span> Posted <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
</header>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://songsoftheinterstitium.wordpress.com/2016/06/11/book-three-poetry-sequences-from-library-of-the-beautiful-hybrids/"> Book Three – Poetry Sequences from ‘Library of the Beautiful Hybrids’</a></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf-vzspgmPXpFpVykw2RjvFRm8o-VDdJaOgo2dHLpsC-0yXIRzFTdWs4vcCWp65l3Ct6ZviJY9I91TcCGOlqLdhTzNsdW8Iic6AI_OqTwegl0nJ6Tu1envNUeTXjZ2DRsamQEEVc6E9c/s1600/alchemicaltreeinfluen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf-vzspgmPXpFpVykw2RjvFRm8o-VDdJaOgo2dHLpsC-0yXIRzFTdWs4vcCWp65l3Ct6ZviJY9I91TcCGOlqLdhTzNsdW8Iic6AI_OqTwegl0nJ6Tu1envNUeTXjZ2DRsamQEEVc6E9c/s1600/alchemicaltreeinfluen.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ian Irvine is an Australian-based
poet/lyricist, fiction writer and non-fiction writer. His work has
featured in many Australian and international publications, including <i>Fire</i> (UK) ‘Anthology of 20<sup>th</sup>
Century and Contemporary Poets, ’ (2008) which contained the work of
poets from over 60 nations. His work has also appeared in a number of
Australian national poetry anthologies, and he is the author of three
books and co-editor of many more (including <i>Scintillae 2012,</i>
an anthology of work by over 50 Victorian and international writers and
poets). He currently teaches writing and literature at Bendigo TAFE and
Victoria University (Melbourne) and lives with fellow writer Sue
King-Smith and their children on a 5 acre block near Bendigo, Australia.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
</h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
</h4>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Click book image to visit the Amazon page</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble
of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<h2 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><br /></span></h4>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
FEATURED VIDEOS</h1>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
</h1>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/BqLBmInWa1A/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BqLBmInWa1A?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Sweet Little Sperm</b> by <b>Tony Martin-Woods</b></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/p3_dJSaWgGE/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/p3_dJSaWgGE?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<b><br />The Mirabeau Bridge. </b><br />
Video poem set to music by <b>Vishal Experimental Factory</b><br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/janet-kuypers-voting-change-7216-politically-themed-poetry-feature/"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> Janet Kuypers</b> show <b>"Voting for Change"</b> <br />at Austin's the Baha'i Center 7/2/16 (Sony camera).</span></a></div>
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<b>An Angel for New Orleans</b> by <b>Aberjhani</b><br />
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<b>The Recovering Heart </b>by <b>Nordette Adams</b><br />
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The Obsessive by <b>Sara L Russell</b> / <a href="http://twitter.com/pinkyandrexa">@pinkyandrexa</a><br />
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</header>pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-65362194906204025542016-08-01T02:42:00.000-07:002016-08-01T02:42:00.418-07:00<div class="separator tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of August 2016</span></h4>
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BOY DOWN THE WELL. <br />A Poem by John Grey.</h1>
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They say there was a boy who fell into the well years ago</div>
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and his body is still down there.<br />
I was told to stay away,<br />
as if his ghost would coax me into his dark bottomless world.<br />
People even gave him a name – Hector.<br />
And he’d be in my dreams, tiny and pale-faced,<br />
dressed in a blue and white sailor’s suit,<br />
begging me to come out and play.<br />
A parent’s warnings were powerful medicines<br />
but they didn’t work so well in the head.<br />
Here was the danger that stalked innocents –<br />
not the boogie man, not the pedophile cruising<br />
the suburban streets, but reflections of our own selves –<br />
curious and ignorant, edging too close to the holes in the world. ...</div>
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<b></b><br />
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<a href="http://motherbird.com/boy-down-the-well-a-poem-by-john-grey/"><i> Read full poem at Motherbird</i></a></div>
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CONNECTION UNMADE. <br />A Poem by John Grey</h1>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/connection-unmade-a-poem-by-john-grey/" rel="bookmark" title="10:41 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-07-21T10:41:49+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 21, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span>It’s a long long night –<br />
<br />
we bypass attraction on the way<br />
to indifference -.<br />
the beer is flat,<br />
the bartender won’t refill our peanut bowl<br />
<br />
nothing left to say<br />
moves on to staring in each other’s face,<br />
wondering what it takes for two people<br />
to find even the merest attraction<br />
in each other<br />
and why the alcohol-fueled<br />
loss of inhibitions is no help –<br />
<br />
we’re just two different people<br />
and, for all the liquor,<br />
all the come-ons in the world.,<br />
we’re fated to remain that way –<br />
<br />
but I say, “It was nice talking to you”<br />
and you reply, “the pleasure<br />
was all mine” –<br />
<br />
more hours wasted<br />
on absolutely nothing —<br />
<br />
sometimes I think<br />
life was never meant<br />
to happen.</div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
CHILDLESS. <br />A Poem by John Grey</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/childless-a-poem-by-john-grey/" rel="bookmark" title="3:54 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-07-21T15:54:10+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 21, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"></span></span></span><b>What’s her name again – Deirdre Lyn.<br />
She goes to law school. She plays field hockey<br />
Summers spark with<br />
the sheer will of her being.<br />
Septembers are softer now<br />
than a head on a pillow.<br />
<br />
But then I feel your stomach<br />
and you shake your head.<br />
A tear emerges from your right eye,<br />
the closest your body ever comes<br />
to giving birth.<br />
<br />
So I must watch over her<br />
with my eyes shut.<br />
Nail my lips together<br />
to encourage her dreams.<br />
Squeeze her to my chest<br />
until she’s thinner than<br />
the shirt I wear.<br />
<br />
Deirdre Lyn – she comes to me in a dream<br />
and says she’s met someone.<br />
Yes, she met me.<br />
And no one else ever.</b></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LYNVwJCgIVZoV9pyTBQIO9KvzoajYYSfJLoELVAThL0A9-qgmqqfC4Vv-v_QynA1VO03tKR3vJepTdA9UHLnfNYbZHYL0qCbR7Ym43wHgwVmOJwdYvY4_gUo1NUJ7j9W6Jkg2Q5F9-M/s1600/johngrey.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9LYNVwJCgIVZoV9pyTBQIO9KvzoajYYSfJLoELVAThL0A9-qgmqqfC4Vv-v_QynA1VO03tKR3vJepTdA9UHLnfNYbZHYL0qCbR7Ym43wHgwVmOJwdYvY4_gUo1NUJ7j9W6Jkg2Q5F9-M/s320/johngrey.jpg" width="144" /> </a></div>
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<b>John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published
in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Gargoyle and Big Muddy
Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River
Poetry Review. To view more of his work <a href="http://www.motherbird.com/">www.motherbird.com</a> & <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/">www.artvilla.com</a></b></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> --------------<span style="color: magenta;">✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿</span>-------------- </span></h4>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
Shine. A Poem by Irsa Ruçi <br /> Translated by Silva Daci</h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shine-a-poem-by-irsa-ruci-translated-by-silva-daci/" rel="bookmark" title="8:55 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-07-26T20:55:43+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 26, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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I. </div>
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Hear to the cicada’s song, my dear, hear it<br />
Some words they mutter to spring<br />
And feel their whisper to the leafs<br />
To the mornings’ dew<br />
So tell me:<br />
Was this world made to be savage?</div>
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II.</div>
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<br />
Oh, what sins did we give to this earth</div>
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So that our own tear weighs in powerless</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
At traces that froze in oblivion</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The lost sinner</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We…</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Guardians of Hope<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
III.</div>
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One day we will get away</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In a path there’s no coming back</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For sure I’ll carry behind only regret,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Why we weren’t enough in this greedy world?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And the forgiveness</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We were eager to get it<br />
When one day even our soul we’ll see it</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Stripped from our bodies.<br />
<br />
<br />
IV.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
O tell me that nothing is true<br />
That the poet’s words are thatch stalks<br />
That would be fired by one single match<br />
And I, my last line I’ll give to the Human;<br />
For he prays in the sin’s mercy<br />
And in his life never lied to himself</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My last line I’ll save it for the Human…</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5YOdp8qqG2bq9HIznprnxg58Y05tou8XB4UWqO8YP8Gq-Eq_KlMNwrxrHPDq-rppioAVfS-bBo1du_Vqlynn0Twbv0rULvbo3Y2dSXVLIOQr7CImawgKZJRmhAH8dK6c_LOqVBdAnp0/s1600/IrsaRuci.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5YOdp8qqG2bq9HIznprnxg58Y05tou8XB4UWqO8YP8Gq-Eq_KlMNwrxrHPDq-rppioAVfS-bBo1du_Vqlynn0Twbv0rULvbo3Y2dSXVLIOQr7CImawgKZJRmhAH8dK6c_LOqVBdAnp0/s1600/IrsaRuci.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="entry-title post-title">
<i>Irsa Ruçi </i></div>
<div class="entry-title post-title">
<i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shine-a-poem-by-irsa-ruci-translated-by-silva-daci/"><b>Read bio at Poetry Life & Times</b></a> </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzUxJoEcCbwT7c4z5ymLKjmlx2Em6DAoWMG5anWo4FhoDhlj7mukWTxqvo_6XDVT46NuSv1yfYTlWSnyUT4TDPsgdHbYVRFx3FFpdz_WctoGGCq3703DA-4kF11t7hUAKfIqNWaq6_SE/s1600/Silva-Daci-foto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzUxJoEcCbwT7c4z5ymLKjmlx2Em6DAoWMG5anWo4FhoDhlj7mukWTxqvo_6XDVT46NuSv1yfYTlWSnyUT4TDPsgdHbYVRFx3FFpdz_WctoGGCq3703DA-4kF11t7hUAKfIqNWaq6_SE/s1600/Silva-Daci-foto.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzUxJoEcCbwT7c4z5ymLKjmlx2Em6DAoWMG5anWo4FhoDhlj7mukWTxqvo_6XDVT46NuSv1yfYTlWSnyUT4TDPsgdHbYVRFx3FFpdz_WctoGGCq3703DA-4kF11t7hUAKfIqNWaq6_SE/s1600/Silva-Daci-foto.jpg" /></a></div>
<i>Silva Daci</i><br />
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shine-a-poem-by-irsa-ruci-translated-by-silva-daci/">Read bio at Poetry Life & Times </a></div>
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
FUD. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop.</h1>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/fud-poem-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="8:22 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-07-29T08:22:29+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 29, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Fud helped temper attacks<br />
trump a three-word promise longer than ever before<br />
the up ones sleeve trump card<br />
trump up trick, as Day of Judgement<br />
raised the dead on intestinal gas through the anus<br />
to expel hopping into an atom splitting fission<br />
similar referendum wins multiple atoms to split<br />
exponential increase in atoms splitting into right wing populism<br />
the number of some which will awaken destruction<br />
to take war to Europe<br />
and based on history applaud the great victory<br />
to win back control from now fractured EU.<br />
<br />
The final trumpet that taps into a seething and of course many<br />
but based on history<br />
the Christening of them leads to nothing happening<br />
but Utopia argumentum ad metum<br />
– not ace in the hole card period of time –<br />
compare trombone at dawn by several commentators<br />
that Brexit, a trick with a trump is not caused by<br />
split geyser of anti-immigrant sentiment suggestions<br />
and ascent in part we are entering one moral due to another<br />
according to the belief of thousands within an extremely short period<br />
on a very broad scale.<br />
<br />
Possible scenarios are infinite<br />
to build a wall has many awful faults prevented<br />
hit the economy with a strong force of natural selection trump<br />
which might represent to trump up a convincing EU<br />
as well as also one major wave of inward-facing<br />
and they in turn causing all the indicators<br />
that were in case against the last EU for all its UK causes<br />
automatically honour targeting frail people<br />
in their many moving parts<br />
as their combined energy weakens.<br />
Fear uncertainty doubt FUD call force in suppressing<br />
in the face of won overnight<br />
by those who due to the massive complexity<br />
by the hundreds of splits causing multiple moral Utopia<br />
argumentum ad impact<br />
of the first atom of all ages and killing. Of all ages and killing. </span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #45818e; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><b>Robin Ouzman Hislop,</b> born UK, a reader in philosophy &
religions, has traveled extensively throughout his lifetime but now
lives in semi- retirement as a TEFL teacher and translator in Spain
& the UK<span style="color: #45818e;">. <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/fud-poem-robin-ouzman-hislop/"><b><i><span style="color: black;">Read Full Bio at Poetry Life & Times</span></i></b></a></span></span></span></span></div>
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Tribute to the late E. Darcy Trie <br />by Wanda Brayton</h1>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/" rel="bookmark" title="2:13 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-02-09T14:13:52+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 9, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Poem for Darcy<br />by Wanda Brayton</span></b><br />
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">
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The One who softly calls for you to come at night<br />
hears the wind roar as sudden storms flow through your bones;<br />
an oasis of laughter, quiet whispers fluttering upon your hips<br />
where sustenance may be found without a compass,<br />
only murmurs cast into shadows to reveal the light you weave<br />
with terrible truths and beautiful sorrows before dawn<br />
<br />
You spend odd moments wailing wildly, walking in silence,<br />
singing beneath moonlit stars, gathering madder,<br />
crisped leaves fallen from sacred trees<br />
to make your precious poultice; you create mandalas<br />
made of jasmine ash, of myrhh’s seduction,<br />
of frangipani memories, of green apple seeds<br />
<br />
When you sleep, you travel swiftly, a bright arc<br />
through time’s geography, tracing latitudes and longitudes<br />
with purpose in your flight, fires lit within your belly,<br />
love in your fingertips so deep, oceans rise<br />
in envious whirls, tidal beasts howling admiration<br />
for she who wears invincible wings<br />
<br />
You are every woman history had once forgotten,<br />
their existence erased by cruel men’s aspirations;<br />
still, in their slumber, they moan your secret name –<br />
yet, when they awaken, they cannot describe<br />
those dire disturbances they felt so keenly,<br />
their blood surged toward an invisible ache<br />
<br />
Even now, they are haunted, their flesh dark with restlessness,<br />
longing for a single glance of a beautiful bird they’ve never seen,<br />
its song their only savior, their only sweetness, their mightiest woe –<br />
Ophelia knew, Lilith knew, Delilah knew, and yes, even Medusa knew,<br />
long after they’d tangled her silken hair with curses, then refused<br />
to look into her eyes, understanding all too well<br />
what burning thorns they’d find
</span></span></span></div>
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Wanda Lee Brayton <a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/"><i>Read bio at Motherbird</i></a></div>
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Wanda's website: <a href="http://wandaleabrayton.blogspot.co.uk/"><b>http://wandaleabrayton.blogspot.co.uk/</b></a><br />
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Now, Don’t Tell. <br />A Poem by JD DeHart</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/now-dont-tell-a-poem-by-jd-dehart/" rel="bookmark" title="6:05 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-25T18:05:30+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 25, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b>Our voice, the party line,<br />
the wrinkled cord<br />
of what telephones used to be,<br />
whispered, hush-hushed voices<br />
spilling bits of story,<br />
lead poisoning, an explosion,<br />
an “I have it on good authority,”<br />
and even a “I can’t believe that,”<br />
all followed by<br />
“Now, don’t tell anyone<br />
I told you.”</b> </span></span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpy3O10tZi8DcDh8XRJ4Sazy10XsMefEn8oM1GgIsPBrihWUZmRV9heEFUeIouAgYjbg0Wl2msE2RUh8b7ii4kDJNcsuqGHHg-HT-zcuPEjRJvmFWhUY8MMVw0194DUUP_J9zg9VkL8Cg/s1600/jddehart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpy3O10tZi8DcDh8XRJ4Sazy10XsMefEn8oM1GgIsPBrihWUZmRV9heEFUeIouAgYjbg0Wl2msE2RUh8b7ii4kDJNcsuqGHHg-HT-zcuPEjRJvmFWhUY8MMVw0194DUUP_J9zg9VkL8Cg/s1600/jddehart.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>JD DeHart</b> is a writer and teacher. His chapbook, <b>The Truth About Snails</b>, is available from <b>RedDashboard</b>.</div>
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SHE NOW MIGHT WEAR DIAMONDS. <br />A Poem by David Spicer</h1>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/she-now-might-wear-diamonds-a-poem-by-david-spicer/" rel="bookmark" title="4:32 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-07-04T04:32:48+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 4, 2016</time></a></span> posted <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span>The tornado I knew as Sharon left after a brief<br />
appearance. Her grey eyes romantic to me,<br />
a pilgrim who worked in a barn near flowers<br />
and the cornfield, the shacks sleeping.<br />
I wish I had wings, I wish I could shimmer:<br />
then she might have stayed. She thundered<br />
when I compared her to a beautiful storm,<br />
a tortuous wind breaking hundreds of hearts.<br />
Sharon called me a dumb devotee of Apollo,<br />
punched me so hard I saw linnets on the ceiling,<br />
making me regret I owned a telescope.<br />
Sad that she now might wear diamonds,<br />
I can only sing hymns to her in school,<br />
but sometimes she appears to me<br />
in dreams as a wild palomino.</blockquote>
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WHEN WHITE ROSES LOVE FIRE. Poem/Sonnet by David Spicer.</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/white-roses-love-fire-poemsonnet-david-spicer/" rel="bookmark" title="4:11 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-07-04T04:11:56+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 4, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">posted by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span>Should I compare you to a winter night<br />
when white roses love fire and we desire<br />
fertile land, singing repertoires we’ve cooled<br />
with iced beer? The future is clear. No more<br />
monkeys and rams with sunglasses will clog<br />
the stations and cottages. We need to collect<br />
the children before they wilt and tug<br />
at each other like turtles with the lilt of aspirin<br />
in their throats. Then we can beckon<br />
priests and doctors who suffer policemen’s<br />
ennui before massacres: it will be time<br />
to launch the Jupiter missiles and portray<br />
ourselves as the gods that we are not. </div>
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<b>David Spicer</b> has had poems in <i>Yellow Mama, Reed Magazine, Slim
Volume, The Laughing Dog, Jersey Devil Press, The American Poetry
Review, New Verse News, Ploughshares, Bad Acid Laboratories, Inc., Dead
Snakes,</i> and in <i>A Galaxy of Starfish: An Anthology of Modern Surrealism </i>(Salo Press, 2016). <i><b><a href="http://motherbird.com/she-now-might-wear-diamonds-a-poem-by-david-spicer/">Read full bio at Motherbird</a></b></i></blockquote>
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DAMP. (a poem after the rains) <br />by Akor Emmanuel Oche</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/damp-a-poem-after-the-rains-by-akor-emmanuel-oche/" rel="bookmark" title="2:42 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-07-21T14:42:16+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 21, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span>After the rains<br />
come the drain of a white washed<br />
road–sepulchers<br />
of pungent oozing paths.<br />
Cossy skins blended<br />
in tar pigmented melanin,<br />
mock the innerbeing,<br />
telling her she is wet,<br />
telling her she is clean.<br />
Only fire tests the truth of things.<br />
Soon the road evapourates<br />
the reminants of her hidden self,<br />
and the skin<br />
whispers the truth<br />
of its self- dark,dirty,blue-<br />
-in avarice for the subtle touch of water,<br />
to purly through the body through<br />
to the spirit.<br />
After the rains come the real water.<br />
Spinning the soul in spree.</div>
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The Sudden Drizzle. A Poem by Bhupender K Bhardwaj</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-sudden-drizzle-a-poem-by-bhupender-k-bhardwaj/" rel="bookmark" title="8:23 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-07-11T20:23:14+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">July 11, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The sudden drizzle that brought long-sought fulfillment<br />
To the scorched shacks of the country masses<br />
Knitted the serrated peak and the neglected pavement<br />
Into an aquamarine fabric under whose grace wild asses<br />
Brayed with glee. The rusted generator attached<br />
To the cola factory hummed loudly and brought<br />
Back memories of the dull headaches which once latched<br />
On to you. But these were phantoms of imagination which caught<br />
You unawares, lost in the coerced stillness induced by your drab work<br />
That ate you up slowly, constricting your vision<br />
Beyond which strong-legged peacocks continued to jerk<br />
Their crested heads in unison with the swaying trees that season.<br />
<br />
Later, the sparrow-squeaks and the marketplace shouts<br />
Which came up the verges were glinting arrows that quelled your doubts.</span></span></div>
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<b>Bhupender K Bhardwaj, </b>an IRTS officer, 27 years of age works
with Ministry of Railways, Government of India. He has been composing
poetry since the last few years. His influences are Derek Walcott and
Seamus Heaney. His poems have been published by<i> Mad Swirl, Indian Review, The Galway Review and Kingston Creative Writers’ Blog.</i> Also, He was recently longlisted for<i> The Toto Awards for Creative Writing 2016 </i>in the <i>Poetry category.</i> </div>
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
RECOMMENDED BOOKS<br /> </h1>
<br />
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
Songs of the Interstitium. Poetry of Ian Irvine Hobson</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/songs-of-the-interstitium-poetry-of-ian-irvine-hobson/" rel="bookmark" title="1:28 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-06-23T13:28:20+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 23, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
</header>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://songsoftheinterstitium.wordpress.com/2016/06/11/book-three-poetry-sequences-from-library-of-the-beautiful-hybrids/"> Book Three – Poetry Sequences from ‘Library of the Beautiful Hybrids’</a></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf-vzspgmPXpFpVykw2RjvFRm8o-VDdJaOgo2dHLpsC-0yXIRzFTdWs4vcCWp65l3Ct6ZviJY9I91TcCGOlqLdhTzNsdW8Iic6AI_OqTwegl0nJ6Tu1envNUeTXjZ2DRsamQEEVc6E9c/s1600/alchemicaltreeinfluen.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf-vzspgmPXpFpVykw2RjvFRm8o-VDdJaOgo2dHLpsC-0yXIRzFTdWs4vcCWp65l3Ct6ZviJY9I91TcCGOlqLdhTzNsdW8Iic6AI_OqTwegl0nJ6Tu1envNUeTXjZ2DRsamQEEVc6E9c/s1600/alchemicaltreeinfluen.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ian Irvine is an Australian-based
poet/lyricist, fiction writer and non-fiction writer. His work has
featured in many Australian and international publications, including <i>Fire</i> (UK) ‘Anthology of 20<sup>th</sup>
Century and Contemporary Poets, ’ (2008) which contained the work of
poets from over 60 nations. His work has also appeared in a number of
Australian national poetry anthologies, and he is the author of three
books and co-editor of many more (including <i>Scintillae 2012,</i>
an anthology of work by over 50 Victorian and international writers and
poets). He currently teaches writing and literature at Bendigo TAFE and
Victoria University (Melbourne) and lives with fellow writer Sue
King-Smith and their children on a 5 acre block near Bendigo, Australia.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><a href="https://twitter.com/Artvillacom"><img alt="tw" border="0" height="32" src="https://www.artvilla.com/images/buttons/tw.png" width="32" /></a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Artvillacom"><img alt="f" border="0" height="32" src="https://www.artvilla.com/images/buttons/fc.png" width="32" /></a> </b></div>
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker Selected Poems / 2015 available on amazon.com </span></span></span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">by Barbara Crooker</span><br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0HaXfd9rU32qzoivfQkuH2B0OELupFKckW3Ip6jObiIVV2x5RX0DyOmkGD8pBy7UZSSQlIgR-3JAa3NELXf8gsBModLNdnU2sv8tlfc64P1WR14OfcrHH1rDwRA8fCF8qkYPYRZxZU/s320/bcrooker.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
</span></h4>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #45818e;">This collection brings together 102 poems from Barbara Crooker’s
previous ten chapbooks of poetry, two of which won national prizes, with
a handful of uncollected poems at the end. Of Crooker’s work, William
Matthews has written, “Barbara Crooker’s poems have been written with a
deft touch and with that affection for their textures and pacings that
we’re accustomed to call, a little dryly, ‘technical skill.’ It’s a form
of love, actually, and since she’s expended it on her poems, we can,
too.” Janet McCann, writing in the Foreword, says, “The poems in this
collection come mostly from chapbooks, collections which cluster around a
theme, such as loss of a parent or friend, raising a child with autism,
travel, art. Crooker’s collections are remarkable for their unity;
their poems, epigraphs, even covers have a thematic thrust that collects
and directs the work, making each a coherent work of art.... Reading
the work from beginning to end provides an experience of Crooker’s
world, that place of work and sadness balanced by art and love. It also
provides vignettes of growing up in the fifties and sixties and shows
what it was like to come of age as a woman in those years—the
expectations, the hopes, the barriers that had to be overcome. Even in
poems of loss, the energy persists, giving us the sense that Crooker is
truly in the current of life, feeling its verve—what Wallace Stevens
called ‘the intensity of love’ that he identified with ‘the verve of
earth.’”</span></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Two new books out now by Gary Beck: </span></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/resonance-poetry-collection-by-gary-beck/">Resonance. A Poetry Collection by Gary Beck</a></span></h2>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1"><img alt="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKqvhSsw3IoCj4rEz_v3sbvdYzqdRQL0ee6J6BbSrkU0he8pK-Kp_Nms7KlPY89E7YIw6bdHOlxIqwzFUc6C_2B-BcfjaEwXdJ7qfc5a1DIto4xSkU_8UeObooFFzt7XN7OZLZbLtFxY/s320/resonance.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Click book image to visit amazon.com to buy this book or read reviews</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b>DISPLAYS - </b><b>a collection of poetry by Gary Beck</b></a></span></h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><img alt="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSPbpKxmQN2FFI5x95ZIdmNncKPj6R3AI8TpTxhY8hrkTTU224M9JX2b6uejJfucx510cc1opZ7htV1Vtcn2o9Y0xy54Sviervi0jobalmyjNw79BZJSGkBJ4PT8Ht1hBM_tPfOwFlnU/s1600/Displays-cover-188x300.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Unheard Arias</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b>The purple finch and house finch</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
are unappreciated</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by busy city dwellers,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
who will never take the time</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to listen for a moment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to their melodious song</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that would please receptive ears</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that are otherwise deafened</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by the city commotion. <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></span> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">RECOMMENDED READING: <br />All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Click book image to visit the Amazon page</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble
of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<h2 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
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<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"> </span></h1>
<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle">PRESS RELEASE: <br />World Healing, World Peace 2016: Volume 3</span><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"> </span></h1>
<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Inner Child Press, compiled by Janet Caldwell <br />with Foreword by Keith Alan Hamilton </span><a href="http://foreword%20this%20vision%20of%20world%20healing%20and%20peace,%20if%20such%20a%20hope%20is%20going%20to%20come%20to%20fruition,%20it%20will%20take%20much%20struggle%20through%20effort%20in%20the%20human%20process%20of%20thinking.%20firstly%20within%20reflective%20consciousness%20the%20human-kind%20will%20collectively%20have%20to%20change%20the%20way%20the%20human%20race%20is%20perceived%20by%20all%20humans./">£11.83 on amazon.com</a></span></span></h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://foreword%20this%20vision%20of%20world%20healing%20and%20peace,%20if%20such%20a%20hope%20is%20going%20to%20come%20to%20fruition,%20it%20will%20take%20much%20struggle%20through%20effort%20in%20the%20human%20process%20of%20thinking.%20firstly%20within%20reflective%20consciousness%20the%20human-kind%20will%20collectively%20have%20to%20change%20the%20way%20the%20human%20race%20is%20perceived%20by%20all%20humans./"><img alt="Foreword This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is perceived by all humans." border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0T1APvgVQsK3FOldClFsZzs6xcoZOP7y5svzqc84Oq2zAQNdVSCmGBcpeGhJOs7Gm_o8Olt3oTcsGS0xtEVfWF5IkA4M5jLhK8alyiUXQOp6HIGt8qqcRO7RKeb3S8_Ibondyx4sm3P8/s320/worldpeacebook.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><b>From </b></span><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><b>Foreword:</b> "This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going
to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the
human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE
HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is
perceived by all humans..."</span></span></blockquote>
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<h4 style="text-align: center;">
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>FEATURED VIDEOS</b></span> </span></span></h1>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
Let Her Try. A Poem by Gertrude Stein <br />Read by Maria Salgado.</h1>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/ki6km45iDww/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ki6km45iDww?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe><i><a href="http://motherbird.com/let-try-poem-gertrude-stein-read-maria-salgado/"><br />Read more about Maria Salgado at Motherbird</a></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
Every Piece of Flesh. <br />A Video Poem by Nicholas Hallows</h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/SYyjel5VuHg/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SYyjel5VuHg?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<i><a href="http://motherbird.com/every-piece-of-flesh-a-video-poem-by-nicholas-hallows/">View video from Motherbird page</a></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
Perceptions. Video Poem & Book Review. <br />Gary Beck.</h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/GxCXxTss3-Y/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GxCXxTss3-Y?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<i><a href="http://motherbird.com/perceptions-video-poem-book-review-gary-beck/#Poetry">Read more about Perceptions and Gary Beck at Motherbird</a> </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Angel of Peace by Aberjhani</span></b><br />
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0Jpfe4Z1btk/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0Jpfe4Z1btk?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<br />
<br />
<br />
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
Stuck in a Black Bird's Groove<br />by Nordette Adams</h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/fGyOko9P7zw/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/fGyOko9P7zw?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-25262684367843078572016-07-01T14:47:00.000-07:002016-07-01T15:13:26.486-07:00<div class="separator tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of July 2016</span></h4>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Introducing Rus Khoumutoff</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFwSeC96vcUOq7td0ITpSoD5D3TrNUXiEBi4sahDkW5YmekUagHgUt0MxbtuGKFoNcWM_L-zx59723pjAkXXiDgU2bsjc01nAGEDA21akVdNL6vNPu5wIn1FfsTB53ymc8hWyY8zwpoA/s1600/Rus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFwSeC96vcUOq7td0ITpSoD5D3TrNUXiEBi4sahDkW5YmekUagHgUt0MxbtuGKFoNcWM_L-zx59723pjAkXXiDgU2bsjc01nAGEDA21akVdNL6vNPu5wIn1FfsTB53ymc8hWyY8zwpoA/s320/Rus.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">"My name is Rus Khomutoff and I am a Neo Surrealist poet in Brooklyn, NY. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">I have been featured in<b> Uut poetry</b> and <b>Burning House Press</b>.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">I am currently looking to publish my first chapbook. You can contact me on twitter: <a href="http://twitter.com/rusdaboss">@rusdaboss</a>"</span></span></blockquote>
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<b><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">Migratory soul</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">I dream of a province of request,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">an exoplasm of breathing lights, a </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">banquet of consequences</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">unreleased acetates of a marble index</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">white letters on nocturnal flesh</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">migratory soul of genteel contact</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">following love's infinity</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">into the empyrean realm</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">a blissful maven</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">___________________</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">Azaianstat (to Lital Khaikin)</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">Everyday extraordinary</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">grand hotel abyss</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">latency vs. immediacy</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">a python wrapper in the ChemSpider</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">uber statements of dissipating traces</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">opened vistas and autoerotic elegies</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">the age of triumph</span></span></blockquote>
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Rising. Poem by David Chorlton.</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/rising-poem-by-david-chorlton/" rel="bookmark" title="5:35 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-11T17:35:22+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 11, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<i>"Dear Robin,</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
<i>
I hope you’re well and enjoying springtime. We have old friends here in
Arizona, one of whom is a well known sculptor whose work is in several
public locations. He is John Henry Waddell, now in his nineties. He has
recently finished a large scale work, Rising, which we got see on a
recent visit. I wrote this poem about Rising, and think it works best
with the picture of the sculpture, so I thought of your format. The
figures are in relief and in an ideal setting would be set on the side
of a tall building."</i><br />
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<ul><b><i>for John Henry Waddell</i></b></ul>
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<b>So many windy spirits here<br />
leaving their routines behind<br />
at the kitchen stove, the desk,<br />
the production line at which<br />
they work a living from monotony<br />
and after years with gravity in charge<br />
they suddenly believe in birds<br />
more than in following instructions.<br />
The first ones up<br />
<br />
reach for those who follow,<br />
while some look around<br />
from above the traffic and the building sites<br />
and wonder why it took so long<br />
for this to happen. As it tilts away<br />
the ground now seems<br />
unlikely as a base<br />
of operations, marked as it is<br />
with boundaries and borders<br />
and pocked with the craters<br />
from conflicts that continue<br />
<br />
without ever having begun.<br />
It’s like forgetting what happened<br />
today, this release, and remembering<br />
all the days before it<br />
back through time. It’s like<br />
swimming out of water,<br />
<br />
like turning into music.</b></blockquote>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/interstate-moments-a-poem-by-david-chorlton/100_3161/" rel="attachment wp-att-4478"><img alt="100_3161" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-4478" height="300" src="https://i0.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/100_3161.jpg?resize=246,300" width="246" /> </a></div>
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<b>David Chorlton</b> is a transplanted European, who has
lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems have appeared in many
publications on- and off-line, and reflect his affection for the natural
world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior.
His most recent book, A Field Guide to Fire, was his contribution to
the Fires of Change exhibition shown in Flagstaff and Tucson in Arizona.</div>
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The Real Friendships. <br />Poem by Richard Lloyd Cederberg.</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-real-friendships-poem-by-richard-lloyd-cederberg/" rel="bookmark" title="7:04 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-07T19:04:01+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 7, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span><br />
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<i>Dedicated to a friend and a cancer survivor </i></div>
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It was all too much (for me)<br />
To bear, staring out across the valley<br />
At you supplicating earnestly for more<br />
Of life to share, for more time to<br />
Live, to express freely…<br />
<br />
And in your<br />
Own quirky way<br />
Owning another season<br />
Guaranteed free from defects<br />
Was what I hoped for fervently<br />
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Another chance<br />
(Perhaps) for you<br />
To make some sense<br />
Of all that would be pulled,<br />
Eventually, from the wreckage<br />
Of what had forced you down along the<br />
Edges of life’s fragile looking glass<br />
<br />
Being thankful for<br />
The real friendships;<br />
Those few you cuddled in your<br />
Heart when living got serious, or when<br />
You’d reached wits end alone again, somehow<br />
Confiding in the trustable, and now accepting that what<br />
You’d always struggled to believe was all that made sense<br />
<br />
And all you purposed<br />
To hear was [a wise voice]<br />
Encouraging you to walk this way,<br />
Or that way, telling you to listen only to<br />
Those elect who drank from the purest streams, and<br />
Reminding you to give thanks for having NOT been born in the<br />
Days of antiquity when people suffering (with the invisible)<br />
Were often left to perish on windswept crags</blockquote>
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August 2007 Richard was nominated for a 2008 PUSHCART PRIZE. Richard was awarded 2007 BEST NEW FICTION at CST for his first three novels and also 2006 WRITER OF THE YEAR @thewritingforum.net … Richard has been a featured Poet on Poetry Life and Times Aug/Sept 2008, Jan 2013, Aug 2013, and Oct 2013 and has been published in varied anthologies, compendiums, and e-zines. Richard’s literary work is currently in over 35,000 data bases and outlets. <i><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-real-friendships-poem-by-richard-lloyd-cederberg/the-real-friendships/" rel="attachment wp-att-5299">Read Full Bio at Poetry Life & Times </a></b></i><br />
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A Convoluted Nightmare. Poem by Christie-Luke Jones</h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/a-convoluted-nightmare-poem-by-christie-luke-jones/" rel="bookmark" title="8:14 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-04T20:14:05+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 4, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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Outside; friendly voices float atop the yawn of falling beams. A
distance stretches out between us, a steel door 3000 decibels thick.<br />
Blackened corridors are softly inhaled by a downy quilt of smoke and
ash. Grotesque lions tear at my silhouette until a red-faced, podgy
little boy is all that remains. Death longs to pick my soul from between
hideous tombstone molars. One final attempt at escape, one last glimpse
into the frightful false mirror.<br />
<br />
A young woman showers next to me. Her limitless eyes scan my thoughts
with clarity of intent, enough to melt the mask right off my face. The
way the shampoo glides over her hips will haunt me on some far-off day,
when everything else becomes ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/a-convoluted-nightmare-poem-by-christie-luke-jones/"><b><i>Read full poem at Poetry Life & Times</i></b></a></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZsdxT2BxyuzggbLiEWJGllwo_tdckPbhptMDoNkSSEisWb8tjghmYiOKsOIgy0O4AB39hUwR6PX5iOR7KybH26R9PBb8Ap6Jw6jUvnZiPEHjAbeprjH-d4A_DSP-XwR0zPJ_o8WxuSo/s1600/Christielukejones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZsdxT2BxyuzggbLiEWJGllwo_tdckPbhptMDoNkSSEisWb8tjghmYiOKsOIgy0O4AB39hUwR6PX5iOR7KybH26R9PBb8Ap6Jw6jUvnZiPEHjAbeprjH-d4A_DSP-XwR0zPJ_o8WxuSo/s1600/Christielukejones.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b>Christie-Luke Jones </b>is a poet, fiction writer and actor from
Oxfordshire, England. Christie-Luke’s writing is strongly influenced by
the Gallic blood that courses through his veins, as well as his interest
in the more macabre aspects of the human condition. To see more of his
work, visit<b> <a href="http://www.christielukejones.com./">www.christielukejones.com.</a></b> </div>
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Secret Blaspheme. Poem by Monsoor Ali</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/secret-blaspheme-poem-by-monsoor-ali/" rel="bookmark" title="7:55 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-04T19:55:06+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 4, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<b>Her words are frantic and free</b><br />
<b>
wrapping around my mind like a rollercoaster of warm refreshing air<br />
a whirlwind of excitement and love<br />
a swirling living thing<br />
That penetrates my senses<br />
Like a blade through soft flesh<br />
Yet painless and intoxicating<br />
She feeds my imagination with bold expressions of lust and bravery<br />
And stories of passion and pain<br />
And I become hypnotized by her<br />
sweet sounds and girlish gestures<br />
Such a heavy magic this is<br />
This perfect seduction<br />
This ancient power she wields over me<br />
As I become a slave to her will<br />
A fiend<br />
A hopeless addict<br />
Overwhelmed by desire till it hurts<br />
Longing for a touch, a taste<br />
A moment<br />
I am lost in a labyrinth of emotion<br />
Like a child<br />
A lame without her near<br />
Crushed by her absence<br />
Drowning in her presence<br />
Overwhelmed by just her<br />
</b><b>I forget God</b></blockquote>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/secret-blaspheme-poem-by-monsoor-ali/screenshot_2016-01-19-04-08-57/" rel="attachment wp-att-5305"><img alt="Screenshot_2016-01-19-04-08-57" class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-5305" height="300" src="https://i2.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Screenshot_2016-01-19-04-08-57.png?resize=200,300" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b>Monsoor Ali, born and raised Washingtonian, is a multi media
artist specializing in literature, graphic design, and music and film
production. Born in 1977, he has been writing poetry and songs for
nearly 25 years. He is an advocate and activist for homeless peoples,
victims of child and domestic abuse, and civil rights. M. Ali is a
father of 4 and has lived on both the East and West coast as well as the
Midwest, having produced music and indie films for hundreds of artists
around the country. He currently resides in Washington DC and is working
on his 1st book of poetry. </b><br />
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Ghost Orchid. Poem by George Moore</h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/ghost-orchid-poem-by-george-moore/" rel="bookmark" title="7:38 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-04T19:38:40+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 4, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
</header>
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<b>My world is overly large,<br />
while among the southern vines<br />
lies a universe within an ear.<br />
River stamen with carpel rafts<br />
on white waterfall tongues<br />
drifting toward the sea<br />
of the pollinareum.<br />
<br />
The year punctuates beauty<br />
as a single wave, carrying no<br />
human meaning. Even its name,<br />
Polyradicion, belongs to another time.<br />
I lift a leaf to see into its secret<br />
and disappear into the<br />
stillness of its jungle.<br /> </b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/ghost-orchid-poem-by-george-moore/"><i>Read full poem at Poetry Life & Times</i></a></b><br />
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<b><br /></b>"I’ve published poems in the <i>Atlantic, Poetry, Colorado Review,</i> and recently, or forthcoming, in <i>Stand, Arc, and Antigonish Review.</i> My most recent collections are <i>Saint Agnes Outside the Walls</i> (FutureCycle 2016),<i> Children’s Drawings of the Universe</i> (Salmon Poetry 2015), and<i> The Hermits of Dingle</i>
(FutureCycle 2013). After many years of teaching with the University of
Colorado, Boulder, I am presently living on the south shore of Nova
Scotia in a small lobster fishing village."<br />
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
Tangerine Ecstasy.Poem by Ken Allan Dronsfield</h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/tangerine-ecstasy-poem-by-ken-allan-dronsfield/" rel="bookmark" title="7:08 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-04T19:08:43+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 4, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<b>A reddish Sun rises</b><br />
<b>
another day dawns</b><br />
<b>
destiny rides beyond</b><br />
<b>
winged dreams smile.</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
Whispers of promises</b><br />
<b>
eyes covered in gold</b><br />
<b>
feasting candied souls</b><br />
<b>
a twilight now foreseen.</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
The harbingers of doom</b><br />
<b>
strolling through time.</b><br />
<b>
Exhaling a dark mist</b><br />
<b>
losing it all to rhyme.</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
Iced Appletine drinks</b><br />
<b>
an alcohol laden smile;</b><br />
<b>
licking sour lemon drops</b><br />
<b>
or sweet cherry limes.</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
Blissfully waking yawn</b><br />
<b>
in the castle of fantasy</b><br />
<b>
Patterns of blazing sky</b><br />
<b>
sweet Tangerine Ecstasy.</b></blockquote>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUixH3ALvvFKIxyjM5inTZsjTeZ3i13ZjftcugUpknSOoJw_aDuBAUZDre_K0dvEEN-rpJqgSUAFkVV120iFxkO-ZqvF5Bm1KDpJ2O90ImdDvhkadjA0ab3x6bOQ53EK6N83qPQtddCU/s1600/Ken-Allan-Dronsfield.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUixH3ALvvFKIxyjM5inTZsjTeZ3i13ZjftcugUpknSOoJw_aDuBAUZDre_K0dvEEN-rpJqgSUAFkVV120iFxkO-ZqvF5Bm1KDpJ2O90ImdDvhkadjA0ab3x6bOQ53EK6N83qPQtddCU/s200/Ken-Allan-Dronsfield.jpg" width="200" /></a></b></div>
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<br />
Bio: Ken Allan Dronsfield is a Published Poet and Author
originally from New Hampshire, now residing in Oklahoma. He enjoys
thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, playing guitar and time
with his cats Merlin and Willa.<b> </b><br />
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
Counter-factual History Poetry by <br />Christopher Barnes</h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/counter-factual-history-poetry-by-christopher-barnes/" rel="bookmark" title="10:39 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-06-25T22:39:10+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 25, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<br />
<b><br /> </b><b>Flash Gear<br />
<br />
</b>Foot-long tresses, plum and tangerine blouse,<br />
Ink-smudge breeks – Admiral Horatio Nelson struts.<br />
Carnaby St. is a kinetic three blocks.<br />
In Lord John’s portal he rib-digs Joe,<br />
Land-pirate to a clutter of pharmacies,<br />
Shopping list: four honeypots – French Blues.<br />
Currency for peacocks is revels or frills.<b><br />
<br />
<br />
Hereafter Chimneys<br />
<br />
</b>Reactors superheat uranium,<br />
Hatching plutonium – a fume,<br />
Radioactive cast-off.<br />
Julius Caesar grits teeth,<br />
Ashens at Windscale’s pockmarks<br />
On a thickset graphite shell.<br />
Blue-bag flames peck<br />
At a moody critical mass.<b><br />
<br />
<br />
Blood-Stained Pillow<br />
<br />
</b>Anne Boleyn disentangles prompts<br />
On the Washeteria’s speech bubbles.<br />
Self-run gearing is eco-affirmative.<br />
Her duvet and pillows outline jauntiness<br />
Quickened by a hyperallergic gargle,<br />
Phosphate deficient.<br />
The dizzy-bouquet whiff<br />
Spins and hour into memory.<b><br />
<br />
<br />
Lour In Popping Eyes<br />
<br />
</b>Dressed-to-the-nines rose-fresh theatre.<br />
Jedward cradle themselves<br />
In a pomp-splash box.<br />
The snorty edge flurries this raised curtain.<br />
‘Rites Of Spring,’ blurts gabbley lips.<br />
The twins dislocate nerves.<br />
Bob-up canes, set-against fans in an uproar.<b><br /> </b><span style="color: #45818e;"><br /></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD21lJ1Of7PQgM8wsrMOWIf3Xu5FkdCfdePCjSj0D_X04eXs2xjoEQrmgcD-GNj7LRdTE_KlfCV5YGak9fO9GW3GGuYDCwWg2B3amJ-765qgvpJR9G3b2UGSol9QlSj1R-9f0Rnklgxtk/s1600/christopher-barnes-photo-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD21lJ1Of7PQgM8wsrMOWIf3Xu5FkdCfdePCjSj0D_X04eXs2xjoEQrmgcD-GNj7LRdTE_KlfCV5YGak9fO9GW3GGuYDCwWg2B3amJ-765qgvpJR9G3b2UGSol9QlSj1R-9f0Rnklgxtk/s200/christopher-barnes-photo-3.jpg" width="178" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="color: #45818e;"> <i> </i></span><i>Some bio details…</i><br />
"In 1998 I won a Northern Arts writers award. In July 200 I read at Waterstones bookshop to promote the anthology <i>‘Titles Are Bitches’</i>.
Christmas 2001 I debuted at Newcastle’s famous Morden Tower doing a
reading of my poems. Each year I read for Proudwords lesbian and gay
writing festival and I partook in workshops. 2005 saw the publication
of my collection <i>LOVEBITES</i> published by Chanticleer Press, 6/1 Jamaica Mews, Edinburgh." <i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/counter-factual-history-poetry-by-christopher-barnes/">Read </a>f</i></b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/counter-factual-history-poetry-by-christopher-barnes/"><b><i>ull bio at Poetry Life & Times</i></b></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxladhAgIbziVL5w7RFUDyDCBgh7LycUCMxGBz7edRe5GmAoCzZt80Ds4R2ZkEFHnLRgAFDHxeUD0LTGJ_o2bqju63vMATaiNAP5CW1RwL49tX7Qc1PTaoKHw06NyC6HRvbKdgyfCz-g/s1600/poeticbond.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxladhAgIbziVL5w7RFUDyDCBgh7LycUCMxGBz7edRe5GmAoCzZt80Ds4R2ZkEFHnLRgAFDHxeUD0LTGJ_o2bqju63vMATaiNAP5CW1RwL49tX7Qc1PTaoKHw06NyC6HRvbKdgyfCz-g/s1600/poeticbond.jpg" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/">PRESS RELEASE. The Poetic Bond V.</a></span></b></span></span></h2>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;">Willowdown Books is pleased to announce the poems<br />
<br />
A Split Second Later’s Late</span></b><i><span style="color: black;"> and</span></i><b><span style="color: black;"> The Split<i><br />
by<br />
Robin Ouzman Hislop</i><br />
<br />
have been chosen for inclusion in the international poetry anthology<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
THE POETIC BOND V</span><br />
CELEBRATING FIVE YEARS OF GLOBAL POETRY<br />
ISBN 978-1517783808</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
Publication Date 21 October 2015<br />
Available from <a href="http://www.thepoeticbond.com/">www.thepoeticbond.com</a> and across <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Poetic-Bond-V-5/dp/1517783801/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1461423314&sr=1-2&keywords=robin+ouzman">all AMAZON Channels</a></span></b></span></h3>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3>
<span style="font-size: small;"> Summary Review</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></h3>
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A
Split Second Later’s Late “Hangs brilliantly on the edge, visually
stunning, there is a breadth to the language that is very satisfying.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Split “A challenging piece, revealing the debates of Wu Ch Eng En and
Chuang Tze, and prompting the reader to research. The tone of
philosophical enquiry is well held giving a feeling of profound truth.” <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/"><i>Read more...</i></a></span></span><br />
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
Songs of the Interstitium. Poetry of Ian Irvine Hobson</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/songs-of-the-interstitium-poetry-of-ian-irvine-hobson/" rel="bookmark" title="1:28 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-06-23T13:28:20+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">June 23, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
</header>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://songsoftheinterstitium.wordpress.com/2016/06/11/book-three-poetry-sequences-from-library-of-the-beautiful-hybrids/"> Book Three – Poetry Sequences from ‘Library of the Beautiful Hybrids’</a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf-vzspgmPXpFpVykw2RjvFRm8o-VDdJaOgo2dHLpsC-0yXIRzFTdWs4vcCWp65l3Ct6ZviJY9I91TcCGOlqLdhTzNsdW8Iic6AI_OqTwegl0nJ6Tu1envNUeTXjZ2DRsamQEEVc6E9c/s1600/alchemicaltreeinfluen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHf-vzspgmPXpFpVykw2RjvFRm8o-VDdJaOgo2dHLpsC-0yXIRzFTdWs4vcCWp65l3Ct6ZviJY9I91TcCGOlqLdhTzNsdW8Iic6AI_OqTwegl0nJ6Tu1envNUeTXjZ2DRsamQEEVc6E9c/s1600/alchemicaltreeinfluen.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ian Irvine is an Australian-based
poet/lyricist, fiction writer and non-fiction writer. His work has
featured in many Australian and international publications, including <i>Fire</i> (UK) ‘Anthology of 20<sup>th</sup> Century and Contemporary Poets, ’ (2008) which contained the work of poets from over 60 nations. His work has also appeared in a number of Australian national poetry anthologies, and he is the author of three books and co-editor of many more (including <i>Scintillae 2012,</i>
an anthology of work by over 50 Victorian and international writers and
poets). He currently teaches writing and literature at Bendigo TAFE and
Victoria University (Melbourne) and lives with fellow writer Sue
King-Smith and their children on a 5 acre block near Bendigo, Australia.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><a href="https://twitter.com/Artvillacom"><img alt="tw" border="0" height="32" src="https://www.artvilla.com/images/buttons/tw.png" width="32" /></a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Artvillacom"><img alt="f" border="0" height="32" src="https://www.artvilla.com/images/buttons/fc.png" width="32" /></a> </b></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Barbara Crooker Selected Poems / 2015 available on amazon.com </span></span></span></h4>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;">by Barbara Crooker</span><br /> <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Barbara-Crooker-Selected-Poems/dp/1938853709?ie=UTF8&tag=barbaracrooke-20" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0HaXfd9rU32qzoivfQkuH2B0OELupFKckW3Ip6jObiIVV2x5RX0DyOmkGD8pBy7UZSSQlIgR-3JAa3NELXf8gsBModLNdnU2sv8tlfc64P1WR14OfcrHH1rDwRA8fCF8qkYPYRZxZU/s320/bcrooker.jpg" width="213" /><span id="goog_2057769134"></span></a><span id="goog_2057769135"></span></div>
</span></h4>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #45818e;">This collection brings together 102 poems from Barbara Crooker’s
previous ten chapbooks of poetry, two of which won national prizes, with
a handful of uncollected poems at the end. Of Crooker’s work, William
Matthews has written, “Barbara Crooker’s poems have been written with a
deft touch and with that affection for their textures and pacings that
we’re accustomed to call, a little dryly, ‘technical skill.’ It’s a form
of love, actually, and since she’s expended it on her poems, we can,
too.” Janet McCann, writing in the Foreword, says, “The poems in this
collection come mostly from chapbooks, collections which cluster around a
theme, such as loss of a parent or friend, raising a child with autism,
travel, art. Crooker’s collections are remarkable for their unity;
their poems, epigraphs, even covers have a thematic thrust that collects
and directs the work, making each a coherent work of art.... Reading
the work from beginning to end provides an experience of Crooker’s
world, that place of work and sadness balanced by art and love. It also
provides vignettes of growing up in the fifties and sixties and shows
what it was like to come of age as a woman in those years—the
expectations, the hopes, the barriers that had to be overcome. Even in
poems of loss, the energy persists, giving us the sense that Crooker is
truly in the current of life, feeling its verve—what Wallace Stevens
called ‘the intensity of love’ that he identified with ‘the verve of
earth.’”</span></span></span></div>
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<h2>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Two new books out now by Gary Beck: </span></h2>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/resonance-poetry-collection-by-gary-beck/">Resonance. A Poetry Collection by Gary Beck</a></span></h2>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1"><img alt="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKqvhSsw3IoCj4rEz_v3sbvdYzqdRQL0ee6J6BbSrkU0he8pK-Kp_Nms7KlPY89E7YIw6bdHOlxIqwzFUc6C_2B-BcfjaEwXdJ7qfc5a1DIto4xSkU_8UeObooFFzt7XN7OZLZbLtFxY/s320/resonance.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Click book image to visit amazon.com to buy this book or read reviews</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b>DISPLAYS - </b><b>a collection of poetry by Gary Beck</b></a></span></h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><img alt="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSPbpKxmQN2FFI5x95ZIdmNncKPj6R3AI8TpTxhY8hrkTTU224M9JX2b6uejJfucx510cc1opZ7htV1Vtcn2o9Y0xy54Sviervi0jobalmyjNw79BZJSGkBJ4PT8Ht1hBM_tPfOwFlnU/s1600/Displays-cover-188x300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Unheard Arias</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b>The purple finch and house finch</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
are unappreciated</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by busy city dwellers,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
who will never take the time</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to listen for a moment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to their melodious song</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that would please receptive ears</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that are otherwise deafened</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by the city commotion. <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></span> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
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</blockquote>
</div>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">RECOMMENDED READING: <br />All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
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<i>Click book image to visit the Amazon page</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble
of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</div>
<h2 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"> </span></h1>
<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle">PRESS RELEASE: <br />World Healing, World Peace 2016: Volume 3</span><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"> </span></h1>
<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Inner Child Press, compiled by Janet Caldwell <br />with Foreword by Keith Alan Hamilton </span><a href="http://foreword%20this%20vision%20of%20world%20healing%20and%20peace,%20if%20such%20a%20hope%20is%20going%20to%20come%20to%20fruition,%20it%20will%20take%20much%20struggle%20through%20effort%20in%20the%20human%20process%20of%20thinking.%20firstly%20within%20reflective%20consciousness%20the%20human-kind%20will%20collectively%20have%20to%20change%20the%20way%20the%20human%20race%20is%20perceived%20by%20all%20humans./">£11.83 on amazon.com</a></span></span></h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://foreword%20this%20vision%20of%20world%20healing%20and%20peace,%20if%20such%20a%20hope%20is%20going%20to%20come%20to%20fruition,%20it%20will%20take%20much%20struggle%20through%20effort%20in%20the%20human%20process%20of%20thinking.%20firstly%20within%20reflective%20consciousness%20the%20human-kind%20will%20collectively%20have%20to%20change%20the%20way%20the%20human%20race%20is%20perceived%20by%20all%20humans./"><img alt="Foreword This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is perceived by all humans." border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0T1APvgVQsK3FOldClFsZzs6xcoZOP7y5svzqc84Oq2zAQNdVSCmGBcpeGhJOs7Gm_o8Olt3oTcsGS0xtEVfWF5IkA4M5jLhK8alyiUXQOp6HIGt8qqcRO7RKeb3S8_Ibondyx4sm3P8/s320/worldpeacebook.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><b>From </b></span><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><b>Foreword:</b> "This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going
to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the
human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE
HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is
perceived by all humans..."</span></span></blockquote>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> FEATURED VIDEOS</b></span> </span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/JFGySd-EA7w/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JFGySd-EA7w?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Brexit Poem - The Secret People by Jade Joddle</span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></h1>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/qIzR4YjNCtc/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qIzR4YjNCtc?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Brexit Poem by Eugen Freund MEP</span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/WwxhD81wtqM/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WwxhD81wtqM?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Green Green Grass by Nordette Adams</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0Jpfe4Z1btk/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0Jpfe4Z1btk?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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Angel of Peace, by Aberjhani</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/7y81CHb_pFA/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7y81CHb_pFA?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;">World Healing, World Peace promo video /<span style="color: #45818e;"> <span style="color: black;">Inner Child Press</span></span></span></span></span></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><br /> </span></span></span></span></span></h4>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/xQaokPwDTqM/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xQaokPwDTqM?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"> Queen of the Selfie - poem / monologue by Sara L Russell</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-11589958366392758452016-06-01T11:06:00.000-07:002016-06-01T11:06:42.584-07:00<div class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-tJmvEVv9XSyr3DU11KdsjI-UcJZbh7oEBvp0yiUfds8JhEQAPiIQ7iGt5-CJSM1C0-jLFWTlZ7ZX8gGvY682e9SxbwJSD_Lwn1bDQqpO-9Xc5cSmKmIjeo7vv-wYceOtjBm_r3neXc/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of June 2016</span></h4>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/"><br />Cathartic Eclipse. A Video Poem by Anca Mihaela</a></h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/" rel="bookmark" title="4:15 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-05-20T16:15:38+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 20, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
<span id="goog_774503112"></span><span id="goog_774503113"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/4mnwirzrcEs/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4mnwirzrcEs?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b><i>Please note after this particular you tube video poem by Anca</i></b></span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b><i>
there follows a series of her excellently crafted film work in</i></b></span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b><i>
which further of her video poems feature, but the typescript only</i></b></span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b><i>
to this particular video poem Cathartic Eclipse is shown below.</i></b></span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b><i>
Editor’s Note.</i></b></span></span></div>
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"></span></span></div>
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name">
</span></span><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"> </span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"></span></span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name">
<b>I witnessed the death of the universe…</b></span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b>
Tumbling, crushing, spinning</b></span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b>
in the maddening chaos</b></span></span><br />
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b>
of the spiral Time! .<i>... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/cathartic-eclipse-a-video-poem-by-anca-mihaela/">Read Full poem at Poetry Life & Times</a></i></b> </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"></span></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8TZTakE-lb9HwS_j7h-FeKzQ6I4K9aUKymYBi5Frz0Ab4lIKv4lTqNcYW-jvtvyhEiAXAEbNQGExDYgYUJ_l54zM47pOMBkk1c9G5TGgsL3bEhNR3KozHlom5X9uz29eB8_QBXK5HCs/s1600/Anca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8TZTakE-lb9HwS_j7h-FeKzQ6I4K9aUKymYBi5Frz0Ab4lIKv4lTqNcYW-jvtvyhEiAXAEbNQGExDYgYUJ_l54zM47pOMBkk1c9G5TGgsL3bEhNR3KozHlom5X9uz29eB8_QBXK5HCs/s200/Anca.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></span></div>
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<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-mole-a-poem-by-ananya-s-guha/">The Mole. A Poem by Ananya S Guha</a></h1>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/the-mole-a-poem-by-ananya-s-guha/" rel="bookmark" title="1:07 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-05-20T13:07:26+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 20, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="post-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"> </span></span> </div>
</header><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>I hate to say it</b><br />
<b>
but the mole on my nose</b><br />
<b>
is only an architecture of disdain</b><br />
<b>
pure contempt for Grecian looks</b><br />
<b>
and ultra</b><br />
<b>
violets have broken into unmusical</b><br />
<b>
songs, I have a hand for blasphemy</b><br />
<b>
for those in exile ( in oblivion)</b><br />
<b>
but the mole gives intrepid warmth</b><br />
<b>
to a less than humane heart</b><br />
<b>
a heart that mocks at love</b><br />
<b>
and sees in body lust</b><br />
<b>
philanderer of hope, testimony</b><br />
<b>
coming back to the mole, the nose itches</b><br />
<b>
in radical protest against human faces</b><br />
<b>
of dignity.revolt then, you reprobates</b><br />
<b>
crush the sinner’s dying plea of resurrection.</b><br />
<b>
the mole looks blacker, wilder and the body</b><br />
<b>
warms.</b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuJaoGEsWqOmhapb_M8goBq4JIraaiYYsjJ27eAY6SU5tlaUAVec4QU4IO4BVnfG2eYXryKgzU5hSEapYQOXIzmOygjYr-Xkx0I2SV-lNEvJp6UnBBU0iSrFERtFbAannSEQSNz5KBGg/s1600/AnanyaSGuha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuJaoGEsWqOmhapb_M8goBq4JIraaiYYsjJ27eAY6SU5tlaUAVec4QU4IO4BVnfG2eYXryKgzU5hSEapYQOXIzmOygjYr-Xkx0I2SV-lNEvJp6UnBBU0iSrFERtFbAannSEQSNz5KBGg/s1600/AnanyaSGuha.jpg" /></a></div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
Japanese Spirit. A Poem by Tatjana Debeljački</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/japanese-spirit-a-poem-by-tatjana-debeljacki/" rel="bookmark" title="7:45 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-05-19T19:45:31+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 19, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"> </span></span> </div>
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Forest Spirit is the master of woods and beasts, the shepherd whose stock
consists of deer, roes and rabbits, which are looked after by wolves or lynxes.</blockquote>
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<pre style="padding-left: 30px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/japanese-spirit-a-poem-by-tatjana-debeljacki/"><b> </b></a><span style="color: #45818e;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/japanese-spirit-a-poem-by-tatjana-debeljacki/"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"><b><i>Read Full poem at Poetry Life & Times</i></b></span></span> </a></span></pre>
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MARQUEE MOTIF. <br />A Poem by Mathew Scott Harris</h1>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/marquee-motif-a-poem-by-mathew-scott-harris/" rel="bookmark" title="11:32 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-05-26T11:32:28+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 26, 2016</time></a></span> (on Motherbird) <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Neon lights broadcast sold out show of one Matthew Scott<br /> expert stage craft presents quotidian shows without sound<br /> sole audience forcibly revisits this biography performance<br /> private owner lifetime supply of entire stock season tickets<br /> (to one smash box office hit after another improvisational)<br /> lightning speed mime hologram flashes life capsule oeuvre<br /> corpus trials and tribulations indelibly recorded upon spool<br /> sibilant auditory oohs and aahs from vindictive ultimatums <br /><br /><a href="http://motherbird.com/marquee-motif-a-poem-by-mathew-scott-harris/">Read full poem on Motherbird</a></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> In Bed. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop. </span> </span></h2>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/in-bed-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="7:19 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-04-23T19:19:19+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">April 23, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"> </span></span> </div>
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The homestead El Caserio i Bizkerre lodged upon the wall <br />
<br />
has a large gable’s end symmetry, slightly <br />
<br />
skew whiff in the canvass that encompasses it. I wonder if <br />
she’s painted herself from within to without ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/in-bed-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Read more</a></blockquote>
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Shadow People. <br />A Poem in 3 Parts by Sara L Russell</h1>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shadow-people-a-poem-in-3-parts-by-sara-l-russell/" rel="bookmark" title="8:06 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2015-09-26T20:06:13+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">September 26, 2015</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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I<br />
<br />
There is a grey area between<br />
this world and the next.<br />
People can be foolish; they dabble in ouija, in<br />
dowsing, in automatic writing;<br />
and – wittingly or unwittingly,<br />
they may open a portal<br />
to the other side.<br />
That is how they enter.<br />
Beware of inviting them in. ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shadow-people-a-poem-in-3-parts-by-sara-l-russell/"><br /><br />Read Full Poem at Poetry Life & Times</a><b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">The video that inspired this poem: "Shadow people jinn appear at Jim Jones footage"</span></i></span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/">PRESS RELEASE. The Poetic Bond V.</a></span></b></span></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;">Willowdown Books is pleased to announce the poems<br />
<br />
A Split Second Later’s Late</span></b><i><span style="color: black;"> and</span></i><b><span style="color: black;"> The Split<i><br />
by<br />
Robin Ouzman Hislop</i><br />
<br />
have been chosen for inclusion in the international poetry anthology<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
THE POETIC BOND V</span><br />
CELEBRATING FIVE YEARS OF GLOBAL POETRY<br />
ISBN 978-1517783808</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
Publication Date 21 October 2015<br />
Available from <a href="http://www.thepoeticbond.com/">www.thepoeticbond.com</a> and across <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Poetic-Bond-V-5/dp/1517783801/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1461423314&sr=1-2&keywords=robin+ouzman">all AMAZON Channels</a></span></b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> Summary Review</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></h3>
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A
Split Second Later’s Late “Hangs brilliantly on the edge, visually
stunning, there is a breadth to the language that is very satisfying.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The
Split “A challenging piece, revealing the debates of Wu Ch Eng En and
Chuang Tze, and prompting the reader to research. The tone of
philosophical enquiry is well held giving a feeling of profound truth.” <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/"><i>Read more...</i></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Two new books out now by Gary Beck: </span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/resonance-poetry-collection-by-gary-beck/">Resonance. A Poetry Collection by Gary Beck</a></span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1"><img alt="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKqvhSsw3IoCj4rEz_v3sbvdYzqdRQL0ee6J6BbSrkU0he8pK-Kp_Nms7KlPY89E7YIw6bdHOlxIqwzFUc6C_2B-BcfjaEwXdJ7qfc5a1DIto4xSkU_8UeObooFFzt7XN7OZLZbLtFxY/s320/resonance.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Click book image to visit amazon.com to buy this book or read reviews</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b>DISPLAYS - </b><b>a collection of poetry by Gary Beck</b></a></span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><img alt="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSPbpKxmQN2FFI5x95ZIdmNncKPj6R3AI8TpTxhY8hrkTTU224M9JX2b6uejJfucx510cc1opZ7htV1Vtcn2o9Y0xy54Sviervi0jobalmyjNw79BZJSGkBJ4PT8Ht1hBM_tPfOwFlnU/s1600/Displays-cover-188x300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Unheard Arias</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b>The purple finch and house finch</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
are unappreciated</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by busy city dwellers,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
who will never take the time</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to listen for a moment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to their melodious song</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that would please receptive ears</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that are otherwise deafened</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by the city commotion. <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">RECOMMENDED READING: <br />All the Babble of the Souk <span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />by</span> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></h2>
<br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
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<i>Click book image to visit the Amazon page</i></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet <b>Robin Ouzman Hislop</b>’s first full-length collection, <b>All the Babble
of the Souk</b>, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a> of this review by poet <b>Miriam C. Jacobs</b></span></blockquote>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
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<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"> </span></h1>
<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle">PRESS RELEASE: <br />World Healing, World Peace 2016: Volume 3</span><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"> </span></h1>
<h1 class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Inner Child Press, compiled by Janet Caldwell <br />with Foreword by Keith Alan Hamilton</span><a href="http://Foreword This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is perceived by all humans.">£11.83 on amazon.com</a></span></span></h1>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0T1APvgVQsK3FOldClFsZzs6xcoZOP7y5svzqc84Oq2zAQNdVSCmGBcpeGhJOs7Gm_o8Olt3oTcsGS0xtEVfWF5IkA4M5jLhK8alyiUXQOp6HIGt8qqcRO7RKeb3S8_Ibondyx4sm3P8/s1600/worldpeacebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://Foreword This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is perceived by all humans."><img alt="Foreword This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is perceived by all humans." border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0T1APvgVQsK3FOldClFsZzs6xcoZOP7y5svzqc84Oq2zAQNdVSCmGBcpeGhJOs7Gm_o8Olt3oTcsGS0xtEVfWF5IkA4M5jLhK8alyiUXQOp6HIGt8qqcRO7RKeb3S8_Ibondyx4sm3P8/s320/worldpeacebook.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<div class="a-size-large a-spacing-none" id="title" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><b>From </b></span><span class="a-size-large" id="productTitle"><b>Foreword:</b> "This vision of world healing and peace, if such a hope is going
to come to fruition, it will take much struggle through effort in the
human process of thinking. Firstly within reflective consciousness THE
HUMAN-KIND will collectively have to change the way THE HUMAN RACE is
perceived by all humans..."</span></span></blockquote>
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<br />
<header class="entry-header">
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
Tony Martin Woods Reads with Transforming with Poetry at Inkwell Arts. Leeds, UK</h1>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/tony-martin-woods-reads-with-transforming-with-poetry-at-inkwell-arts-leeds-uk/" rel="bookmark" title="5:31 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-05-22T17:31:04+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">May 22, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span><br />
<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span> </div>
</header>
Transforming Poetry is a society of poets who read monthly at the
Inkwell Arts Center, it includes regular local poets & guest poets,
this last performance took place on the 30th of April 2016. Tony Martin
Woods is the organizer and presenter of Transforming with Poetry, he is
seen hear reading his translation Ontology from his recently published
volume of poems Journeys of the Goddesses.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/tony-martin-woods-reads-with-transforming-with-poetry-at-inkwell-arts-leeds-uk/">Read more and watch the video on artvilla.com</a></h3>
<br />
<h3>
<span style="font-size: large;">More video poets from Transforming With Poetry <br />at Inkwell Arts:</span></h3>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/owen-turner-read-with-transforming-with-poetry-at-inkwell-arts-leeds-uk/">Owen Turner </a></b></span><br />
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/mike-baynham-reads-transforming-poetry-inkwell-arts-leeds-uk/">Mike Baynham</a></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> FEATURED VIDEOS</b></span> </span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/JElAt_aFjQ0/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JElAt_aFjQ0?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">An Angel for New Orleans by Author-Poet Aberjhani</span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/WwxhD81wtqM/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WwxhD81wtqM?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Green Green Grass by Nordette Adams</span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/7y81CHb_pFA/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7y81CHb_pFA?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Promotional video for Inner Child's<br />World Healing World Peace 2014 poetry anthology - see also <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/World-Healing-Peace-2016/dp/069267845X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1464557609&sr=8-1&keywords=inner+child+world+peace">volume 3 out for 2016</a></span></span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></h1>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/DGejgKHpqaU/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DGejgKHpqaU?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Vampyre by pinkyandrexa aka Sara L. Russell</span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></h1>
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<div class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Poetry Lifetimes is edited by Sara L Russell from sources including <br />Poetry Life & Times edited by Robin Ouzman Hislop, <br />also Artvilla, Motherbird & YouTube</i></span></span></div>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i></span></span></h1>
pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-14152069473139536032016-05-29T15:04:00.000-07:002016-05-29T15:04:45.108-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2qSppWWD3MOzMF7IvAELujA0piHMzx3_W2ie07mKr7T0DtlAl5xWEal4HRNtjNKbEKG_xTuvRu5Eo8aYO5-9TEFBSqwHdoqeGFnKQXz6lQ1j0OGj2fVloazfxfdwXh7dQi30rzjQhf0/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2qSppWWD3MOzMF7IvAELujA0piHMzx3_W2ie07mKr7T0DtlAl5xWEal4HRNtjNKbEKG_xTuvRu5Eo8aYO5-9TEFBSqwHdoqeGFnKQXz6lQ1j0OGj2fVloazfxfdwXh7dQi30rzjQhf0/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of May 2016</span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxladhAgIbziVL5w7RFUDyDCBgh7LycUCMxGBz7edRe5GmAoCzZt80Ds4R2ZkEFHnLRgAFDHxeUD0LTGJ_o2bqju63vMATaiNAP5CW1RwL49tX7Qc1PTaoKHw06NyC6HRvbKdgyfCz-g/s1600/poeticbond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxladhAgIbziVL5w7RFUDyDCBgh7LycUCMxGBz7edRe5GmAoCzZt80Ds4R2ZkEFHnLRgAFDHxeUD0LTGJ_o2bqju63vMATaiNAP5CW1RwL49tX7Qc1PTaoKHw06NyC6HRvbKdgyfCz-g/s1600/poeticbond.jpg" /></a></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;"></span></b></span><span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/">PRESS RELEASE. The Poetic Bond V.</a></span></b></span></span></h2>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;">Willowdown Books is pleased to announce the poems<br />
<br />
A Split Second Later’s Late</span></b><i><span style="color: black;"> and</span></i><b><span style="color: black;"> The Split<i><br />
by<br />
Robin Ouzman Hislop</i><br />
<br />
have been chosen for inclusion in the international poetry anthology<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
THE POETIC BOND V</span><br />
CELEBRATING FIVE YEARS OF GLOBAL POETRY<br />
ISBN 978-1517783808</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
Publication Date 21 October 2015<br />
Available from <a href="http://www.thepoeticbond.com/">www.thepoeticbond.com</a> and across <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Poetic-Bond-V-5/dp/1517783801/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1461423314&sr=1-2&keywords=robin+ouzman">all AMAZON Channels</a></span></b></span></h3>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3>
<span style="font-size: small;"> Summary Review</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></h3>
</div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A Split Second Later’s Late “Hangs brilliantly on the edge, visually stunning, there is a breadth to the language that is very satisfying.”</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The Split “A challenging piece, revealing the debates of Wu Ch Eng En and Chuang Tze, and prompting the reader to research. The tone of philosophical enquiry is well held giving a feeling of profound truth.” <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/"><i>Read more...</i></a></span></span><br />
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b>DISPLAYS - </b><b>a collection of poetry by Gary Beck</b></a></span></h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><img alt="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSPbpKxmQN2FFI5x95ZIdmNncKPj6R3AI8TpTxhY8hrkTTU224M9JX2b6uejJfucx510cc1opZ7htV1Vtcn2o9Y0xy54Sviervi0jobalmyjNw79BZJSGkBJ4PT8Ht1hBM_tPfOwFlnU/s1600/Displays-cover-188x300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Unheard Arias</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b>The purple finch and house finch</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
are unappreciated</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by busy city dwellers,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
who will never take the time</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to listen for a moment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to their melodious song</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that would please receptive ears</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
that are otherwise deafened</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by the city commotion. <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3>
Also out now by Gary Beck: </h3>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/resonance-poetry-collection-by-gary-beck/">Resonance. A Poetry Collection by Gary Beck</a></span></h2>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1"><img alt="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKqvhSsw3IoCj4rEz_v3sbvdYzqdRQL0ee6J6BbSrkU0he8pK-Kp_Nms7KlPY89E7YIw6bdHOlxIqwzFUc6C_2B-BcfjaEwXdJ7qfc5a1DIto4xSkU_8UeObooFFzt7XN7OZLZbLtFxY/s320/resonance.jpg" width="240" /><span id="goog_1434950694"></span></a><span id="goog_1434950695"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Click book image to visit amazon.com to buy this book or read reviews</i></div>
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<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
<span style="font-size: large;">Shine on Me. A Poem by Judy Moscowitz.</span></h1>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglXL4p1utedIftYFwi6DqSHOFPsXobhI3zU82feh9okbQ0_whguYsULoWQ0UBgVCLFGGZ-Wre6hi5JnEhnrEOnBMBGKO-steN_VVgZ8EbbOOOGezMxvu-7PfLBiChuODpIJA7FukU929w/s1600/judymoscowitz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglXL4p1utedIftYFwi6DqSHOFPsXobhI3zU82feh9okbQ0_whguYsULoWQ0UBgVCLFGGZ-Wre6hi5JnEhnrEOnBMBGKO-steN_VVgZ8EbbOOOGezMxvu-7PfLBiChuODpIJA7FukU929w/s320/judymoscowitz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</h1>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: left;">
I’m a reactionary woman<br />
Wearing it in my jiggle<br />
Hidden in the cleavage of my past<br />
Misunderstood flow<br />
Not recognized as 925 Sterling<br />
If you’d shine on me just a little… <b><i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shine-on-me-a-poem-by-judy-moscowitz/">Read more</a></i></b></div>
</blockquote>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVGjXnAs-YgJmUrmd9WQkIRZsRUHAjXRBqWTTX7tcSCVgvXINyxtFDIqwjb5PV-XBsj5ryksam4Ykn95AVABCTu2Rf6sIj9KFcLJMyzOoNN11LpendAJAeYtPIN7iILJ8bpFp5sB_FP8/s1600/saratwitterpic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBVGjXnAs-YgJmUrmd9WQkIRZsRUHAjXRBqWTTX7tcSCVgvXINyxtFDIqwjb5PV-XBsj5ryksam4Ykn95AVABCTu2Rf6sIj9KFcLJMyzOoNN11LpendAJAeYtPIN7iILJ8bpFp5sB_FP8/s200/saratwitterpic1.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Creator Song by Sara L Russell </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">via Hello Poetry </span></span></h2>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div class="poem-part poem-title l" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a class="nocolor" href="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1444400/creator-song/">Creator Song</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Sara L Russell, 27th Oct 2015, 00:50am</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I send you out into the world my dear ones.<br />Here is light and shade; and I see that it is good.<br /> Here are the waters of life poured forth in shimmering splendour <br />all for your delight and to nurture your thirst;<br /> behold, here is a paradise of sunlight scattering<br />diamonds of fire on the ocean,<br /> sunlight filtering through the leaves of tall palms and little olive trees<br />in splinters of dappled emerald light and shade;<br /> here are dazzling white sands and shady mangroves .<a href="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1444400/creator-song/">.. Read more</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">PRESS RELEASE – GREY SUN, DARK MOON, <br />a new collection of poetry by Trevor Maynard</span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-grey-sun-dark-moon-a-new-collection-of-poetry-by-trevor-maynard/"><img alt=" http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-grey-sun-dark-moon-a-new-collection-of-poetry-by-trevor-maynard/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIP8Jg4h01vLLunOveNTuMNTKiaDPP2ZfVEAs6n-s8LdHJ3zkr5bNfUJn8EQ4yphoCSp1zregLw33VOc-RF-J3JcT43BYpDSRan3zPLGTylf4eWBJ8TD2ztV8971Jc-G2zyg-C62pUEg/s1600/greysundarkmoon.jpg" /></a></div>
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<pre><span style="font-size: large;"><b>casualty of war</b></span>
<i>tumble down water of the weir</i>
<i>rushing to my ear, sixty-three years</i>
<i>and fourteen days is enough for a life </i>
<i> every night, there is salt on my lips</i>
<i> vomit in the sand, blood splattering in the loam</i>
<i> bullets strafing, mortars, grenades, noise... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-grey-sun-dark-moon-a-new-collection-of-poetry-by-trevor-maynard/"><b>Read more</b></a></i></pre>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In Bed. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop. </span></h2>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/in-bed-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="7:19 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-04-23T19:19:19+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">April 23, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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<span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span itemprop="name"> </span></span> </div>
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The homestead El Caserio i Bizkerre lodged upon the wall <br />
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has a large gable’s end symmetry, slightly <br />
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skew whiff in the canvass that encompasses it. I wonder if <br />
she’s painted herself from within to without ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/in-bed-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Read more</a></blockquote>
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<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"> Miriam C Jacobs Reviews All the Babble of the Souk </a></span> </h2>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Posted on April 12, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet Robin Ouzman Hislop’s first full-length collection, All the Babble
of the Souk, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a></span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
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<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Game Ball. A Poem by Miriam C. Jacobs</span></h1>
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<b>Above Hukte Ajaw’s court where the air stinks<br />
of rotting flesh and rubber, darkest night of the year,<br />
the sky is potent with cold.<br />
Our astronomers fix the time of sacrifice,<br />
time for the judge’s sharp whistles, the slam<br />
as the ball, stuffed with the brains of the dead,<br />
ricochets against sloping stone.<br />
Once through the ring is all there is. ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/game-ball-a-poem-by-miriam-c-jacobs/"><i>Read more</i></a></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.lanzanos.com/v2/proyectos/contra-poesia-ante-la-represion/">"Contra". Poetry Against Repression.</a></span></h2>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/SbOoLWXdj2U/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SbOoLWXdj2U?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Contra, Against. A critical poetry anthology. Coordinadora Anti Represión. </h3>
More than 100 poets including Katy Parra Carrillo, Iván Rafael, Robin Hislop, Amparo Perez Arrospide, Siobhan Mac Mahon, Carlos Gorairis, Ana Pérez Cañamares, Tony Martin-Woods, José Daniel Espejo, Cristina Morano, Carlos Egio, Inma Luna and many other great voices committed to social justice. Please help us with the crowd funding by disseminating this post, acquiring the book online through this link or donating... <a href="http://www.lanzanos.com/v2/proyectos/contra-poesia-ante-la-represion/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Robin Marchesi reads<br /> The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">by T.S. Eliot</span></span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/T.S.Eliot_.mp3">Listen here</a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Figuring it out still. <br />A Poem by Goirick Brahmachari</span></h1>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">1.<br />
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May be, you just wanted me to see some white horses<br />
flying over the silver mountain, on that fateful night,<br />
at old hill, when the moon was heavy<br />
melting onto the yellow mustard, and those apple trees<br />
tasted white like corpse.<br />
May be, you wanted me to accompany you to the seas<br />
for us, to get drowned, in sand, in liquids. ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/figuring-it-out-still-a-poem-by-goirick-brahmachari/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Humpback Nickerbroker.<br />A Poem by Saira Viola</span></h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/humpback-nickerbroker-a-poem-by-saira-viola/" rel="bookmark" title="11:09 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-04-11T23:09:40+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">April 11, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<b>Slurping on oysters<br />
Rat King grinned<br />
‘The best time to invest – when there’s blood flowing in the streets.’<br />
His face lit like up like a Roman candle<br />
His heart tasted like cherry flava kerosene<br />
Money spawn fisting the kitties<br />
Jim slim tight wads<br />
Bruising the night<br />
With mechanical jizz<br />
Get up offa the couch<br />
And spunk your soul<br />
With the seed of sedition<br />
Or let your tears fold away the dawn<br />
With fuck me now resignation.</b><br />
<b> </b>Saira Viola ia a best selling crime writer , satirist, song
lyricist and creator of innovative lit technique sonic scatterscript.
Her work is infused with undercurrents of politics, pop philosophy and
black comedy<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://gonzotoday.com/author/saira-viola/">http://gonzotoday.com/author/saira-viola/</a></b><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Break-up Poem: The Recovery Edition by Nordette Adams</span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Queen of the Selfie: light-hearted chav poem/monologue by Sara L Russell</span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">John Cooper Clarke: "TWAT" (on After Dark, 1982)</span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">CREDITS</span></span></h1>
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This issue of Poetry Lifetimes was brought to you by Sara L Russell, Editor, and Robin Ouzman Hislop, editor of our sister publication Poetry Life & Times; also poetry from <br />
Hello Poetry and Motherbird.<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-37064318729812508562016-05-01T10:24:00.005-07:002016-05-01T12:44:04.569-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2qSppWWD3MOzMF7IvAELujA0piHMzx3_W2ie07mKr7T0DtlAl5xWEal4HRNtjNKbEKG_xTuvRu5Eo8aYO5-9TEFBSqwHdoqeGFnKQXz6lQ1j0OGj2fVloazfxfdwXh7dQi30rzjQhf0/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2qSppWWD3MOzMF7IvAELujA0piHMzx3_W2ie07mKr7T0DtlAl5xWEal4HRNtjNKbEKG_xTuvRu5Eo8aYO5-9TEFBSqwHdoqeGFnKQXz6lQ1j0OGj2fVloazfxfdwXh7dQi30rzjQhf0/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of May 2016</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">
<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;"></span></b></span><span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/">PRESS RELEASE. The Poetic Bond V.</a></span></b></span></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><b><span style="color: black;">Willowdown Books is pleased to announce the poems<br />
<br />
A Split Second Later’s Late</span></b><i><span style="color: black;"> and</span></i><b><span style="color: black;"> The Split<i><br />
by<br />
Robin Ouzman Hislop</i><br />
<br />
have been chosen for inclusion in the international poetry anthology<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
THE POETIC BOND V</span><br />
CELEBRATING FIVE YEARS OF GLOBAL POETRY<br />
ISBN 978-1517783808</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><br />
Publication Date 21 October 2015<br />
Available from <a href="http://www.thepoeticbond.com/">www.thepoeticbond.com</a> and across <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Poetic-Bond-V-5/dp/1517783801/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1461423314&sr=1-2&keywords=robin+ouzman">all AMAZON Channels</a></span></b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> Summary Review</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A Split Second Later’s Late “Hangs brilliantly on the edge, visually stunning, there is a breadth to the language that is very satisfying.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">The Split “A challenging piece, revealing the debates of Wu Ch Eng En and Chuang Tze, and prompting the reader to research. The tone of philosophical enquiry is well held giving a feeling of profound truth.” <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-the-poetic-bond-v/"><i>Read more...</i></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b>DISPLAYS - </b><b>a collection of poetry by Gary Beck</b></a></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Unheard Arias</b></span><br />
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</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>
</b>The purple finch and house finch</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
are unappreciated</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by busy city dwellers,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
who will never take the time</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to listen for a moment</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
to their melodious song</span><br />
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that would please receptive ears</span><br />
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that are otherwise deafened</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">
by the city commotion. <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/displays-a-collection-of-poetry-by-gary-beck-for-immediate-release/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></span></blockquote>
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Also out now by Gary Beck: </h3>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/resonance-poetry-collection-by-gary-beck/">Resonance. A Poetry Collection by Gary Beck</a></span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1"><img alt="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Resonance-Poetry-Collection-Gary-Beck-ebook/dp/B01C4OXDTO?ie=UTF8&keywords=resonance%20by%20gary%20beck&qid=1462124203&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKqvhSsw3IoCj4rEz_v3sbvdYzqdRQL0ee6J6BbSrkU0he8pK-Kp_Nms7KlPY89E7YIw6bdHOlxIqwzFUc6C_2B-BcfjaEwXdJ7qfc5a1DIto4xSkU_8UeObooFFzt7XN7OZLZbLtFxY/s320/resonance.jpg" width="240" /><span id="goog_1434950694"></span></a><span id="goog_1434950695"></span></div>
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<i>Click book image to visit amazon.com to buy this book or read reviews</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Shine on Me. A Poem by Judy Moscowitz.</span></h1>
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I’m a reactionary woman<br />
Wearing it in my jiggle<br />
Hidden in the cleavage of my past<br />
Misunderstood flow<br />
Not recognized as 925 Sterling<br />
If you’d shine on me just a little… <b><i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/shine-on-me-a-poem-by-judy-moscowitz/">Read more</a></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Creator Song by Sara L Russell </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">via Hello Poetry </span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a class="nocolor" href="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1444400/creator-song/">Creator Song</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Sara L Russell, 27th Oct 2015, 00:50am</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I send you out into the world my dear ones.<br />Here is light and shade; and I see that it is good.<br /> Here are the waters of life poured forth in shimmering splendour <br />all for your delight and to nurture your thirst;<br /> behold, here is a paradise of sunlight scattering<br />diamonds of fire on the ocean,<br /> sunlight filtering through the leaves of tall palms and little olive trees<br />in splinters of dappled emerald light and shade;<br /> here are dazzling white sands and shady mangroves .<a href="http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1444400/creator-song/">.. Read more</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">PRESS RELEASE – GREY SUN, DARK MOON, <br />a new collection of poetry by Trevor Maynard</span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-grey-sun-dark-moon-a-new-collection-of-poetry-by-trevor-maynard/"><img alt=" http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-grey-sun-dark-moon-a-new-collection-of-poetry-by-trevor-maynard/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIP8Jg4h01vLLunOveNTuMNTKiaDPP2ZfVEAs6n-s8LdHJ3zkr5bNfUJn8EQ4yphoCSp1zregLw33VOc-RF-J3JcT43BYpDSRan3zPLGTylf4eWBJ8TD2ztV8971Jc-G2zyg-C62pUEg/s1600/greysundarkmoon.jpg" /></a></div>
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<pre><span style="font-size: large;"><b>casualty of war</b></span>
<i>tumble down water of the weir</i>
<i>rushing to my ear, sixty-three years</i>
<i>and fourteen days is enough for a life </i>
<i> every night, there is salt on my lips</i>
<i> vomit in the sand, blood splattering in the loam</i>
<i> bullets strafing, mortars, grenades, noise... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/press-release-grey-sun-dark-moon-a-new-collection-of-poetry-by-trevor-maynard/"><b>Read more</b></a></i></pre>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> In Bed. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop. </span></h2>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/in-bed-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="7:19 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-04-23T19:19:19+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">April 23, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></div>
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The homestead El Caserio i Bizkerre lodged upon the wall <br />
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has a large gable’s end symmetry, slightly <br />
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skew whiff in the canvass that encompasses it. I wonder if <br />
she’s painted herself from within to without ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/in-bed-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Read more</a></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"> Miriam C Jacobs Reviews All the Babble of the Souk </a></span> </h2>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Posted on April 12, 2016 by Robin Ouzman Hislop</b></span><br />
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<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Poet Robin Ouzman Hislop’s first full-length collection, All the Babble
of the Souk, is appropriately titled. With a remarkably consistent ear
for the market’s noise, for “[t]he broken lights of the bazaar/spangled]
with glistening promise/in the eyes of the dusky beggar …” (Laminations
in Lacquer ) Hislop’s poems, many of them cinematic-style montages of
sounds and images, show us the metaphoric souk of the world, on the
beach or in the street, its glitter, its sadness, its ragtag glory:</span></span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“pets, flower pots framed captive in a moment </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">outside the house of the painter, a robot</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">in chains with an alms bowl” </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: small;">(“Departures”) ...<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/miriam-c-jacobs-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/"><i><b>Read more</b></i></a></span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman"><img alt="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Babble-Souk-Robin-Ouzman-Hislop/dp/1329636953/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1462063942&sr=8-1&keywords=all+the+babble+of+the+souk+robin+ouzman" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC9jJGKavT94aAV6-X7YI5TpmsnN6ZJynfrvyracvnzxj3asxabrobRkxpcPEU6RjAJOsY-cBvgcpQlo4NfwUQnYKssukUb5KPKmSGfofDkwGalqLwgWYgcZ8w_SmPxGO12g3EczHin0A/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /> </a></div>
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<b>More Reviews for this book:</b><i><b> </b></i></h2>
<h3>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"><b> Aquillrelle. Press Release. All the Babble of the Souk</b></a><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/aquillrelle-press-release-robin-ouzman-hislop-collected-poems/"> </a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/richard-vallance-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Richard Vallance Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/reviewed-by-marie-marshall-robin-ouzman-hislops-2015-all-the-babble-of-the-souk/">Reviewed by Marie Marshall All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/richard-lloyd-cederberg-reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk">Richard Lloyd Cederberg Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a> </b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Adam Levon Brown Reviews All the Babble of the Souk</a></b></h3>
<h3>
<b><a href="http://motherbird.com/reviews-all-the-babble-of-the-souk-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Further comments and reviews on Motherbird</a></b></h3>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Game Ball. A Poem by Miriam C. Jacobs</span></h1>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSZtGMHOMsYK4DgpwV_nT_D0SVPinJ5ve1FNR6p05x_vBh7MTpAacxwZCOs24y-bcseyLcgluJPTjCxkMk40RU__umgnq7N4Z_uRfwF2JkQ4iyCS7KvL9CWlDUT5z93UtvOyZ4C27RzA/s1600/miriamcjacobs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSZtGMHOMsYK4DgpwV_nT_D0SVPinJ5ve1FNR6p05x_vBh7MTpAacxwZCOs24y-bcseyLcgluJPTjCxkMk40RU__umgnq7N4Z_uRfwF2JkQ4iyCS7KvL9CWlDUT5z93UtvOyZ4C27RzA/s1600/miriamcjacobs.jpg" /></a><br />
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<b>Above Hukte Ajaw’s court where the air stinks<br />
of rotting flesh and rubber, darkest night of the year,<br />
the sky is potent with cold.<br />
Our astronomers fix the time of sacrifice,<br />
time for the judge’s sharp whistles, the slam<br />
as the ball, stuffed with the brains of the dead,<br />
ricochets against sloping stone.<br />
Once through the ring is all there is. ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/game-ball-a-poem-by-miriam-c-jacobs/"><i>Read more</i></a></b></div>
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<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.lanzanos.com/v2/proyectos/contra-poesia-ante-la-represion/">"Contra". Poetry Against Repression.</a></span></h2>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/SbOoLWXdj2U/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SbOoLWXdj2U?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Contra, Against. A critical poetry anthology. Coordinadora Anti Represión. </h3>
More than 100 poets including Katy Parra Carrillo, Iván Rafael, Robin Hislop, Amparo Perez Arrospide, Siobhan Mac Mahon, Carlos Gorairis, Ana Pérez Cañamares, Tony Martin-Woods, José Daniel Espejo, Cristina Morano, Carlos Egio, Inma Luna and many other great voices committed to social justice. Please help us with the crowd funding by disseminating this post, acquiring the book online through this link or donating... <a href="http://www.lanzanos.com/v2/proyectos/contra-poesia-ante-la-represion/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Robin Marchesi reads<br /> The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">by T.S. Eliot</span></span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/T.S.Eliot_.mp3">Listen here</a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Figuring it out still. <br />A Poem by Goirick Brahmachari</span></h1>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">1.<br />
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May be, you just wanted me to see some white horses<br />
flying over the silver mountain, on that fateful night,<br />
at old hill, when the moon was heavy<br />
melting onto the yellow mustard, and those apple trees<br />
tasted white like corpse.<br />
May be, you wanted me to accompany you to the seas<br />
for us, to get drowned, in sand, in liquids. ... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/figuring-it-out-still-a-poem-by-goirick-brahmachari/"><b><i>Read more</i></b></a></span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Humpback Nickerbroker.<br />A Poem by Saira Viola</span></h1>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/humpback-nickerbroker-a-poem-by-saira-viola/" rel="bookmark" title="11:09 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-04-11T23:09:40+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">April 11, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<b>Slurping on oysters<br />
Rat King grinned<br />
‘The best time to invest – when there’s blood flowing in the streets.’<br />
His face lit like up like a Roman candle<br />
His heart tasted like cherry flava kerosene<br />
Money spawn fisting the kitties<br />
Jim slim tight wads<br />
Bruising the night<br />
With mechanical jizz<br />
Get up offa the couch<br />
And spunk your soul<br />
With the seed of sedition<br />
Or let your tears fold away the dawn<br />
With fuck me now resignation.</b><br />
<b> </b>Saira Viola ia a best selling crime writer , satirist, song
lyricist and creator of innovative lit technique sonic scatterscript.
Her work is infused with undercurrents of politics, pop philosophy and
black comedy<br />
<br />
<b><a href="http://gonzotoday.com/author/saira-viola/">http://gonzotoday.com/author/saira-viola/</a></b><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b> FEATURED VIDEOS</b></span> </span></span></h1>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/0Jpfe4Z1btk/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/0Jpfe4Z1btk?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /> Angel of Peace by Author-Poet Aberjhani</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Break-up Poem: The Recovery Edition by Nordette Adams</span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">Queen of the Selfie: light-hearted chav poem/monologue by Sara L Russell</span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">John Cooper Clarke: "TWAT" (on After Dark, 1982)</span></span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">CREDITS</span></span></h1>
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This issue of Poetry Lifetimes was brought to you by Sara L Russell, Editor, and Robin Ouzman Hislop, editor of our sister publication Poetry Life & Times; also poetry from <br />
Hello Poetry and Motherbird.<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-6918706277746948322016-03-31T16:20:00.000-07:002016-04-07T12:06:32.257-07:00<h1 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
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<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of April 2016</span></h3>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/transforming-with-hamza-lakhal-inkwell-arts-leeds-uk/" target="_blank">Transforming with Hamza Lakhal. Inkwell Arts. Leeds. UK.</a></span></b></span></h2>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Editor’s Intro: we spend an evening with Transforming Poetry at
the Inkwell Arts Centre. Leeds. Uk. It is introduced by Tony Martin
Woods, a Spanish born poet, who teaches Spanish studies at Leeds
University and... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/transforming-with-hamza-lakhal-inkwell-arts-leeds-uk/" target="_blank"><i>read more</i></a></b></span></h4>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/stain-poetry-reading-series/" target="_blank"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Stain of Poetry Reading Series</span></span></a><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i> </i></b></span></h2>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The<i> Stain of Poetry Reading series</i> presented here at Artvilla.com Poetry Videos were encountered through the Poetry Video works of Amy King, who was curator of... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/stain-poetry-reading-series/" target="_blank"><i>read more</i></a><i> </i></span></b></span></span></b></div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/review-phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes/" target="_blank">Review Phoenix Rising from the Ashes</a></h2>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/review-phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes/" rel="bookmark" title="12:22 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-02-20T12:22:28+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 20, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
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<b> </b><br />
<b>An appeal to poetry critics to review The Phoenix Rising from the Ashes: Anthology of Sonnets of the Early Third Millennium<br />
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</b>Since its publication in November 2013, The Phoenix Rising from the
Ashes: Anthology of Sonnets of the Early Third Millennium, has generally
been met with positive reviews from purchasers and poetry reviewers. As
editor of the anthology, I for one freely admit that several authors
display considerable talent, while some, I believe, are exceptional
sonneteers who have penned poems, which may one day be viewed as
masterpieces of the genre. <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/review-phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes/" target="_blank"><i>Read more</i></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/POEM-TREES-PURPLE-K-O-K-O-NUT-ebook/dp/B007REJ27E/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><b>Poem Trees and The Purple K.O-K.O Nut - available on amazon.com now...</b></a></span></h2>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><b><i>"In this first time published book, Sheri shares and bares her soul,
writing about her dreams, family, love, despair, cheaters, marriage,
lost hope, hope, sex, faith, honesty, humor, and life in general. Most
of this poetry was created through her sense of deep rooted pains. She
falls in and out of love with an old flame from 26 years ago. Her
"soul mate" and "best friend" is currently married and she goes
through "struggles" as noted in her poetry." </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/POEM-TREES-PURPLE-K-O-K-O-NUT-ebook/dp/B007REJ27E/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/POEM-TREES-PURPLE-K-O-K-O-NUT-ebook/dp/B007REJ27E/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhBju0J5HsZjxMSgDVqfbr9F8CAGwXDfRCIdSMl8StsGp3lF6OclgeJtFfRVxKDgHtqf6F4pTwt2UsUbIotkBmwAZ2U8awoqBKvmyugodhsNgatME57zdwlRDUQPhKOVq8JKd3Ty8vpg/s320/a3.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></b></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></b></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14752100.Robin_Ouzman_Hislop" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Robin Ouzman Hislop - All the Babble of the Souk on goodreads.com</span></a><i><br /></i></span></b></span></span></b></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14752100.Robin_Ouzman_Hislop" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14752100.Robin_Ouzman_Hislop" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnD2KfgKQROzakaxA9Vi-TL9GwVn7-dk-5Lz7vbEKsYVKQEO146a4P09SrSrH4b9bOUGUp8KE3G0akzc5PIXebgoFbLJP87qTYocAgaFh4nF81xQX6Jvs4yJJyHi2Zq2KoBXRO98JQo3U/s320/a4.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/adam-levon-brown-review/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Adam Levon Brown </b></span></b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b></b>reviews </span><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b><br />All the Babble of the Souk </b></span></b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b></b>by</span></span></a><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/adam-levon-brown-review/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"> Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></span></span></b></h2>
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I had the great pleasure of reviewing “All the Babble of the Souk” by a very experienced and talented poet, Robin Ouzman Hislop.<br />
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The book is split into the two parts, The first part is “All the Babble and the Souk 1” and is very short in comparison to the second part, “All the Babble and the Souk 2”. <i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/adam-levon-brown-review/">Read more</a></i> <br />
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<b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></b></span></span></b><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></b></span></span></b></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/i-sing-a-streetcar-serendipity-a-poem-by-marie-marshall/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">I sing a streetcar serendipity. A Poem by Marie Marshall</span></a></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/i-sing-a-streetcar-serendipity-a-poem-by-marie-marshall/" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/i-sing-a-streetcar-serendipity-a-poem-by-marie-marshall/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdUfLOtfcZvYfFvk6gtz9A8afqJGaWYBEMJXW0HF-SdxdU7f_oOYPT9FGLZ-3QQ70kkXiqQNlK8j56aW_SHG0ix2GnHsH4C1IWkHGoHou8kKbm6sD1s0zhhugwdoD-H1uUKGfmpne-hXo/s1600/a5.jpg" /></a></div>
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I sing a streetcar serendipity,<br />
pralines and beignets, king cakes and pears,<br />
a chicken pot pie from The Pie Lady,<br />
mango, banana, Mr. Okra’s wares.<br />
I sing of the sweet Sweet Street Symphony,<br />
of improvised signage by Dr. Bob... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/i-sing-a-streetcar-serendipity-a-poem-by-marie-marshall/" target="_blank"><i>Read more</i></a><b><br /></b></blockquote>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/french-poet-flies-continental-a-poem-by-r-w-haynes/" target="_blank">French Poet Flies Continental. A Poem by R.W. Haynes</a></span></h2>
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Of course the body wants to stay alive<br />
And generate survivors unto the end of days,<br />
Mused Baudelaire, his bladder somewhat awry,<br />
Yet this old testament will not suffice... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/french-poet-flies-continental-a-poem-by-r-w-haynes/" target="_blank"><i>Read more</i></a> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/silent-obscurity-a-poem-by-adam-levon-brown/" target="_blank">Silent Obscurity. A Poem by Adam Levon Brown</a></span></span></h2>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/silent-obscurity-a-poem-by-adam-levon-brown/" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/silent-obscurity-a-poem-by-adam-levon-brown/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWgvAn6XKxi3dxjvkr-nSStuuro2eKkLfExU2kkFiqb3AThue_7Yi5Ub9mbXTc0AGziQeAZPXM6UPjYWmG2vJhS7UX8RSn1BSkfhf-kUXO4kouwKyIxl2uLXeYEnYN8LJhnlEhaWPkQ4/s1600/a8.jpg" /></a></div>
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I feel like I’m fading; into silent obscurity.<br />
Shadows play tricks on the wall... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/silent-obscurity-a-poem-by-adam-levon-brown/" target="_blank"><i>Read more</i></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/solaris-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" target="_blank">Solaris. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop</a></span></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8vhm95BbLxpPIoNvAY4HT6-jFtvYcCQkZsuiUr-etZ7IKcNWSqvc8sQ2eQxTkzD_QUbCpwWKoxa6BYTSkrPaIMz7oVQILRi0VK3maABwOZm27xhri-BzW_YkK2MCMTVLQIBPBWdalLI/s1600/a9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim8vhm95BbLxpPIoNvAY4HT6-jFtvYcCQkZsuiUr-etZ7IKcNWSqvc8sQ2eQxTkzD_QUbCpwWKoxa6BYTSkrPaIMz7oVQILRi0VK3maABwOZm27xhri-BzW_YkK2MCMTVLQIBPBWdalLI/s1600/a9.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/end-of-world-blues-a-poem-by-akpa-arinzechukwu/" rel="bookmark" title="9:51 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-03-12T21:51:38+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 12, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<pre><b>I'm out of the Station</b>
<b>out of the shuttle</b>
<b>perched on this moving </b>
<b>crumbling Mimoid </b>
<b>in its shimmering ocean</b>
<b> disintegrating</b>
<b>like an ancient city in ruins</b>
<b> like a Pompeii in lava.</b></pre>
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<i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/solaris-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/">Read more</a></i> </blockquote>
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<a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/">Tribute to the late E. Darcy Trie by Wanda Brayton</a></h1>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/" rel="bookmark" title="2:13 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-02-09T14:13:52+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 9, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/"><img alt="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipAouhvZ9eIXtNoFROowNzxVPCUShn9jXS_DBxpScVUzCSEm6Q9EEqSGBm30OCroEVmsBW1Ubw1SA4nC8ubsfA4wn-8e72d6siS9rXYXGHLO7iKZpqBWMUlI7P0oIavSvWqXU4LhzoLuw/s1600/a10.jpg" /><span id="goog_1901594896"></span></a><span id="goog_1901594897"></span></div>
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Darcy Trie was one of my first readers on the poetry site where we met over eleven years ago. Her unique talent was so obvious, it was intimidating. Her insights were keen, intelligent, witty and bright with creative energy... <a href="http://motherbird.com/tribute-to-the-late-darcy-trie-by-wanda-brayton/"><i>Read more</i></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/irrelative-a-poem-by-miriam-c-jacobs/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"> Irrelative. A Poem by Miriam C. Jacobs</span></a></h2>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/irrelative-a-poem-by-miriam-c-jacobs/" rel="bookmark" title="12:32 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-03-15T12:32:43+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 15, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
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<i>*For Ed Hall</i><br />
Wash hands of him, rip collar, <br />
<b><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">band one arm in black.</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">Every year say kaddish, and press </span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">a stone into the ground... <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/irrelative-a-poem-by-miriam-c-jacobs/" target="_blank"><i>Read more</i></a></span></b></blockquote>
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<header class="entry-header"><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/end-of-world-blues-a-poem-by-akpa-arinzechukwu/" target="_blank">
</a><h2 class="entry-title post-title" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/end-of-world-blues-a-poem-by-akpa-arinzechukwu/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">End of World Blues. A Poem by Akpa Arinzechukwu</span></a></h2>
<blockquote>
<div class="post-meta">
<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/end-of-world-blues-a-poem-by-akpa-arinzechukwu/" rel="bookmark" title="9:51 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-03-12T21:51:38+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 12, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
<b> </b><br />
<b>
</b>The world is aging<br />
Soon perchance<br />
It shall forget how to dance to the rhythm<br />
Of this song... <i><a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/end-of-world-blues-a-poem-by-akpa-arinzechukwu/" target="_blank">Read more</a></i><b><br /></b></blockquote>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">FEATURED VIDEOS </span><i><br /></i></span></b></h2>
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></b></h2>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://motherbird.com/let-try-poem-gertrude-stein-read-maria-salgado/" target="_blank">Let Her Try. A Poem by Gertrude Stein Read by Maria Salgado.</a></span></h2>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/let-try-poem-gertrude-stein-read-maria-salgado/" rel="bookmark" title="10:44 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-03-13T10:44:44+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 13, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<b>Maria Salgado is a contemorary Spanish poet, here she reads her translation with explanation of Gertrude Stein’s famous poem<i> Let Her Try</i>, first in English then in Spanish to a very appreciative & enthusiastic audience.</b><br />
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<b>(from <a href="http://motherbird.com/let-try-poem-gertrude-stein-read-maria-salgado/">motherbird.com</a> or watch video link directly from YouTube below)</b><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i> </i></b></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/ki6km45iDww/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ki6km45iDww?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://motherbird.com/peril-keep-a-video-poem-by-candice-james/">Peril Keep. A Video Poem by Candice James</a></span></h2>
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<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/peril-keep-a-video-poem-by-candice-james/" rel="bookmark" title="8:28 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-03-18T08:28:46+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 18, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
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Published on 15 Mar 2016This is a pirate story told in rhyme, with slide show and music Peril
Keep is written by Candice James, Poet Laureate, New Westminster, BC
CANADA<br />
<br />
<b> (from <a href="http://motherbird.com/peril-keep-a-video-poem-by-candice-james/">motherbird.com</a> or watch video link directly from YouTube below)</b><br />
<b> </b> <br />
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<h2 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://motherbird.com/green-party-show-poetry-reading-amy-king-ana-bozicevic/">Green Party Show Poetry Reading Amy King & Ana Božičević</a></span></h2>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-03-10T09:40:10+00:00" itemprop="datePublished"></time><a href="http://motherbird.com/green-party-show-poetry-reading-amy-king-ana-bozicevic/" rel="bookmark" title="9:40 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-03-10T09:40:10+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 10, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: left;">
<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span><b>On Wednesday, February 4, 2009, the Babylon Green Party
Gathering featured a reading from 2007 Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere
Amy King. Taped at the Pisces Café, Babylon, NY</b></div>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<h4 class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><b>(from <a href="http://motherbird.com/green-party-show-poetry-reading-amy-king-ana-bozicevic/">motherbird.com</a> or watch video link directly from YouTube below)</b></i></b></span></h4>
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<header class="entry-header">
<h2 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“This Opera of Peace” @ AWP Chicago – Poem by Amy King</span></h2>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/this-opera-of-peace-awp-chicago-poem-by-amy-king/" rel="bookmark" title="1:27 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-03-05T13:27:43+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">March 5, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"> </span></span></span> </div>
</header>
<b><i>Everything that happens now/ is preceded by another
now/ until they pile/ on top of what we hold in layers/ that hide how
falsely we/ perceive the landscape to be</i></b><br />
<h4 class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><b> (from <a href="http://motherbird.com/this-opera-of-peace-awp-chicago-poem-by-amy-king/">motherbird.com</a> or watch video link directly from YouTube below)</b></i></b></span></h4>
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<h2 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Every Piece of Flesh. A Video Poem by Nicholas Hallows</span></h2>
<div class="entry-meta" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/every-piece-of-flesh-a-video-poem-by-nicholas-hallows/" rel="bookmark" title="9:55 am"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2016-02-28T09:55:30+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">February 28, 2016</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span> </div>
</header><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“</span><b>For every piece of flesh you buy, you’re paying to breed the next to die” </b><br />
<div class="entry-title" itemprop="headline" style="text-align: center;">
<b></b><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><b>(from <a href="http://motherbird.com/every-piece-of-flesh-a-video-poem-by-nicholas-hallows/">motherbird.com</a> or watch video link directly from YouTube below)</b></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><b><br /></b></i></b></span></div>
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<h1 class="entry-title" itemprop="headline">
Everything was Alive and Dying. A Video Poem by Janet Kuypers</h1>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span class="posted-on"><a href="http://motherbird.com/everything-was-alive-and-dying-a-video-poem-by-janet-kuypers/" rel="bookmark" title="12:36 pm"><time class="entry-date published" datetime="2015-12-19T12:36:11+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">December 19, 2015</time></a></span> <span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person">by <a class="url fn n" href="http://motherbird.com/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="entry-meta">
<span class="byline"><span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><span class="author-name" itemprop="name"><b>Janet Kuypers is a professional performance artist, and is a writer, an art director, webmaster and photographer (full bio on Motherbird)</b></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><b>(from <a href="http://motherbird.com/everything-was-alive-and-dying-a-video-poem-by-janet-kuypers/">motherbird.com</a> or watch video link directly from YouTube below)</b></i></b></span><br />
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pinkyandrexahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281646977367931687noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7864604749163726977.post-52211642795123222022016-02-28T07:42:00.001-08:002016-04-01T17:20:26.163-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZ7Q6hgsliXQnCvS4QWT_OAIqHkeWgkry5b3g6pbAj1PbMci6SW0H6sA6d4eKWf7I5FLcw9Z5_N9aOTrhveKA4a5pnzmw2lOc0x9oM85wfoYr9jLaGRZUyzxeyErcMIE0NDX1NFjVF7c/s1600/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="71" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzZ7Q6hgsliXQnCvS4QWT_OAIqHkeWgkry5b3g6pbAj1PbMci6SW0H6sA6d4eKWf7I5FLcw9Z5_N9aOTrhveKA4a5pnzmw2lOc0x9oM85wfoYr9jLaGRZUyzxeyErcMIE0NDX1NFjVF7c/s400/poetrylifetimeslogo.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<h2>
<span style="color: #45818e;"> <i>Sister Publication to Poetry Life & Times</i></span></h2>
<h4>
<span style="color: #45818e;">Issue of March 2016</span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h4>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Welcome dear readers, to a new version of Poetry Lifetimes. It will be probably updated on a monthly basis, as time allows. Blogger is one of the few remaining news sharing web apps that is still free. We have come here as refugees from paper.li, as they were going to take away a lot of basic freedoms and design functionality from this journal. So I am keeping a similar format but making it one column and using small images, so it will work well on smartphones and tablets. To read on, simply click each link to go to each poem or feature opening in a new window....<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
<span style="color: #45818e;">Features from Poetry Life & Times from February 2016:</span></h3>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
<span style="color: #45818e;"> </span></h3>
<h1 class="entry-title post-title">
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<a href="http://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Darren-C.-Demaree.jpg?w=300" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Darren-C.-Demaree.jpg?w=300" /></a></div>
</h1>
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/warm-series-789-poems-by-darren-c-demaree/" target="_blank">Warm. (Series 7/8/9) Poems by Darren C. Demaree</a><br />
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<a href="http://i0.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Adam-Levon-Brown-ii.png?w=160" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i0.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Adam-Levon-Brown-ii.png?w=160" /></a></div>
<div class="entry-title post-title">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/whispering-noose-a-poem-by-adam-levon-brown/" target="_blank">Whispering Noose. A Poem by Adam Levon Brown</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/reviews-comments-on-robin-ouzman-hislops-collected-poems/" target="_blank">Reviews & Comments on Robin Ouzman Hislop's Collected Poems. All the Babble of the Souk.</a>
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<a href="https://www.artvilla.com/plt/tenochtitlan-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" target="_blank">Tenochtitlan. A Poem by Robin Ouzman Hislop.</a></h3>
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<span class="meta-prep meta-prep-author posted">Posted on </span> <a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/tenochtitlan-a-poem-by-robin-ouzman-hislop/" rel="bookmark" title="3:48 pm"><time class="timestamp updated" datetime="2016-01-30T15:48:54+00:00" itemprop="datePublished">January 30, 2016</time></a><span class="byline"> by </span> <span class="author vcard" itemprop="author" itemscope="itemscope" itemtype="http://schema.org/Person"><a class="url fn n" href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/author/robin/" itemprop="url" rel="author" title="View all posts by Robin Ouzman Hislop"><span itemprop="name">Robin Ouzman Hislop</span></a></span> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>Who is to say?<br />
<br />
O Tenochtitlan, lake city<br />
of floral rooftops, white washed walls<br />
trim green gardens, aqueducts<br />
& clean swept alleyways<br />
<br />
that you should fall<br />
<br />
to ruin<br />
to <i>colossal wreck.</i><br />
<br />
Your God’s cruel laughter<br />
ruler of havoc, chaos, destruction<br />
that final mockery<br />
you knew too well<br />
to shelter from<br />
city of magic, bathed in blood.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Who is to say?<br />
<br />
An Aeon<br />
<br />
a fated sun in its fifth heaven<br />
the prophecy must be fulfilled<br />
<br />
when they came with their plague, their lust<br />
to tread your sacred warrior<br />
blood matted hair, immersed in feculence<br />
<i>en plein air</i> of unassuaged sacrifice, into dust<br />
not a death of feathers & flowers.<br />
<br />
*<br />
<br />
Who is to say?<br />
<br />
As you tossed your hapless<br />
victim’s corpse, gouged heart devoured<br />
on the sacrificial stone slab, down<br />
the great pyramid steps to the suffering poor beneath.<br />
<br />
Your captive, who was your self<br />
whose steps you’d rehearsed, unto their final agony.<br />
<br />
Whose flesh, prohibitive for you, you must share<br />
in scattered pieces on the base maize porridge<br />
in your neighbours’ clean kept homes</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>
</b>
<br />
<ul><ol><b>but not to the wretched poor</b></ol>
<b>
</b></ul>
<b>
</b>
*<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>the phantom watchers, who must only crave for more.</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
Who is to say?</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
that you thought of tomorrow</b><br />
<b>
that it belonged to the deed</b><br />
<b>
what it was to be human.</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
Not so, your new world order conquerors</b><br />
<b>
who raised to the ground & levelled all before them</b><br />
<b>
until nothing remained.</b><br />
<b>
</b><br />
<b>
Your conquerors, who thought only of tomorrow. </b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Tenochtitlan, great lake city that for two centuries was the capital
of the Atzec empire, built by the warring Mexica tribes of the Atzec
peoples & destroyed by the Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortes in
1519.</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
<i>
Italics. Ozymandias. Percy B Shelly.</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
<i>
Italics. Inga Clendinnen. Atzecs</i></div>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
</h3>
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<a href="http://i2.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Dylan-Thomas.jpg?w=300" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i2.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/Dylan-Thomas.jpg?w=300" /></a></div>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/for-dylan-thomas-a-poem-by-scott-hastie/" rel="bookmark">For Dylan Thomas. A Poem by Scott Hastie.</a></h3>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
</h3>
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<a href="http://i2.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/24078069094_ed4289a394_o.jpg?w=285" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i2.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/24078069094_ed4289a394_o.jpg?w=285" /></a></div>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/stay-close-a-poem-by-rehan-qayoom/" target="_blank">Stay Close. A Poem by Rehan Qayoom</a></h3>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
</h3>
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<a href="http://i2.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Tatjana-Debelja%C4%8Dki.png?w=300" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i2.wp.com/www.artvilla.com/plt/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Tatjana-Debelja%C4%8Dki.png?w=300" /></a></div>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
<a href="http://www.artvilla.com/plt/to-uncaring-a-poem-by-tatjana-debeljacki/" target="_blank">To-uncaring. A Poem by Tatjana Debeljački</a></h3>
<h3 class="entry-title post-title">
</h3>
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<span style="color: #45818e;">Angel of Peace by Aberjhani</span><br />
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Queen of the Selfie by Sara L Russell </div>
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The Obsessive by Sara L Russell <br />
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<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: black;"><i>Poetry Lifetimes is edited by Sara L Russell from sources including <br />Poetry Life & Times edited by Robin Ouzman Hislop, also Artvilla & YouTube</i></span> </span></div>
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