| October 2004 | Café Society's Poetry News Update |
| October 2004 | Café Society's Poetry News Update |
Editor of
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| 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. She first appeared in Poetry Life & Times in Featured Poets, July 2004.
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$6 for a sample, $10 for a US subscription,
On the basis of the knowledge that is gathered in that poem - and in a
couple of other works I am engaged in revising - I would like to see the
Hexagon Foundation get organized. What I'm proposing is something like a
poetic Talmud, or a revival of the Druidic college of bards. I know there
are organizations that invoke the Druids, but without a body of systematic
knowledge or an understanding of the poetic vocation. I've tried to lay a
foundation, and the various facets can be seen on Point and Circumference.
There is work to be done in many directions, and I'm hoping and praying for
others to come along and see what has been done and what still needs to be
done, and how poets could build something together, like the great
cathedrals.
Poetry L & T: How and why did you first start writing poetry, Esther?
Esther: As far as I recall, at age 6 or 7. We had moved from the Eastern
seaboard to a Midwestern city where I missed the extended family and felt
badly out of place, and one of my first poems has the line: "As I sit here
in Wisconsin..." Paul Celan said in his Bremen speech that he wrote poetry
in order to orient himself and figure out where he was and where he was
going. I guess the same has gone for me, from an early age. But at
adolescence I began to doubt my ability and stopped writing for a while.
This was actually good because in that period I read intensely in several
languages. Then in my mid-twenties, in Berkeley, in the 'sixties, I was in
an environment were a lot of people were writing, again just to sort things
out, and I started again. In the midst of all this someone got me started
reading Paul Celan, and that encounter made a lot of things crystallize for
me. Suddenly I felt that I had something to say and started writing
copiously. Thus, pace Auden, I hope it is possible to be a poet if one
cares more about what one has to say than about words. Though I like words
too.
Poetry L & T: Who are your favourite poets?
Esther: I've mentioned Celan, who influenced me overwhelmingly, though his
influence was more spiritual and intellectual than stylistic. Plath, to a
lesser extent but in a similar manner. I have a deep admiration for Mandel'
shtam. Millay and Dickinson have both been vital. I revere Wordsworth,
including the late Wordsworth. Dante has been inescapable. In the 90's
perhaps Yeats was the dominant stylistic influence, and I also came to
admire Ruth Pitter very much - you've published my tribute to her. Aside
from that, I have a feeling about the tradition that isn't tied to
particular names. I like anthologies, such as the 1950 edition of
Untermeyer's Modern American Poetry/Modern British Poetry. Folksongs. The
workmanship of the hymn and the broadside ballad.
Poetry L & T: I was very interested to read your article on Shelley's The Defence of
Poetry in The Antigonish Review # 122 (2003). It very succinctly explains
Shelley's essay and its relevance to modern poetry. Do you ever feel that
there are some poets on the internet who have abandoned Shelley's concept of
poetry's "indestructible order", its beauty in rhythm, or its imaginative,
more "spiritual" processes?
Esther: Many, alas. But there's no point in talking about that - one has to
hope it goes away.
Poetry L & T: I like the ironies expressed in your poem "Poets in Law School". It is
introduced with a quote from Shelley's The Defence of Poetry, and concludes
with a sharp line which also echoes some of Shelley's thoughts -
"They cast out reason, when they turned from rhyme."....
Was the whole poem inspired by Shelley's words "Poets are the unacknowledged
legislators of the world", or partly from your own life experiences? I would
like to know more about it...
Esther: My life experiences were derived partly from Shelley! That saying
had a good deal to do with my actually entering law school in 1990. But I
was depressed by the cynicism I encountered in law school, and though I
graduated I have been inactive since 1996. Yet I keep thinking of going
back, reactivating myself, maybe getting into the struggle to impose some
rules on the marketplace. On Point and Circumference there is a fanciful
institution called "Poets' Law Institute."
Poetry L & T: I loved reading your poem "The Unwritten Poem", and particularly like the
concept of
"The poem not yet written
- do you often build up a poem around such a memorable line, or does your
inspiration start from a feeling or concept?
whose voice would be the inner voice of all"
Esther: That's the kind of poem that just drops in. That was from 1984. I
was living in Jerusalem, and someone had invited me to spend the Sabbath at
her home, which meant staying overnight because there was no transportation
on the Sabbath. So perhaps the poem has something of the Sabbath spirit in
it. If my memory is accurate I composed it before getting up on Saturday
morning and wrote it down that night, after the close of the Sabbath.
Poetry L & T: Do you have a favourite place to go, where you can sit and write poetry in
peaceful or natural surroundings?
Esther: Our family owns some land in the country, and my mother and I go out
there once a week, to cut brush or in season to pick berries. Quite a few
poems have come to me out there, and I feel that being involved with this
one spot of land has given my work a certain grounding. But often
surroundings don't seem to make that much difference, unless there's too
much noise or (horrors) Muzak. Many of my poems are written before getting
up, with eyes covered, so there's nothing to distract from the words.
Apparently it's an ancient practice. In her autobiography Kathleen Raine
tells of seeing an old Scottish folk poet lying on a bench with his hat over
his eyes, composing.
Poetry L & T: As an essayist, what kind of impact would you like your essays to have in
the world of literature?
Esther: Well, I'd like them to be taken to heart. The best one to start
with, maybe, would be "Volta: Toward a Century of Significant Inventions,"
which is on the Macropoetics page of my website,
www.pointandcircumference.com. It explains in detail what is wrong with
postmodernism and what we need to do to revive the tradition and regain the
attention of the public. There are a bunch of related essays on the same
page.
I think that if my essays were taken to heart, poets might get over certain
beliefs that they think are artistic but that are really holding us back,
like the belief that one needs to be alone in one's spiritual universe in
order to create, or that freedom consists in not committing oneself to
anything. I for one only came into my own as a writer after noticing other
spiritual presences and making certain commitments.
Poetry L & T: What, in your opinion, makes a good or memorable poem - and conversely, what
do you think makes a poem fail miserably?
Esther: What makes a good or memorable poem? That's as mysterious as life
itself. Moreover, I have learned to be cautious about judging. To set out
to judge poetry is the surest way to miss it. A poem may not strike me at
all on first reading, but then I'll be thinking of something else and it
will come to mind. One way to fail miserably as a poet is to go to
workshops and listen to all the advice you get there, or to read poetry
magazines just to figure out what is getting published. To write without
the eros that makes things hold together, to make dead arrangements of words
and images on the page.
Poetry L & T: You have been widely published in journals and on the internet. What advice
would you give to new or young poets wishing to do the same?
Esther: The same advice Rilke gave in Letters to a Young Poet: don't be in a
hurry. There is nothing deadlier than starting out by submitting poems and
shaping your style according to what gets accepted. Read a lot, get an idea
of literary history. Decide which poets' approval, if you could meet them,
would be important to you ("If I were to showed this poem to Mandel'shtam,
would he let me sit down at his table?"). Exchange poems with your
friends, and above all try to live well. Examine your conscience, train
your inner ear. Once you know who you are, you can submit yourself to the
judgment of strangers and it won't change you too much. Even so, I can tell
you that I have a file of poems that mean a lot to me but I have never tried
to publish them. Until recently, The World's Last Rose, which Michael
Burch published on The Hyper Texts, and "The Far and the Near," which
Richard Vallance published on Sonnetto Poesia, were in that category.
Perhaps someday the others will be found, or I'll get up the courage to send
them somewhere. But at least I write them and keep them, because
contemporary publication is not the be-all and end-all to me.
Poetry L & T: I gather from your bio that you edit a poetry magazine called The
Neovictorian/Cochlea. I would like to know more about that, and where it is
available to buy...
Esther: I started The Neovictorian/Cochlea (two titles; couldn't make up my
mind) in 1996, to provide a venue for the kind of poetry I believe in. As
editor I try my best to represent the reader who wants to be spoken to,
rather than the professional who likes to think he/she is in control. I
also try, in laying out the magazine, to arrange the poems in ways that
suggest connections among them, an ongoing dialogue. The address for the
magazine is:
P.O.B. 55164,
Madison,
WI 53705 USA.
$16 for a subscription outside the US.
Poetry L & T: In your poetry, are there any subjects which you find difficult,
emotionally, to write about?
Esther: There are a lot of subjects I don't even try to write about. And I
don't think it is necessary to write about everything. Recently I read a
biography of Jane Austen that suggested that the world she lived in was
rather more open and dangerous than the world of her novels. And some of
her early writing is pretty wild. But in her mature work she creates this
staid, stable world, perhaps as a kind of sanctuary. Sometimes that's what
is needed. In Joyce Carol Oates' *them* the heroine, who was apparently
based on a real person, seeks refuge from a violent home in the slums by
going to the library and reading Jane Austen. My encounter with Celan
entailed a real look into the heart of darkness, and for several years
afterward my writing let a lot of that darkness come through. But as the
years go by I tend to write about it in a more restrained and elliptical
manner. And perhaps that's all right. One must respect emotional
difficulties. There's the descent into the depths, but there is also the
learning to spare oneself and others, to tell what can be told and needs to
be told, and let those who understand guess the rest.
Poetry L & T: Finally, Esther, what are your ambitions for the future?
Esther: First of all, I would like one thing I have written - The
Consciousness of Earth, just published by Multicultural Books - to be widely
read and reviewed. (There's a page on it at www.pointandcircumference.com,
with the first chapter and information on how to obtain it.) It is a blank
verse epic about the ecological crisis, bringing together as much as
possible of what is known about ourselves, our place in nature, and the
resources we have to call on. It devotes considerable attention to the
sociobiology of poetry. I think if this work could be widely recognized, it
would contribute a lot to the rebuilding of a common world.
Poetry L & T: Thank you for the interview, Esther.
Esther: And thank you for asking these good questions!
 | 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 October 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 Esther Cameron; poet, essayist, and editor of The Neovictorian/Cochlea.
Featured Poets this month include Joseph R. Armstead, Ian R. Thorpe, Robin Ouzman Hislop, Richard Vallance and Jan Sand.
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In the Vallance Review for October 2004, Richard's Review No. 38 features A Review of Esther Cameron's Article Critiquing Percy Bysshe Shelley's, "The Defence of Poetry" (1821) in The Antigonish Review # 122, 2003.
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.
NEW - Poetry Life & Times Mobile Phone Pages + Free Ringtones & Wallpapers! We have started a series of new mini-sized Poetry Life & Times supplement pages for mobile phones, which include information on the main site, occasional interviews, short poems, plus free ringtones and wallpapers. If you have a WAP-enabled mobile phone with a colour screen, point your mobile's browser at these pages (on your mobile you can usually omit http//:):
www.poetrylifeandtimes.com/pltmobile/index.htm
Ringtones are both classical and new original music (my own). Wallpapers are mostly from The Perils of Norris cartoon. If you like pop, a link to a site with free pop ringtones will soon be added. The mobile pages will grow month by month, but not be in the form of an ezine.
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 Joseph R. Armstead, Ian R. Thorpe, Robin Ouzman Hislop, Richard Vallance and Jan Sand. Many thanks to all contributors.
Click title below for this month's Vallance Review feature
JOSEPH R. ARMSTEAD
Joseph R. Armstead was born in Peru, USA. He is the oldest child of a military family that settled in New Hampshire after living in Italy, the author currently lives in Northern California. Of his work and influences, he tells us:
"Always fascinated by the macabre and the visceral, I've written and developed stories around horror and the occult as presented in a cool and rational scientific way. My writing can be classified as a mixture of "splatterpunk/cyberpunk/hong kong cinema" with influences as diverse as Robert Ludlum and Clive Barker, to Stephen King and William Gibson, to John Woo and Francis Ford Coppola. I believe that horror fiction IS literature, once it is imbued with intelligence, good craftmanship and honesty by its authors and if it stays far away from the cliched, the prosaic and the wretchedly corny. I base what I write in the 'here and now', in Reality, and no matter how off-the-wall the subject matter, I strive to make the story logical. I want the ring of truth to it. I want the reader to enjoy themselves and to be wrapped-up in self-contained world of wonder and danger, but at the same time I want them thinking 'Could this happen? Could there conceivably be a grain of truth in this?' To my mind, that adds spice to the novel and makes the story three-dimensional ... "
Accomplishments:
* Affiliate-member of the Horror Writers of America
Previously in Poetry Life & Times: Interview in November 2003
IAN R. THORPE
Seriously, Ian has been away some time but is back with this selection
from a work in progress based on what he calls "single source myths,"
the mythology of India, Arabia and Celtic Europe.
* Four novels published (see bibliography on poetry page)
* Creator, writer & illustrator of the one-shot comic book, "TRYNE", for Precious Stone Comics.Absolom in the Rain
© Joseph R. Armstead
The wetness of the Heavens
feels like warm mercury tears
sliding over your skin
as it drops from the skies.
You knew it when you did it.
You knew how it would end.
You knew and, without hope,
you grasped the hilt
of the crooked blade
and you drove it in deep.
You cried out like a
baby being born,
drawing in that
first doomed breath
and expelling a
lifetime of sins
yet-unrealized.
You cried out even as
the razored steel edge
slipped under muscle
and bone and past
the spurting liquid fire
of a Life Interrupted,
and you knew...
Someday soon Judgment
would come for you.
You welcome its dark kiss.
The rain on your fevered flesh
hisses into steam and
accept the disease that
twists your soul...
You knew how it would end.
Neon Nightshade
© Joseph R. Armstead
I brought you
a brilliant bouquet
of flowers aflame...
Thought you
promised
you were going to
save my life
tonight?
Daylight setting on the Bay,
sunshine streams through a
twilight rain,
The streets slick with
melted light,
running in puddles like
electric neon blood,
an afterhours club crime scene,
romance by dancing homicide,
faces passing places
passing time and spaces
where mystery beckons
with a house-mix backbeat...
... and I 've been waiting for you ...
(spotlights and bodyguards, flashbulbs
reflect off the skin of your limosine,
and all the groupies line up
ready for the firing squad,
drinking your fame as a last request)
And I'm just a ghost in the machine.
She dances out of my head
and out onto the street,
all sleekness and rhythm,
all lips and eyes,
seduce and pout,
all music to the movie
in my vibrating mind,
passing out from shadow
and into hot skin,
a dancing dream
hypnotic, erotic, exotic,
and melodic, melody from
the deepest ink of space,
and I follow her past the
glow of lightning bolts
trapped
in frosted glass tubes,
chase her slow into a
forest of waving arms and
flashing feet, syncopated to the
thunder of a trip-hop
metronome
that kidnapped
the beat of my heart.
It ain't nothin' like art.
... and I've been waiting for you ...
(bright lights and papparazzi, flashbulbs
reflect off the skin of your limosine,
and the pretty boys queue up
for one last chance
at fifteen minutes of fame)
And I'm just a rumor in the shadows.
I brought you
a bouquet of
electric blossoms,
neon burning
in the rain...
You promised
you were going to
save my life
tonight.
Galileo's Clock or Time Expressed As
Fragments of Broken Gemstones
© Joseph R. Armstead
Dawn has broken across the horizon
and I am out bathing in its silvery light,
watching a phalanx of geese
fly south as a hot summer blends
into a cool and dim autumn,
recalling this is a season also known as "Fall",
feeling a vague sense of loss
as the weeks of lazy heat give way
to a subdued lengthening twilight
and the lights of the City sparkle
ever more dimly over the park
down the block from my condominium.
The meteor display
from the pre-dawn hours
has faded to a memory
of miracles and mysteries,
streaks of fire
tracing fingers of Infinity
against the background
of quicksilvery metal,
and the Heavens hide
their conspiracy of timelessness
from my tired gaze.
Slow glass melting on a surface of cool mercury...
As the planets slowly turn
like vast gears in some
great celestial machine,
I realize that none of it is the way
I imagined it would be
and my wounds
are still slowly bleeding,
Slowly the planets pass along their orbits
and I can feel something
divine and immortal
gradually leaking out of me.
Slow glass melting on a surface of cool mercury...
When the sun at last comes up,
whole and glaringly white,
unbearably bright,
I see my life as a tray full of jewels
under a broken display case,
gemstones intermingling
with rough shards
of shattered glass,
debris and treasure
mixed into a grab-bag
too sharp-edged to hold
lest it draw blood
from trembling
hungry hands.
Dawn has broken across the horizon
and I am out looking out
a shattered window on Forever.
Rose Petals, Absinthe and Thyme
© Joseph R. Armstead
...so nice, comes the whisper, so nice...
I thirst, smelling its
thick bouquet,
and I look
longingly
at a glass of burning
catastrophe.
I want to drink from its
molten depths.
(When you kissed me,
my heart stopped
and I treasured
its stillness.)
Rowing a boat across Memory
it began;
all mystery and shadow,
all metaphor and simile,
a phone call from the Mind
across the long-distance carrier
that harbors streaming nightmares
for downloads,
entertainment
for the brittle souls
caught in the ripples
crisscrossing the placid surface
of a cold stagnant pond.
I am dry,
a dead tickle
stirs in my throat.
I thirst, smelling its
thick bouquet,
and I fear I will
drink unto death,
suffocating
from gluttony.
(Kiss me again,
I smell dead roses
on your stony lips.)
... so nice, teases the whisper, so nice...
Maid of Paradise
© Ian R. Thorpe
NOTE: The Houri of Arabic and Indian mythology are the Maids of Paradise, virgins who will be wives to the faithful dead in the afterlife. Although they are usually packaged in sets of four my chosen one is quite a lively girl - she tells me - and I am not as energetic as I used to be.
We shall meet in cool and torchlit courtyards
within silent precincts of the night's embrace
and bathe there in gentle fountains where clear
sparkling waters cleanse past life's tainted trace.
A couch waits, draped with fine silks and linens,
dates and almonds rest upon a silver tray.
Before us a feast of new beginnings,
each choice placed like a jewel in the display.
Scents of jasmine and musk intoxicate us,
the stars anoint the bed where we will lie.
Your eyes are like the gates of seven heavens,
four basilisks stand ready to defy
mortality - and all time's hungry hunters
who would pursue us to this den of peace,
bring their pious rules here to confront us
and spoil the pleasure we have in our feast.
Your body like a slice of moonlight
falls softly on this torn and battered frame,
opens to me and lets our two selves unite
to best the gods at fate, their chosen game.
The gentle night will hide and protect you
but when cruel dawn calls, bidding you depart
I will beg Cronos halt the sun and let you
forever be the houri of my heart.
Arianrhod of Silver Dawn*
© Ian R. Thorpe
*Arianrhod of Silver Dawn is one of the Celtic Goddesses of sunrise, though as her name is said to mean "silver circle" this suggests lunar associations as well. I choose to think of her as especially potent on mornings when sunrise tints the horizon before the moon has set.
In moon's pale glow I watch you sleeping,
beauty kissed as gentle rays highlight
soft lips that promise absolution
putting all my doubts and fears to flight.
Though madness prospers all around us
within the peaceful bubble we float free,
protected by your golden nimbus
that shields from perils none foresee.
And when I touch your naked body,
hold you close against the pre - dawn chill
you stir, and shifting closer whisper
words that bring ending to my vigil.
Arianrhod sets ablaze the far horizon
then spreads bright skirts over nights dark field,
begins her journey westward to liaison
where earth meets sky and even gods must yield.
Wake my love, share with me this enchantment,
shed your light upon the nascent morn
and in this wasteland steal for us a fragment
from Arianrhod of the Silver Dawn
Visions of Lilith
© Ian R. Thorpe
Lost in between awake and sleeping
lies a vision of a land half - known,
as if some ancient, buried memory
transports me to this timeless zone.
Stark against the ever shifting desert
a tower stands close by a bubbling spring.
Where fig trees grow in a cool cresent
I wait to hear a woman's soft voice sing.
A walled garden is her lonely prison;
she dwells in luxurious solitude.
For what sin can she not be forgiven?
Whose law has condemed her turpitude?
Is she in thrall to some jealous lover,
does a heartless djinn posess her soul?
Will I seduce her to discover
The garden is truly her sheole?*
I see her sometimes by a window,
she scans the bleak view then turns away,
her lovely face is lined with sorrow.
This mystery ensnares me more each day
Until at last I summon courage
to bang my fist on the heavy door.
She greets me, straight away I engage
in courtship games, she does not demur
but serves me seweetmeats, fragrant candy,
ripe figs well drenched in strong, sweet wine,
lays us down but declines to tell me
why she stays in this strange place alone.
Instead her reply sets a challenge
no man can resist nor turn aside.
"Love has no worth bound with conditions
love given for gain enslaves the bride.
I seek one who will pledge to love me
for myself, not what I have to give;
I'll give to him the world and all time
and never for a moment feel captive.
This desert men have made around us
bears witness to love of self and greed,
I rest here, the eternal woman
'til fate sends to me the love I need.
I have opened my garden to you
who gives, asking nothing in return.
Never ask me for account or measure,
my own soul is no other's concern.
Abandon now all worldly purpose
commit all without thought of requite;
this garden ever will sustain us
while we rejoice in love's every delight."
*sheol (Aramaic) a dwelling place of the dead
Beloved Succubus
© Ian R. Thorpe
(a poem for two voices)
Though I spend the long day seeking
in crowded streets where memories teem
she only comes while I am sleeping,
in the stillness of my dreams.
"Come to me my one true lover,
bravely walk beyond the dark divide;
take my cold hands or I must rest here,
There is no way back but by your side."
At dawn the image stays; repeating
"Please my love, please do not desert me,
endless darkness fills my heart with fear.
But the shadows can never hurt me
if I could only feel you near.
Find me in this love - forsaken desert,
caught between the living and the lost,
kiss once more these cold pale lips, caress
cheeks death's insubstantial hand has blessed
Hold me, warm me and reclaim me."
I feel her here in children's laughter,
soft wind; her kiss upon my cheek.
A movement at the edge of vision,
hint of perfume; her Mystique.
But she is gone, her light extinguished,
dead; without goodbye or parting kiss.
Fate has aborted all we wished
and now she cries for my catharsis
Should I cling on or follow after.
Shadow words like sharp little knife cuts;
her message fading on silver screen;
"I need your love to quell my hunger,
sacrifice your blood for me.
Come warm me with your vital body,
let new life flow in these dry veins.
else reject me, cast off your ennui.
One tiny drop love, will sustain,
Life cannot end where love survives."
Her photograph's changing expression,
(foreknowledge clouds bright, laughing eyes.)
Brushes shifted on her dresser,
curtains moving without a breeze.
A spot of blood staining my pillow
trackmarks, bruising purple on my neck.
These dark ringed eyes say I must follow,
discover some way to bring her back.
Is love beyond death a transgression?
The months of yearning have fatigued me,
I grow more pale, my soul is weak.
I cannot turn from her completely
One embrace is all I seek.
In darkest hours she waxes stronger,
her compelling pleas never desist.
Every night she feeds my hunger,
The darkness calls, I cannot resist.........
Instinct protests but will cannot resist.
Her photograph's changing expression,
(foreknowledge clouds bright, laughing eyes.)
Brushes shifted on her dresser,
curtains moving without a breeze.
A spot of blood staining my pillow
trackmarks, bruising purple on my neck.
These dark ringed eyes say I must follow,
discover some way to bring her back.
Is love beyond death a transgression?
The months of yearning have fatigued me,
I grow more pale, my soul is weak.
I cannot turn from her completely
One embrace is all I seek.
In darkest hours she waxes stronger,
her compelling pleas never desist.
Every night she feeds my hunger,
The darkness calls, I cannot resist....
Instinct protests but will cannot resist.
Click here for October 2004 Featured Poets page 2 --> 
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AVAILABLE NOW - Sara Russell's new e-book on CD ROM: WORLDS INSIDE THE HEAD ISBN 1-878431-47-1 / Kedco Studios Inc., Las Vegas with poetry, short stories, videos, animations, music, wavs and 3D art throughout... Only $9.95 - CLICK HERE to find out more... or Mail us here at Poetry Life & Times.
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 | OUT NOW - CANADIAN SPIRIT VOICES by Richard Vallance...
Photo © by Richard Vallance, 1993 (Northern Ontario)
Canadian Spirit Voices is now available from Kedco Studios Press (Las Vegas, Nevada, U.S.A.)... in a full multi-media CD book, consisting of poetry, prose, the essay, original MIDI music and plenty of splendid artistic illustrations. The CD-ROM book is the equivalent of a hard-copy book in excess of 500 pages!
For more detailed information on this book, please click here:poesieslaissezfaire.homestead.com.
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 | An amazing new e-book published by Kedco Studios Inc. Curious? Click the picture link! |
Poetry Life & Times has wonThe Prix Poesie's laissez-faire Grand Prize for 2002
- thanks Richard!
[Ezine editors: click the banner to find out more about this award.]
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Q U I C K I E S - an e-book of erotic/humorous stories for women |
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Come Meet our Poet Friends!
Check out the poetry sites of some of our friends and
Voulez-vous recontrez de nos amis poètes et rédacteurs Meet my literary friends! Rencontrez mes amis littéraires!
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Visit Crystal Rose's Place
Val Magnuson Galactic Poet Award
IMPRESSIONISM 
The Crystal Rose © Ice Shard
AVAILABLE NOW:
Winner of Grayson Books
2004 Poetry Chapbook Competition...
by Barbara Crooker
ISBN: 0-9675554-7-7
To order this chapbook, send a check made out to Grayson Books
for $7.50,
plus $1.50 for each order to cover
shipping and handling.
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OUT NOW! CRYSTAL DAWN An exciting new anthology, by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, |
THE PERILS OF NORRIS, #51 - Norris meets the great illustrator, Aubrey Beardsley, in a bar...
You can now buy Perils of Norris Merchandise online, including mouse mats, clocks, tote bags and postcards.
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.
NEW: The Poetry Life & Times Store
Click here to visit the store...
...or the clock image --->
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Email us
with poetry, articles or poetry news, by 24th October for the November 2004 issue.
