| October 2005 | Café Society's Poetry News Update |
| October 2005 | Café Society's Poetry News Update |
|
| Patrick Bond, 52, is currently a part time D Phil student in Creative Writing at Sussex University, under the tutorship of Peter Abbs. Having no grant, he is funding himself through various jobs. He has three sons by his first marriage and a daughter by his second.
Of his writing, Patrick says: My working life has included nine years as a forest worker, seven years as a trade union researcher, and several years as a project development worker in deprived communities of the north of England. There has been no career to speak of. Poetry was always my first vocation. I have made no real attempt to publish my work until now, though one appeared in Resurgence a year ago, and a couple in two other journals."
|
Poetry L & T: Your bio says that you have been writing since the age of eleven, but the poetry only became more prolific two years ago. Was there a particular event in your life that sparked the flood of inspiration?
Patrick:
The turning point was my internal decision to declare poetry as my primary vocation and skill. This decision took the form of giving up my day job, and (using up a very small store of cash) funding myself through a one-year M.A. at Sussex University. For forty years I have written poetry when "seized by the Muse", or in other words, when I could not help it. When I took the decision to be a poet, I seemed to become what I had always been meant to be. Although inspiration has never been problematic, the problem now is to find time to write all that is clamouring to be written. Maybe when you turn 50, you realise that life is short, and that what is not done now will never be done at all. The turning point was also marked by major life changes for me, so taking the plunge did not seem very extraordinary; however, the key thing was making that internal decision.
Poetry L & T: Who are your favourite poets... did Mr. Hennessy introduce you to some inspiring ones, in your schooldays?
Patrick:
That really is a tough one. Mr Hennessy did not, as far as I remember, recommend any poets: we were only eleven year old boys, and his method was to encourage the creativity already in us. His only instruction for writing poetry was to try to write "one idea per line". He got poems from nearly every boy in the class, and then, in the days before photocopiers, typed and printed off a collection of our own work. The thrill of that stays with me! I remember buying Palgrave's "Golden Treasury" in my early teens, in a Church jumble sale; and a slim volume of John Galsworthy's poetry. My dad used to quote little snippets from "The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam". At school I came to grips with Shakespeare when I was fourteen, but no poet really made much impression until I started to read the early version of Wordsworth's "Prelude" in my pre-university year. Heady stuff for a romantic seventeen-year old! At university I was captivated by "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight". Alliterative rhythms and style still form the backbone of my poetry. I also discovered Basil Bunting, hearing him read the whole of "Briggflatts" and "Chomei at Toyama" one evening in Cambridge. The nostalgic reflection and evocative intensity of his poems are in tune with my work, and I love him greatly. After university I found John Clare in the public library at Cambridge, and was (yet again) captivated. As a young man, I spent nine years working on the land in Northamptonshire, as a forest worker, so the landscapes of Clare were working, living realities for me. The work of Brian Patten has played a part in my life too, with his lyrical and metaphysical probing of the strangeness of pain and joy in relationships.
Poetry L & T: On reading your poetry (very much enjoyed by the way), I am surprised that you have only recently had work published, in several journals. Do you think that printed poetry journals can be more lucrative, for poets, than book publishers?
Patrick:
I am not the person to answer that question, as I have never investigated the subject. The idea of being published has not been a serious consideration for me, until now. I have read deeply in my own fashion, during a fairly busy life, and I have always known that I was putting down a reserve of deeper awareness, for the future. Poetry always seemed like a life-long endeavour, the fruits of which could not be harvested too soon. Hence I know very little about the financial realities of earning money through poetry. I am able to rely on skills acquired during a lifetime of work, if I need to do more than stay afloat financially. The future may bring other perspectives and possibilities.
Poetry L & T: I found your poem "Seven Reflections from a Window" fascinating to read. It is full of vivid imagery and tinged with poignancy throughout. Do you find poems like that sometimes painful to write, because of their emotional immediacy in your life?
Patrick:
Yes, you have to feel the pain and allow it for the sake of the poem; writing the poem does deflect the pain though -- a bit! Life is a painful business, and also a joyful business. On a metaphysical level, pain and joy are are both intensities of human living, and have little to do with sadness or happiness. I tend to write straight out of the "first person present" of a situation. "Seven Reflections from a Window" came out of a deliberate attempt to "turn back the clock" and allow myself to experience old emotions in the present. The result surprised me somewhat. I also think that the more one focuses on how to experience life in order to turn that experience into poetry ("what needs saying here, in poetry?"), the thinner are the barriers between inner and outer experience: one feels everything more deeply, more sharply, and more immediately.
Poetry L & T: Some of your poems, such as "Two Mile Beach", show an affinity with the ocean. As you live so near to Brighton, do you find the sea inspires a lot of your work these days?
Patrick:
I guess that any situation which is borderline, not quite one place nor another, attracts me. "Two Mile Beach" is really about a place of transience, that part of the beach which is neither land nor sea, and a state of mind which is transient too. My father was in the Navy, and possibly from him I inherited a healthy dislike of deep water! The greatest source of inspiration from nature, throughout my life, has been trees, with chalk downland (I grew up on the North Downs) a close second. Probably I am influenced by the soil and landscapes of wherever I happen to be living. I seem to need two years to really settle into a place: it's about knowing where the sun rises, over which tree or hill at whatever time of year; where the shadow of a tree under the full moon falls; knowing where to look for Orion, just before dawn in September; understanding the capability of the soil and the climate. It is earth knowledge, really, the way the earth and the trees talk to you, if you know how to be part of them.
Poetry L & T: I like your poem "Vigil at Worth Abbey" very much. It creates a special atmosphere and touches on religion without preaching. Do you write much poetry about your beliefs, or do you prefer to write about more earthly subjects most of the time?
Patrick:
That's a deep one! I have spent most of my life dabbling around the edges of theology, depth psychology (Jung) and other "esoteric" ideas -- areas that have recently acquired the label "New Age". As a cradle Catholic, the challenge has always been to keep growing up, to keep the religious concepts growing up with me. All my life, I have found the explanations and teachings of the institutional Church almost completely useless in telling me what my faith was about (that is, how to live properly), so I have been forced to find other vocabularies through which to explain it to myself. Faith itself has never been a problem, so I guess I don't need to preach it. Just recently I have encountered major disruptions in my personal life, and faith has been an extremely dynamic factor, probably the most fundamental, in getting me through.
Poetry L & T: Your poem “As this blue November” ends on a sad note, which does not take away from the beauty but somehow adds to it, with a touch of drama in the words "empty of you". Do you draft and re-draft a poem like this one, or does it arrive almost in one finished piece?
Patrick:
The whole business of re-drafting and revising is absolute torture. I am sure most artists know that feeling. If a poem comes fully formed, then you hardly dare to touch it; yet if there is a tiny blemish, or dissatisfaction, you have no choice but to revise it. "As this blue November" came fully formed apart from the last stanza, which I revised. "Fully formed" needs some elucidation. I always write by investigating the particularity of the moment, which can be almost anything. That is equivalent to saying that I empty my conscious "theatre of awareness". Because I have been writing for so long, I have schooled myself to become both empty and focused at the time of writing; there is definitely a knack. At my disposal are chains or "neural networks" of available metaphors, alliterating words, and apt rhythms, appropriate to whatever I am trying to say. These too have been built up by practice. Then again, over the years, I have (without knowing it) become a craftsman of singling out details, telling a story, evoking an atmosphere, seeking out perspectives, and finding the words of power and weight. It happens inside me without conscious effort, and somehow because of that, the inner essence of the poem seems to come through with great immediacy these days. I am often amazed at what I have written!
Poetry L & T: Your poem "Boxing Day, 2004" sums up the tragedy of the death and destruction of the tsunami. Are you often inspired by devastating events in world news, and do you think poets can help to raise awareness when help is needed?
Patrick:
That's a very tricky point. Poetry cannot really be used for a political or campaigning purpose, or at least, the way I write would not be capable of being consciously directed. If I did direct the goal of the poem with my conscious will, it would probably fail. However, if I am deeply moved by some situation, then I can write. It does not happen very frequently. A year ago, the death of Yasser Arafat, the siege of Felluja, and Remembrance Day all coincided, and I did write something then. And world disasters like the tsunami, or international threats like nuclear war (I grew up during the Cold War), impinge on the consciousness of everyone. However, it is hard to avoid being rushed into communal emotion by the broadcast media: the simple and pure individual response becomes instantly swamped by the visual replays, the partial interpretations and the vox pops. A poem needs to be informed by the whole of the poet's individuality, otherwise it loses its primary force. I believe that poets do have a responsibility to be socially aware, and to live their beliefs. I live in the developed west, where much is committed or omitted in my name, as a member of a liberal democracy. I am complicit in what politicians do. I have many years' experience, first as a trade union representative, and then a researcher, so I guess I have always had a touch of the "naive revolutionary" about me.
Poetry L & T: What, for you (reading other poets' work), makes a poem good or memorable?
Patrick:
I look for lyric intensity and compression, as may be found in the work of Pauline Stainer or my tutor, Peter Abbs. A strong element of emotional honesty, probably. The ability to make a profound point about humanity, about life, about meanings. I also need a poet to be sensitive to the language, its history and usage. And I need to see the endless free play of imagination, a sense of absorption and pleasure in using words, and a consistency of intention, methods and content. But I am still learning, and the more poems I read, and the more poets I hear, reading their work, the more I realise that I have not read enough and have an awful lot to learn!
Poetry L & T: Have you found the internet useful, in getting new exposure for your poetry?
Patrick:
This is my first exposure through the internet, and it comes by the kindness of my friend Annette Armstrong (of the Poetry Cafe in East Grinstead), who passed on a recommendation. I will wait with some trepidation to see what happens!
Poetry L & T: Is there anything you see in modern poetry online (in websites or forums) that you dislike, or that annoys you?
Patrick:
I have, in all honesty, not done much browsing of modern poetry online; I am old enough to find computers a lot less companionable than a book. I suppose I am perpetually wary of anything that seems too hasty or too easy. Poetry can be simply the release of feelings through words, and I love the thought that everyone has poetry inside them. I think everyone has the right to create poetry, and to share it with others. However, I would be wary of speedy circulation of poetry in forums, because the judgements that come back might be pretty speedy too, and not geared to the specific needs of the poet. Hearing a poet's voice is very important to me: it is the greatest pleasure to hear the voice and the words together, to have the privilege of being in the presence of another poet, to take part in the essential uniqueness of the moment.
Poetry L & T: Finally, Patrick, what are your main ambitions for the future?
Patrick:
After keeping my poems to myself for so long, they are now crying out to be read and heard. I would like to gain a wider circle of recognition, and to explore suitable avenues for this: I particularly like reading poems aloud, and hearing others read aloud. I would like to spread the joy I have in words and poetry to other people, and to encourage them to take the first steps in writing and speaking the poetry of their inner life, their "soul" if you wish. Just as Mr Hennessy did for me.
Poetry L & T: Thank you for the interview, Patrick. I hope this interview will be a start in enabling your poetry to reach a wider audience. And thank Annette for me, for recommending your work to us.
 | NEW - in our merchandise store: the Poetry Life & Times Poetry Journal... click image to find out more.
|
| Dear Poets, Welcome to the October 2005 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 a poet from Sussex, England: Patrick Bond.
Featured Poets include: Phyllis Jean Green, James Robert Campbell, Ryfkah and Dr. T. Ashok Chakravarthy.
Resident Poets feature Robin Ouzman Hislop, Richard Vallance, Jan Sand and Sara L. Russell. See below Featured Poets for the link to this page.
|
 |
|
In the Vallance Review for October 2005, Richard's Review No. 47 features Part A of Introduction to
The New Pleiades Anthology of Poetry 2005 (= Le Florilège de la nouvelle Pléiade 2005).
Fans of The Perils of Norris cartoon: You can buy Norris merchandise for home and office, including apparel and stationery... Click here to visit the store at CafePress.com. More goodies will be added as soon!
My own poetry can be found 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 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.
NEW - Poetry Life & Times Mobile Phone Pages + Free Ringtones & Wallpapers! We now have new mini-sized Poetry Life & Times supplement pages for mobile phones, which include information on the main site, occasional interviews, short poems + 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.
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,
|
Richard Vallance reviews sonnets, both classic and modern.
Featured Poets this month include Phyllis Jean Green, James Robert Campbell, Ryfkah and Dr. T. Ashok Chakravarthy. Many thanks to all contributors. See below Featured Poets for our Resident Poets' page link.
Click title below for this month's Vallance Review feature
PHYLLIS JEAN GREEN
JAMES ROBERT CAMPBELL RYFKAH
DR. T. ASHOK CHAKRAVARTHY
A poet, essayist, translator &
content writer; I am presently employed in a
“Govt-Partnered" "A.P State Co-op Bank” at Hyderabad
City, India. I composed nearly 1000 poems during the
past two decades; receiving awards and commendations
for poetry contributions and participations. Over 350
poems featured across the world in several Poetry
Anthologies, Magazines, Journals, web-zines etc. Two
of my Poetry collections titled (1) Charismata of
Poesie (2003) (2) The Chariot of Musings (2004) are in
circulation.
photo by Sara ClaytorFor Sale: 3-Inch Heels, Slightly Damaged
© Phyllis Jean Green
Trying to please an implacable father
I forked for funeral spikes.
Now they were sinking into mud
scalloping ooze around a marker
too small and plain to believe.
Guess who had done the planning
to take it all with him. Again
my anger did not save. My brother
lies here, I thought. My brother.
Sinking, a man who loved him wept
he was too alive to let himself down.
Too deep. Afraid of being under ground.
No way he killed himself. Yes,
and we all know who did. I felt
a heel crack under the strain.
Then the first drop fell.
Never wanted the stupid damn shoes.
Come on, someone pushed. Come on.
Cold, believe I said. Rain’s hard.
Limping slowly filtered back
broken by a sobbing sky no one could see.
No one was ever going to see.
Heels began to fly as I prayed
not to strike a stone with a heart,
then I hobbled through hail
only two of us could feel.
Appeared in Kenwood Review
Ink Drawing, Brown & White
© Phyllis Jean Green
You stand before you fall
on the scrubbed white square
you call your kitchen.
Behind on the rent, of course.
Why you take in ironing
and keep this child
whose mother gallivants.
Starved yellow sun peeks
through bite-size windows
you curtained off white
by hanging rags along string
from a ball saved knot by knot.
White flour, white table,
white sheets you have piled
in a basket you call bicker.
Other color cinnamon
For snails! the child thinks.
Then you will wash my hair.
I love that flour whitens
the apron beneath your face.
Round cracked glasses shine
on you. We are not going to think
what can happen. Not
when we have cinnamon
and butter from next door.
Sugar-sugar-sugar for the top.
We are going to have milk
with our snails on the porch
where it feels just right.
HM, New England Writers Anthology
Li'l Holly 'roun' BEER&WINE
© Phyllis Jean Green
Jolly old St. Nick has a hangover the size of Manhattan.
Manhattans by the fifth.
Mother specializes, she says,
in knocking over trees.
Last year she managed the governor's.
What a reception!
Drunk is best to play the clown.
Rudolph of the famous red nose.
Crash through holiday after holiday
dragging me behind. I HATE Christmas!
she howled. I LOVE Christmas!
Sober she put up a beautiful tree.
Red, blue and silver, ass IT!
Tinsel goes up strand by strand.
Then the bottle comes out. "Wheeeeeee!"
The laughter almost seemed to last.
Christmas isn't Christmas without a few laughs
but please don't burn the turkey.
Please be able to see.
What a character! people said.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
But the glow was Johnny Walker,
sloppy kisses the work of mistletoe
drunk on fumes.
Staggerers feel me up at twelve.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
Candles had to be red, jokes deep blue.
Hangover held through New Year's,
then time to renew.
Got an errand, wise ones chant.
Sorry, can't make it this year.
Sorry, Mother. Sorry
Mother, I love you, Mother, I hate
Christmas is red, green, silver. . .blue.
Appeared in MindFire
Aliases Tackle Philosophy 101, Midnight to Four
© Phyllis Jean Green
It was l951 and we were losers
refusing to crack in a women's dorm.
Going ape by candle light
for "Why are we here -- or are we?"
Thanks to whatever wine we could afford
if the housemother looked away long enough to sneak it in.
Beryl's mother wrote that Beryl was too fat.
Luckily, she padded it in a suitbox
full of butterscotch brownies with chocolate chips.
Flo had a 200 IQ and cigs.
Nola my roomie just had sex
after hours by climbing out our window
over at that empty building
everyone talked about. So she cut out at 2.
Brinnda was a Preacher's Kid, so we called her PK
while she batted her impossible lashes
smoked like a church afire and informed us
that Prof Yum-Butt was going to hell.
Descartes, Locke and "Is-that-table-really-there?"
held us until dawn. "When was the clock wound?"
In the odd case they palled, Beryl curled
her jointless fingers back and practiced making eyes
at good egg Marcya with a y. Called herself
Doublewide. Coulda used one. Beds, desk,
and tossed socks had us in a corner.
It was a disgrace we were not learning
what we had come to college for,
a pinched dean with a rat in her hair snided
after calling me in for French-kissing
a pre-theology student who had drawn me
with yellow hair, a blind eye and out-of-tune piano
(Too bad he had that mother thing).
So much smoke in Beryl's room, a bone saw
couldn't cut it. Wine so cheap,
it could stand. And the only thing
I would change would be to grab more brownies
and decide the table wasn't there.
Slightly revised version of a poem
that appeared in The Pedestal Magazine
J.R. "Bob" Campbell is a native of Amherst, Texas, who grew up working in his father's blacksmith shop and took a degree in English at West Texas A&M University in Canyon in 1970. Specializing in political writing, trial coverage and human interest features, he has worked at nine newspapers in Texas and Colorado and is now at the Midland Reporter-Telegram in West Texas. He has had poems this year in Ancient Heart, 3 cup morning, TPQ Online and Prism Quarterly and is enjoying the boon to poetry and reading that the e-zines have become.
HONK TO MAKE THE BUZZARDS FLY!
© James Robert Campbell
Honk to make the buzzards fly
As you traverse the Great Southwest.
Gormets of guts, they're loathe to leave
The fecal stench of their repasts.
No, not eagles and not cranes,
Bedraggled wingspans black as sin,
They launch reluctantly, the weight
Of moist satiety on them.
Maggot-and intestine-glutted,
Packed like Dumpsters, buzzards need
Consideration of their hygenic
Value and exigencies.
Heavy, yes, and slow of wing,
They fly too late unless you warn,
Sometimes to the windshield only
Sans the sounding of your horn.
Bursting buzzard, bursting glass --
If you know worse, then spare the lie.
You're fifty miles from town, remember:
Honk to make the buzzards fly!
RUNNING THE MILE
© James Robert Campbell
Not being warm on a chilly day
Is jarring me to the back of my head
For the first three hundred yards.
I do not feel the urgency
My arms and legs express.
"Sixty-three," my ally calls,
and I have to say I"m gliding.
I wish I could remember
How it was
I told myself to run.
The last is hard.
"Two-fifteen!"
The third is when I might give way,
But the others are holding, too.
My legs are emptying.
A sprinter's feet approach,
and a little one strains past
And goes in front.
"Three thirty-five!"
my critic yells.
I drive my knees and trail my heels
and stream exhaustion out my fingers.
The rolling fields are green,
The air is smoky hot,
Somebody is beside me --
Crunch around the turn.
How am I doing this? I ask.
Don't fall, I say.
So where's the line?
I'm out.
ELIJAH-JOHN THE BAPTIST
© James Robert Campbell
Elijah, when he ran from Jezebel,
Having lost composure after he had slain
Four hundred-fifty adherents of Bael,
Dejected by his flight across the plain,
Asked God to take him from this evil world,
For Ahab"s queen had proved herself the bane
Of the holy prophets sent there by the Lord.
Elijah had been zealous, but his fear
Prompted this ironic exchange of words:
God asked, "Elijah, what're you doing here?"
Then said, "Now go outside while I pass by."
A mighty wind, an earthquake and a fire --
But then a whisper as the Lord came nigh
Put Elijah on the path that Enoch walked:
The only two men who didn"t have to die.
Ahab and Queen Jezebel had stalked
The men Jehovah sent with His commands,
But because the Tishbite never balked,
The end of her would come by eunuchs' hands --
Facefirst to the cobblestones and hooves
To be dolloped out across the land
By a pack of dogs. Watching from the rooves,
The hoi polloi took in the hellish scene
As the great adultress proved that it behooves
Everyone to understand God means
What He says. Don"t subtract or add a thing
To Scripture, not even to please a king or queen,
For we have seen what happens to the kings
By example after example in the text.
It was time for the chariot to bring
Elijah home to Heaven and for the next
Prophet of the Lord to take his place.
Elisha now would doubly move to vex
The enemies of Jehovah and His love.
Elijah would return as John the Baptist,
Awaiting Him who merited the dove
While living on wild honey and some locusts.
Baptizer of the Savior of Mankind,
He came back yet again, transfigured with Moses.
Elijah-John the Baptist, yes, would find
And sanctify the Savior of Mankind.
I Wish
© Ryfkah, 26th August 2005
Shooting stars flash like fiery dragons
You call me by my many names
Some biblical some mythical others terrestrial
Plum waves crash under indigo sky
I hold your hand and listen to the future
All about you mere whispers about me
We nuzzle between words waiting for the full moon
You search for the moment to kiss
A secret cordoned off in Pandora's box
Night ignites bright with the pregnant moon
I ponder the stories I hold within
Not getting the chance to reveal them
Dawn flitters on the horizon like a lonely woman
The Rose Garden
© Ryfkah
The roses have rusted;
they spread their baby-fine powder
as if flakes of newly shed skin.
Closet shelf looms empty
where his cavalry sword had lain.
Deflating balloon butterflies cling
to beamed kitchen ceiling
a mocking mating dance.
Every new year the naked branches of a thorny
bush are cradled into front yard’s rose garden
like newborn dreams of summer and growth.
“Are you going to use the coffee grinder
or can I take it?” he grins.
“Yes I use it,” knowing
it’s too much trouble at five a.m.
With black heart, Uncle Al’s green rabbinical scholar
with black beard, black hat, black coat is removed
from fireplace wall, now faded empty rhombus.
A few rose bushes sprout new red shoots;
perhaps their blossoms are to anoint the air again.
Dog-chewed furniture with spill marks, broken springs
is left behind like discarded quarter century
memories, children, other disposables.
Night is shadowed and our bed is immense
so much bare white space to float upon.
Yet in morning there unfolds a single budding bloom
from out of the brown and yellow death of yesterday.
She Who Runs with the Wolves
© Ryfkah
(for shayna on becoming a jewish woman)
Middle child chases eldest with knife
then youngest chases middle with knife
sisterly love.
Youngest evolves feral child
leaps with bear-dog through backyard bushes.
At rest together lapping water from doggie spigot.
Imaginary skateboard shatters window
as food is grazed twenty-four hours
to feed monster’s appetite.
When age three wolf-child sports cowboy boots
and bomber jacket, demands of hairdresser
“Cut it all off!”
At thirteen feet bared army fatigue camouflaged
she slams bathroom door and chants Torah
solo, sacrilegious and sacred.
Her great-Bubbie known as saint
(if she only grows to be as good and generous)
wild child is weighed by ancestral name.
“I want to change my name.
How about Batu? I like Batu!”
Shrug of shoulders when confronted
for meaning; “Or Ayaah.”
Her acorn-colored clumps never combed
but tangled with rolled-in dirt
from balding grass patches.
School assignment to write report on Mayans:
she scrawls bizarre story of Mayan ritual
with characters named Batu or Ayaah.
“What do you want to be?” the Rabbi asks.
Clearly answers, “A stand-up comedian.”
Some children are raised by wolves
to create a civilization
while others are raised by civilizations
to run with the wolves.
QUEST FOR ENLIGHTENMENT
Dr. T. Ashok Chakravarthy
Scripting the destiny universal
From your dynasty invisible
Time and again you provoke
Binding us with fancied stakes.
You bind us with childish desires
You bind us with youthful fires
You bind us with family relations
You bind us with selfish illusions.
In times difficult you are sought
In times thorny you are thought
But evading to pray for one and all
We prefer sorting individual hassles.
We ignore the one starving to death
We ignore the orphans seeking our faith
We ignore the sufferings of others
With pretexts we ignore an ailing mother.
Revered Almighty! You test our depths,
Punish us at ripe time with befitting steps
Yes, why are we made to commit the sins?
Why are we made to endure the sufferings?
Impart wisdom, Oh Lord, refresh our minds
Cleanse the souls enshrined in human bodies.
THE TASK
Dr. T. Ashok Chakravarthy
Few are the aspiring hopes
Though many are the avenues
But who will earnestly explore
The task to re-script the ultimate.
Time keeps rolling into the past
The-then future relied upon;
However turned into present
To once again roll back into past.
Once in a while, yes scarcely once
Right prospects glimpse the light
If the right opportune is not utilized
No doubt, we ought to rue later.
The avoidable becomes unavoidable
The unavoidable thus invites havoc
Lives are staked, innocents are killed
Destruction and disaster takes charge.
The concept of unity and peace
The concept of universal brotherhood
Where have they been dumped?
From whom are they forcibly grabbed?
Scripting aggressive modes to attain peace
Creating vicious moves to achieve peace
Only spill the seeds of distrust and hatred
Yet is there a scope to accomplish the task?
IS THIS WHAT LIFE IS
Dr. T. Ashok Chakravarthy
With happiness around
As a child I wondered
What’s in store ahead
In this fascinating world.
Before aspirations vowed to evaluate
Of what sort life is knitted with,
With fondness showered all around
Years lapsed with total excitement.
When youthful warmth cheered
Leaving astray childhood thoughts
New imaginations flew high and high
Crafting paths for new aspirations.
I touched the charming roses
I treasured the pleasurable love
I tamed the adverse situations
Struggling to make out yet
What life is still yet?
Under the shelter of love and joy
Very soon children grew-up young
Still, is there something more left
Before they settle on their own
Where begins the parting phase.
The sacrificial parental love and care
Still, how deep I yearn to memorize
Unfortunate, I ignored to cherish then
But intend to peep into the past now.
Ignored, as I did with my parents
While parting ways at the will of love
The same emotive tune surfaces now.
Perhaps, when every thing settles
My children may yearn like me
Yes, this is what life is…..
Only dreams to dream around
Only memories to cherish around.
 |
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.
|
 | 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.
|
Come and speak your poetry in the open space at East Grinstead Poetry Café, 7.30 first Friday of every month.
Friday 7th October: Mimi Khalvati
The Studio Theatre, Peredur Centre for the Arts, West Hoathly Road, East Grinstead, West Sussex, RH19 4NF, UK
|
 | An amazing new e-book published by Kedco Studios Inc. Curious? Click the picture link! |
 | New, full colour illustrated A5 poetry chapbook by Sara L.Russell currently Poole (Dorset), Tunbridge Wells (Kent), Crawley (West Sussex) and East Grinstead (West Sussex). Also available online from Giftoftongues.com, for readers both in and outside the UK. Plus - a limited number of signed, complimentary review copies are available for poet friends in the USA or Canada. Special Features: Vellum cover, 28 pages of poems, with colour illustrations & line drawings. Poems on the theme of legends and lost worlds of fantasy and magic. |
 | SONNETTO POESIA ISSN 1705-4524 (Canada) Vol. 4. no. 2 spring 2005 is going to print. Featured in our first ever print issue are several well-known contemporary sonneteers including Eric Linden, Joe Ruggier & Richard Vallance from Canada; Robin Ouzman Hislop and Sara Russell of the UK; and Sondra Ball, Esther Cameron, Jim Dunlap and Carrie Ann Thunell of the USA. Subscription rates are $4.00 per issue/ $10.00 per year = 4 issues/Quarterly in C$ or US$. |
laissezmoienpaix@coolgoose.ca
Please do not send your submissions inline in the body of your e-mail. We will contact you only in the event any of your sonnets are accepted for publication.
Richard Vallance,
Editor, SONNETTO POESIA ISSN 1705-4524
dmoz open directory
Listed in The Poet's Market 2006 (August 2005)
Click the above banner to discover our free weekly market e-zine and searchable database of writer's guidelines with 1,000 publications - 200 that publish poetry.
Poetry Life & Times won The Prix Poesie's laissez-faire Grand Prize in 2002
- thanks Richard!
[Click the banner to learn more about this award.]
 |
Q U I C K I E S - an e-book of erotic/humorous stories for women |
|
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!
|
Visit Crystal Rose's Place
Val Magnuson Galactic Poet Award
An exciting new anthology, by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press,
The Crystal Rose © Ice Shard
OUT NOW! CRYSTAL DAWN
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, #63 - Having been changged into Elizabeth Barrett Browning by the Absinth Fairy (for a day and a night) Norris can hardly cope with the flood of brilliant poetry, or the fact that he still doesn't know Elizabeth's friend's name, or indeed, where the hell he is.....
 |
The image of the Hill's Absinth bottle in this episode of The Perils of Norris cartoon was used by kind permission of Dan Hill at hillsabsinth.com. For more information about this exciting bohemian drink, plus Vicky Vixen cartoon and info about Hill's Absinth cocktails, click the bottle link on the left to visit their fun, interactive website... |
NEW: The Poetry Life & Times Store
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.
The Perils of Norris Page 6 (Current adventure)
The Perils of Norris Page 5 (page 2 of earlier adventures)
The Perils of Norris Page 1 (early stories, start page)
Click here for BACK ISSUES page
Email us early
with poetry, articles or poetry news, by 20th October for the November 2005 issue.
