| July 2004 | Café Society's Poetry News Update |
| July 2004 | Café Society's Poetry News Update |
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A July 17, 2002 article in the Times & Transcript, of Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada, stated:"Richard Doiron's not so much a poet as he's a force of nature. The words have come bursting out of him and for some 40 years he's been trying to keep up with the torrent and get them down on paper." Published in both English and French, Richard Doiron estimates he's written about 20,000 poems as well as prose and plays, along with perhaps as many as one thousand letters to Editors, since first being published, in 1964. In 2000, alone, along with other works, he penned 1515 sonnets. After quitting school at 14, and looking for a way to spend his days, a young Richard Doiron would go off into the nearby woods, with pencil and paper, and, with his pet dog by his side, spend hours writing down his thoughts. So started the writing, for a person who, now, has penned some 50,000 pages of materials, including a 30,000 page journal/diary, addressed to his only child, daughter Melanie Joy Doiron, since her birth, in 1982. Richard frequently describes his work in distinctly mystical terms, appropriately enough, given the spiritual themes common in his writing. "I don't understand the phenomenon. I just have to get the words out," he says. "If you're a poet, it's not a choice. You're on call every day." As for the work, "If I have to spend more than 15 or 20 minutes on something, I leave it," he says. He carries his belief in the muse one step further, adding, " When it comes, I'm just along for the ride." His first poem was published in an Ontario newspaper in 1970. He published his first book of poetry in 1978, followed by a second in 1991, and a third in 1999. On July 17th, 2002, he launched his fourth volume, My Prayer for Peace, published by Dreamcatcher Publishing of Saint John, ISBN-1-894372-18-2.
NOTE: This bio is used with kind permission from this website: http://www.geocities.com/bobhartlen/richard.htm
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I used those words as guides, and the sonnets I wrote just fell into place. It fascinated me, as the words were used in the order given, one per line, the first twelve lines. Doing this, I wrote sonnets/poems for people from all continents. Some of these people I am still in contact with. But I was writing at such a pace, I could not keep the correspondence up with most. Then things led to other things, or people, such as Richard Vallance. When you meet people with that kind of dedication, it makes you take notice. Had I not had internet access, I should have missed out on meeting such people, then, so this is a blessing. And I am very often in receipt of mail from people who have come across my name online, so this, again, is another wonder....
Poetry L & T: How and why did you first start writing poetry, Richard?
Richard: Asking a poet why he started writing poetry, it seems to me, would rather be like asking a cloud why it pours rain. I am not a reader, never studied literature much, but I always seemed able to write. I think it fair to say I needed to write for expression of self. Poetry, the forms, seemed to naturally evolve. I write spontaneously. It has been like that, now, for at least forty years.
Poetry L & T: Who are your favourite poets?
Richard:
I have not read a whole lot of poets. Reading for me is not easy. However, I remember reading Sarah Teasdale, a romanctic poet, as a boy, and thinking she was a good writer. I have a copy of Gibran's "The Prophet," which I think is special. In Canada, we had the "Bard of the Yukon," Robert W. Service, and I did read his poems. He wrote tales, and he seemed to write for the people. I think this was good. I like to think that I reach people also. To say I have favourite poets would almost seem to imply that I have read poets and understood them. I don't know that this would apply. If I read something, for example, Desiderata, or Footprints, and I like it, that means something.
Poetry L & T: Your most recent book of poems is "Prayer For Peace", published in 2002. Which conflict most inspired the title (and poems) of this book? Or was it inspired by a more general sense of world malaise?
Richard: What was promoted was 9/11, and this was erroneous, as I had already written that particular poem. I think "My prayer for peace" is written every day by someone who strives toward peace. I just happened to have that poem appear to me, which may seem odd, but this is how I think. The world has always had conflicts, but nowadays, with world media, we are more readily apprised of these situations. To me, as a sensitive person, in some regards, I don't even think I would need to be told of conflict. I have long sensed that something was wrong, insofar as human aggression has been concerned, much as I have longed sensed the "general" malaise of the planet itself. As for the other poems in the book, some had been written much earlier. The theme of peace is often found in my writing.
Poetry L & T: The book "Prayer For Peace" was, in 2002 nominated for Governor General’s Prize as well as the Griffin Poetry Prize. I would love to read a poem from this book if you would care to quote a favourite one here...
Richard: While I am not a Native North American, as in Canadian Indian, there is a connection with the First Nations Peoples which runs very deep. In 1999, I had a poem published in a world book, by invitation, called "Prayers for a thousand years," a book which showcased the likes of the Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, and the Bishop of Canterbury, and this poem was also read at the United Nations University for Peace, in Costa Rica, New Years 2000. My Native friends, the Mi'kmaq-Maliseet Nations had already published this in their own newspaper. This piece is about peace, as it speaks of consultation and a meeting of the minds. The "Indians" had their "Talking Stick," which was passed to everyone in the "Circle," and this was where issues were resolved. This, then, is from the book:
THE TALKING CIRCLE
Come, friends, let us gather.
Let us assemble, and speak.
We have here the Talking Circle.
Great are its mysteries.
Come, then, let us be seated.
Let us see what comes of it.
Do you hear the silence?
The silence is the secret.
The secret is sacred.
Because of the Circle we have words.
With our words, we break the silence.
Breaking the silence releases
The secrets.
This is how the mysteries
Are revealed.
Mysteries are forever.
Come, then, let us gather.
Let us assemble, and speak.
Poetry L & T:
I very much enjoyed your poem (featured this month) "My Mind Could Be A Garden". What was the inspiration behind the concept of this one?
Richard:
The truth of the matter is nothing inspires me in particular, which again may sound odd. I sit at my work bench and it happens. The day I wrote this, I possibly another twenty poems. If you asked if I like this one, the answer would be yes. Some seem to stick out for me. I just like the feel of this one. It wrote itself, as most of my work does. This would have been a ten minute poem, with nothing added or taken away. It was spontaneous. I thank you for the compliment. When asked what inspires me, I usually say that life does. I do not really analyze the work or where it came from. In fact, I doubt I could ever really do that justice.
Poetry L & T:
How has the internet helped you, as a poet?
Richard: This question I like a lot. For ten years prior to the net, I lived in the woods, without phone or power, two miles from my mailbox. I wrote on a manual. Three years ago, I got my first computer. Naturally, it was a big toy, in many ways, but then I also realized that I could reach out to the world on here, so I set out to do that. I joined poetry groups, at one time twenty or so simultaneously, and I posted poems there. I would go on-site, look at stuff there, and write pieces on the spot. Then I got to chat with people, and I met people, almost exclusively women, who seemed to appreciate poetry, and I volunteered to write them poems. One day it struck me that if I were to, for example, write someone a sonnet, maybe people themselves could help, by giving me twelve words of their own to work with.
Poetry L & T:
Is there anything in poetry, or poetry sites online, that annoys you, or seems un-poetic?
Richard:
I think there is a difference between poets and people who write poems. Some vanity presses have a field day playing on people's vanity, hence the name for the publications. It's not up to me to define poetry, but there is pretentiousness online as much as anywhere else. I have been insulted by people in poetry sites, or groups, and I guess I would say I found that un-poetic, in that "poets" ought to know better. I compete with no one, but I think we all deserve respect. We pay our dues. There are daggers out there, and people can be discouraged. Poets aren't, not in the truer sense. But those who aspire, who do their very best, expressing themselves, as they can, they ought not to have their senses assailed as I have seen it done.
Poetry L & T:
What is your definition of good poetry?
Richard:
How does one define a good lightning bolt, or a good rainbow, or a good rain? What is poetry in the first place? I kind of think that "good" poetry is what people like, what they relate to, what the writer feels good about having written. If we're talking about what sells, that might be different. To paraphrase the great Native American prayer, I might say this: "So that at the end of it, I may walk away without shame." Poetry has a life of its own. How alive is it? Well, how many does it reach? Does it only reach a few? Why is that? How many "good" poets, such as Dickinson, for example, were only known for their wonder after they were passed on? I think "good" poetry would see the poet validated in his/her lifetime. On the other hand, does "good" poetry infer a wide audience? Is that necessary? I think it may very well be the stuff of locality as well as the stuff of globe.
Poetry L & T:
"The Sum Total of One" is a very interesting, visionary sonnet of yours. Did it start with one of the memorable lines, such as the line hinting of other dimensions:
"The worlds outside as well as those within" - or did it just evolve from a general idea?
Richard:
I have written as many as twenty five sonnets in a day, and none was related to the next. This is not pompous. Whether the work is meritorious or not is not for me to decide, but to answer this, in truth, this sonnet wrote itself. For this reason, I always find it hard to say I wrote anything. I like to think I am there when it happens. Again, I thank you for such a compliment. One night, I was invited somewhere to read to a group, and I read something like this. A man spoke up and said, "I wish I could write like that," and I replied, "So do I." One day, in the woods, a reporter came to interview me, and he asked how poetry worked/was written, and I said that was hard to say. Just then a butterfly flitted by, and I caught in, in my mind, and on the spot I wrote a poem called, "Who made the buterfly?" In it, I say we can capture the poem, the painting, the symphony, the elusive butterfly but, in the end, who made the butterfly? It takes energy to write. When the energies are right, this sort of thing takes 10-15 minutes, so it is hardly the stuff of deep contemplation, or effort. It just happens. It is my belief that the work is already written somewhere, and I access it.
Michaelangelo certainly pointed that out in his interpretation of how David came out of the stone...
Poetry L & T:
Before you were first published, did you find it hard work looking for publishers?
Richard:
The first thing I ever wrote was published, and that was a letter to the Editor, in 1964. It was a long, and spontaneous letter. Prior to writing that, I was not a writer, not in my mind. Not overly long after that I moved to Ontario, in Canada. I was writing poems, and a friend introduced me to a publisher, a true Renaissance man if I ever met one, and he looked at my work and said he wanted to publish some of the poems. That was exhilirating. I have to say that. Beyond that, I wrote for a sports magazine, and one contact seemed to lead to the next. My first actual book was published by that original man who'd first published my poetry, in 1979. I submitted my work to many a publisher. I kept track of what went in and what came back, and something became quickly evident: at home, my work was not acceptable, something which was not only disheartening, but which left question marks. Abroad, I was winning international competitions, my work was read at the World Congress of Poetry & Cultures, and some of it was hard to take, frankly. Only this year, in my opinion, was I accepted in any reasonable fashion locally. I don't like the politics of things. Art should be promoted, and who best to promote art than those in the artistic community? Yet, this is not always the case, and I question that. It is a point of contention for me. When I have been feted, I have done something a little different: I have usually opened up with a poem and asked for response. When people cheered, and I have read before a few hundred several times, I declared that I had not written the opening poem. I then explained this: when Dr. Emily Yau, Founder of the East-West Literary Foundation, read my work at the World Congress of Poetry, as she did, I said I would do something like that also, and I have been true to my word. If I really believe in what I represent, then let me prove it by promoting others whose lives are also dedicated to their art. Three years ago, while being celebrated, on the "fringe,"as someone suggested (despite the 200 people present), I read this: "Historically, poets have embodied integrity, something now far too often found lacking in places where God has been replaced by the progenies of oligarchic thinking." Yes, I have found it hard to be published at times. In some situations, I merely said the helll with it, too...
Poetry L & T:
What would you say to a young poet asking for advice on getting published?
Richard:
I always encourage young poets, people in general. Recently at a high school, I summed things up by telling the children they were the future. At least fifteen years ago, I wrote a letter to a newspaper praising a young poet. I have gone out of my way to encourage those who try. And poetry makes a difference. Years ago, a woman asked me if I would write a poem for her nine year old son. She was a single mother. I wrote a nice poem for the boy. Years later, I was at a fight card, having long been a boxer/trainer/personality. That boy was now a man. He would soon be world champion. The woman was there and she approached me and said, "That poem changed his life." I didn't even remember writing it, frankly. What to tell young poets? Tell them they are the future, and that they can change the world. Get them to feel it, sense it, believe it, then watch them go out and do it.
Poetry L & T: Finally, Richard, what are your ambitions for the future?
Richard:
I have 20,000 poems written, and I live in poverty, basically. I'm still not sure I understand that. I am not business-oriented at all, but I think there are problems in our world when someone can dedicate a lifetime, as I and others have done, and see someone shooting a hockey puck and make twenty million a year, while we go hungry. My future, then, sees a different world than that, a world where we have more balance. My late friend, Mr. Herb Barrett, a mentor, referred to poetry as the "poor relative" of literature. Yet, you buy any worthwhile book and you will find poets quoted therein, so how is this? We don't value the poets enough to feed them, but we quote them, sometimes we even fear them, for the reminders they give us, but they continue to be neglected. I would not in the least mind receiving one of those elusive grants, denied me to this day, yet given out so freely in so many quarters. It would be good to have help organizing my 50,000 pages of work. Meanwhile, it goes beyond money. My work is about peace and harmony, so why not have my work out there in the world, even if only as a gift from me to others? Gifts are made to be shared. I wish to share the gift. That is my ambition, to think it could make a difference in my world, and in the world my daughter is to inherit. I thank you so much for this forum.
Poetry L & T: Thank you for the interview, Richard.
 | NEW - in our merchandise store: the Poetry Life & Times Poetry Journal... click image to find out more.
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| Dear Poets, Welcome to the July 2004 issue of Poetry Life & Times (For those of you reading this on a mirror site and not poetrylifeandtimes.com, click here).
This month's interview features an eminent Canadian poet, Richard Doiron, whose sonnets "My World of Paints" and "Of Colours All" are the subject of the July 2004 Vallance Review.
Featured Poets this month include Esther Cameron, Susan P. Barney, Jim Dunlap, Richard James van der Draaij, Richard Vallance and Jan Sand.
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In the Vallance Review for July 2004, Richard's Review No. 35 features two sonnets by Richard Doiron: "My World of Paints" and "Of Colours All".
Fans of The Perils of Norris cartoon: now you can buy Norris merchandise for home and office, including a stylish wall clock, plus a new poets' journal with Norris on the cover and ruled pages inside for your notes and poems... Click here to visit the store, which is located at CafePress.com. More goodies will be added as soon as we design them! You can also buy merchandise with our Poetry Life & Times logo.
My own poetry can be found mainly on AuthorsDen, these days. The links in the left-hand column of my pages include books and articles as well as poetry. Some of the articles give advice on making chapbooks, or finding publishers - and there is even an item on ghosts.
My latest e-book: Worlds Inside The Head, is now available, featuring animated html poetry pages, short stories, video & audio recitals, plus pages in PDF format. Click here to scroll down to the animated ad at the bottom of the page, and click the link to find out more. The animation shows images from the CD.
Any comments on this issue or back issues can be emailed to me on the link at the bottom of the page. Announcements are always welcome (brief if possible), you can also promote poetry books here.
Poetry submissions should be in plain text in the body of an email, with a small jpeg author picture attached, also a bio, with the URLs of any ezines mentioned, so that they can be shown as links. This increases the chance of inclusion, especially for late submissions. Pictures are best at a maximum of 520 pixels across, otherwise they take ages to arrive by email, especially in bitmap or TIFF format. I recommend that poets click the submissions link on our main page, for full guidelines, and please, always use a spellchecker.
Poets can submit previously-published work here. If another editor likes it, there's a chance we'll like it too.
Best Regards,
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Richard Vallance reviews sonnets, both classic and modern.
Featured Poets this month include Esther Cameron, Susan P. Barney, Jim Dunlap, Richard James van der Draaij, Richard Vallance and Jan Sand. Many thanks to all contributors.
Click title below for this month's Vallance Review feature
ESTHER CAMERON
Esther Cameron is a poet and essayist whose work has appeared in Bellowing Ark, The Antigosh Review, Poetry, Hunger, The Lyric, The Blue Unicorn, American Writing, Troubadour, and many other journals, as well as on the Poetry Porch and Iambs And Trochees websites. Her blank-verse epic on the ecological crisis, The Consciousness of Earth, was published in installments by Bellowing Ark. Bellowing Ark has also published Cameron's The World's Last Rose, which is currently the Featured Work on The HyperTexts (www.thehypertexts.com). The Antigonish Review’s website has archived several of her essays, including “‘Earthwake’ and Its Sources,” at www.antigonishreview.com/bi-126/126-esthercameron.html. She also edits a poetry magazine, The Neovictorian/Cochlea, and a multifaceted website, Point and Circumference (www.pointandcircumference.com).
As after midnight's muteness the first birds Call to one another and seem to make The space between them, even so the words Within a poem call each other, wake Each other to a life before unknown. And should there be an end to this, a stop, At the poem's edge a boundary- or gravestone? Should we put love in quarantine, and lop, Before they touch, association's trees? I hope not so; but in a pleasant shade Woven of all our words to walk at ease, Delighting each in what the other said, Would be the highest art and truest praise Of God whose life quickens each leaf, each phrase. (first published in Candelabrum) THE SITE OF THE TEMPLE © Esther Cameron
I saw a building-site in the unknown With lines of workers toiling from afar To lay on the foundation each her stone -- The whole resembled an enormous star. And when I questioned one of them, she said, "This is the temple of our common pain, The house of common memory of our dead, And of the loves that we have loved in vain." The structure still lay open to the weather, But every hour the walls were rising higher, And I could see it roofed and them together Inside, could hear the singing of their choir, Singing of fair things broken and made new. That's where I'm going with this stone: you, too? CONFIGURATION IN BLACK AND WHITE AGATE © Esther Cameron
for Don Man in the moon That was hidden in stone, By random hand Unthinkingly drawn Before the name Of man was known, Then the stone egg cracked And the image shown To my brother, who came To fetch it down. "Yin and Yang," My brother said. But I: "There's an eye That serves for a head, And the legs are strangely Elongated, Twisted around, Serpentine, Like the walls in a laby- rinth design The Bushmen trace On cliffs oversea With sense arcane Yet no mystery: Emblem of matrix, Emblem of man, Who is both room And denizen, Who is the wall, The key, the door, Time out of mind And forevermore." A REPENTANCE © Esther Cameron
Two things have shown me where I went wrong, And one was good Ruth Pitter’s song, Ruth Pitter, gardener, stout and hale, Not above a pint of ale Or robust laughter at rude jest, Yet careful of the tiniest Nuance of summer, spring and fall, Attentive to the mutest call, Generous as the earth itself And quite as innocent of pelf, Aware of what the worst can do And of our lesser foibles too, A realist, yet visionary, Refreshed with hope that cannot weary, Cannot fail, because it springs From love, not hate, of present things. If I when young had learned her ways, I might have shunned the cheeseless maze Of intellectual pretention And saved myself much strain and tension And made the most of what was mine — But she would not have me repine. The other thing I have to tell Occurred across from a hotel Upon a sand bar that enclosed Still water where the heron dozed, Where ibises and egrets waded And stately pelicans paraded. I had come, upon my morning stroll To where, across a glittering shoal, Lagoon and gulf communicate, And sea-birds like to congregate: Skimmers with heavy lower bills Went racing over watery hills, Sandpipers skittered in and out, Grey willets stood, as if in doubt, With long curved beaks; I noticed three Oystercatchers earnestly Conferring at a rivulet; In stately dance two herons met. So many different kinds to see Together, was a joy to me, Nor did I have the wit of stone To think the gladness mine alone. Oh no! all knew in their own way The wonderfulness of the play; By air and water, sun and sand, I felt their beings with mine expand In freedom, their right element, To me but for a moment lent, Who must return to servitude — This truth for the first time I viewed. Only a glimpse, but it has lasted. Bred to vain mastery, I tasted For once the fruit of Paradise — May I remember and grow wise. (first published in Candelabrum)
SUSAN P. BARNEY
Anglo Burmese and far from asylum. I live in Nogales, Mexico; A classic Border Town, complete with every wickedness practiced and a heart so great and vibrant you wake up and find you are in love.
The dusty red atmosphere is a bizarre elixir. I find myself picking up pen and paint after long abstinence. It is from this strange renaissance, that these words come. They are my midnight chocolate indulgence. My safety valve to balance a daylight that includes the abject misery and defeat of those that have spent their life to find a dream.
I am, as far as I know, unpublished when it comes to poetry. I suppose, after four decades plus, modesty does not become the maiden.
My eyes are locked on each step as I climb Breathe in, Breathe out. Try not to hear the drum That is this failing heart beyond its prime. The legacy of age from living young. Where is the warrior that now regrets The challenge taken that could be the last Is this noble passage the sun that sets On a life well given, but short and fast. I seek the shade and hide my fear from all behind exaggerated ridicule Yet I clutch at hope, if alone I fall, They shall return to bear me on that mule. At the last, breath reeling and vision dim, I stagger above that cursed, bloody Rim! A Slave to the Meter Susan P. Barney 2004
I see you have maintained some of the form Even if only in quatrain and not rhyme. A A Bee Bee displace the sonnet norm, couplets making the quarters keep time. Replacing Iambic Pentameter deeming the beat of five antiquated. Changing the scope, if not diameter, yet maintaining a rhythm still related Hats off to you, Jim, from one still enslaved Finding appeal in Shakespearian verse. A willing servant whose sonnets behaved but one day shall explore something far worse. Poetry anapestic to the ears Yes, the much maligned limerick of Lear's. Inspired by Jim Dunlap's The Slimy Grip of Iambic Pentameter" COLLISION Susan P. Barney 2004
Sex on a Harley, it can be done Not me though, that wasn't me. But, there were insects singing wild chorals raising the sun. But I was tame-safe in my bed. And when your eyes slipped upturned to nirvana, what was the name you murmured? Was it yours? So pleased to meet you But I think you have the wrong girl. MEMENTO Susan P. Barney 2004
At moments odd or melancholy, a token recollection of you, us. That brief us. That flawless us; we never fought. We could penetrate an unbroken point and live in it. If it were crystal, it would be rose quartz, that souvenir picture moment. Captured perfect, complete with warm softness. Vaseline smeared across the lens of memory. In all those times of other men, lovers, husbands. I catch my mind moving back to some stray detail: the sweetest kiss, a light in your eyes when you laughed at something I said, or did. A secret weapon to combat my taste in men. Not always bad. Because there was someone I could wrap in keepsake tissue... Well others too. But none as soft and honeyed as you.
JIM DUNLAP
(Rhyme Master)Jim is in the Marquis, Who's Who In America and will be in the Marquis Who's Who In The World in it's next edition as well. He is also in the Directory of American Poets and Fiction Writers.
His list of publications include "Candelabrum", "Plainsongs" and the "Paris/ Atlantic"; and he is now (or has been) online at "Die Niderngasse", "Poetry Repair Shop", "Midnight Edition" and Poetry Life & Times". He is a resident poet, and an Alpha poet at the Poet's Porch, and has had about six hundred poems published to date. He has been in the Writer's Digest top 100 three times, although he doesn't usually enter their contests any more, as their entry fees have gone out of sight. However, he has decided to send a single poem this time. He is currently the newsletter editor for the Des Moines Area Writers' Network.
His work also appears online at:
authorsden.com
http://www.thepoetsporch.com
http://www.aceonline.com.au/~db/
http://www.valmagnuson.com/
on Describe_Adonis in the Yahoo groups,
poetryrepairs.com
and in a number of other places as well.
for Reagan's legacy of radical rightwingers in this crucial election year
Watching politics for forty years, I've kept an eagle eye On the widely varied types of birds We bake in our electoral pie. I've watched spy-birds and parrots, Bald eagles, crows...mockingbirds... I've seen many feathering their nest, And caught, becoming jailbirds... But the biggest shock, I tell you: That a major party would really sin By mass-cloning Joe McCarthy... And their candidates would win. Those phony vultures, posturing, While they work to rob the poor, Prove elections really can be bought By the 'war chest' that holds more. TUCUMCARI LIT. REVIEW, July/August, 1996, issue # 69 In Search of Priapism * © Jim Dunlap
Licentious and lascivious, we lust for grander things. For most of us, seafood reigns supreme. Salmon’s delicate pinks and the milky whites of crab and lobster can send us into bouts of ecstasy. If we can believe the pundits, we’ll grow randy and ribald from dining on oysters, cracking crab legs or gorging ourselves on lobster tartare. It’s a win, win situation, or so it would appear. Those of us with limp libidos might find the secret to a rigid riposte or three. Let’s agitate for seafood, even if we’re in the navy. The real treats of the culinary seascape, tuna, mackerel and salmon, are loaded with omega-3 fats, and those light us up like a candle made from whale blubber. So open your mouths and suck in that delicate flesh. It’s time to unship your dingy and sail to those yielding harbors where you can dock it for a palpitating half an hour or so. * According to dietician Ellen Albertson, author of "Temptations: Igniting the Pleasure and Power of Aphrodisiacs," that would be any seafood packed with omega-3 fats: canned tuna, salmon, or mackerel. "You can awaken a sleepy libido with easy diet changes," she insists. Pass the tartar sauce, please. WHEN FAIR LOVE FLEES THE QUESTING KNIGHT * © Jim Dunlap
I'll be unknown, but not forgotten, When thieving time decays away, Like ruddy apple goes ripe to rotten. Not dark, nor light...but subtly gray, Loveshivery, with sigh or groan, I'll linger like a ghost at play. In dread seance, a psychic tone Will haunt each place where lovers dwell And melt all hearts not frozen stone. Some hard-learned lessons I will tell To any who've the proper ear -- Love lost leaves life the loser's Hell. When inconstancies in shadows leer, Mistakes not made aren't worth a tear. * Re "Acquainted With The Night" -- with apologies to Robert Frost
Click here for July 2004 Featured Poets page 2 -->
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Phone orders are now being taken at: 816-676-0122 for Mastercard and Visa.Michael Paul Ladanyi, Editor of:
Adagio Verse Quarterly
adagioversequarterly@yahoo.comThe Bohemian Rag
the_bohemian_rag@yahoo.comPoetry reviewer with
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- an e-book of erotic/humorous stories for women
by Sara L. Russell and Patricia diMiere. Published by
Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press - ISBN 1-878431-42-0, $12.50
Original, funky and naughty, with twists and surprises!
Poesie's Laissez Faire Foire Announcement Come Meet our Poet Friends!
Check out the poetry sites of some of our friends and
editors in Canada, the U.S.A. and the U.K. at: Rencontrez nos amis poétiques!Voulez-vous recontrez de nos amis poètes et rédacteurs
de la poésie, qui demeurent au Canada, aux États-unis
ou au Royaume-uni ?Meet my literary friends! Rencontrez mes amis littéraires!
The Crystal Rose © Ice ShardVisit Crystal Rose's Place
Val Magnuson Galactic Poet Award
Why not visit:
OUT NOW! CRYSTAL DAWN An exciting new anthology, by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press,
ISBN 1-878431-71-9.
Award-winning poetry, a full novel, 10 Shakespeare plays plus free photographs for any use. Contributors: Robin Ouzman Hislop - Richard Van der Draaij - Cara Alson - Gillian Stokes -Jasmine Dienes - Tyler Wiseman - Doctor C. S. Shaw - Vladimir Orlov - Monica Smith - Nick Zegarac - Aurora Antonovic - C. S. Snow - K. V. Davis, full novel.
THE PERILS OF NORRIS
THE PERILS OF NORRIS, #48 - Breaking out of the madhouse...
NEW: The Poetry Life & Times StoreYou can now buy Perils of Norris Merchandise online, including mouse mats, clocks, tote bags and postcards.
Click here to visit the store... ...or the clock image --->The Perils of Norris started in August 2000. To catch up on past episodes, click the links below, then your browser's Back button to return.
#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #6 #7 #8 #9 #10 #11 #12 #13 #14
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Email us with comments, articles or poetry news, by 25th June for the July 2004 issue.
