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Index of poets:
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Excerpts from The Swamp i. Mack the Knife. (i) dont shoot now: you know the pigeon mac, the sky's hyperbolic when it's sad with murder. hallow or harrow they're not the same but neither profane. we who are so small as to be infintisimal in the order of it all. ii. The Swamp (ii) Blue streak on the ramifications in the name of the pebble & the commonplace left the trace of a blue streak in the sky to die like a cloud, like candle soot. Reification with the chill of aftermath, petrifaction, in the pool where Narcissus swooned at its innocence, its mutilation, that left a blue streak in his eye. Here, where, lilac lotus lily & the bladed broken reeds litter the kerbs on the banks where the Nile ends. iii. The Swamp. (iii) Seasons are older than the marrow But their paths are as sands, As sounds on the wind. Today's worm is tomorrow's rainbow, Mind walks valleys & though they have lilies body is braced in the marrow. The hymen of dream, an unfolding screen transmitted to lightning That splits the skull's funny bone into primal a scream, While phantom seasons dress a skeleton With watery moments of time. iv. The Dead * his fingers part the window's lace. night snowflakes, frozen stars suspend a receding plain on watery horizons, where deities beyond reach beckon, where eternity is kept by its shadow. a tree bends cracked twigs in shimmering lamplight, guardian of the dead & living. she lies white & weeping on the bed. he touches the ice-splintered glass & the receding plain returns from the dead to thrust into his heart the pain & confusion of the living. he hears her whisper his name, who died so long ago for love of her, so young, who could not bear to live on for lack of sight of her from his window, after she'd gone. it was love, not as he, who knows only sudden turmoil rend, as she weeps for the living & the dead. * after James Joyce: The Dead, Featuring Anjelica Houston 2.) Excerpts from Elements of Deliriums. i. In the margins stands A lout with its tongue hanging Out: Requiems pass, Another batch is moved on With memories like whipped dogs. ii. Beware of Poet No hawkers no circulars Trespassers will be Quartered & persecuted All comments at your own risk iii. November's dog barks Out the woodland dark, branches Scratch icicle stars: Snowflakes fall in misty veils, Evermore & nevermore. iv. Accident occurred Here witnesses please leave Flowers, telephone... v. Grey skies through windows In a house of ghosts like rags In a jumble sale. vi. Mortal loves between Curtains & their shadow world Dance in leit motiff.© Robin Ouzman Hislop 2004 ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP: Born UK. Childhood in Lyme Regis & Poole Dorset. Lived Scotland & Scandinavia, The East & Spain. A great deal of my life has been spent out of England, my mother's side is Scottish & I take the name Hislop, as writer's name from her family name. Bachelor in Arts (Hns). Philosophy & Religion. Manchester University. Resident at Pakistan, Lahore. Studies at Punjab University, New Campus, Lahore: Sufism (Tasawuf), Jalal-U-Din Rumi & Ibn Arabi. Sheffield University: Spanish & Latin American Cultural Studies. Resident in Spain from 1985 until December 1998 (Madrid and Salamanca): Resident at Salamanca, 1996-98: English Language teacher and translator for “El Ateneo”. Organisation of bilingual poetry readings at Casa do Brasil, Madrid Complutense University, Escuela Oficial de Idiomas, (Madrid Official School of Languages), Cafés Manuela and Magerit, O’Connors Pub, Madrid, El Ateneo and El Corrillo in Salamanca. Translations of poetry include 1927 Spanish Generation Poets: selections of F.G. Lorca, Luis Cernuda, Rafael Alberti, M. Altolaguirre, Miguel Hernandez and Vicente Aleixandre’s poems; and the Chilean poet Andres Fisher, Las Diosas Blancas an Anthology edited Ramon Buenaventura, an anthology of poetry Alchemy by Tessa Duncan from Spanish and James Stephens Fairy Stories into Spanish have been more recent activities. I hope to feature these, as well as introducing new translations with originals on my web page soon to be opened IBIS. I am interested in revivalist movements in modern poetry. Appeared in Dawn Millenium Anthology published by Kedco Studios & this year appeared in their Crystal Dawn Anthology. Frequently featured in the E zines Poetry Life and Times, Autumn Leaves, Sonnetto Poesia, Canadian Zen Haiku, appeared on Artvilla, Poetry Repairs, the Celtic Pagan Poetry Pages Journal, as featured poet in the Beltane edition & Ancient Dawn E zines amongst others. This year will publish own anthology Blue Corn which will incorporate performance, on web cam and voice recital with Kedco Studios. Mystic East publishers are now in process of editing my anthology After the Cave, the Comet for publication later this year, as well as their Mystic East Anthology of poets, where further work is due to appear, and am pleased to announce our forthcoming New Pleiades Anthology 2005, to be published by Kedco Studios, which will feature our own New Pleiades poetry list of international poets, where I am a co editor & list moderator. My present book After the Cave the Comet was published this month by Mystic East. Robin will become a Resident Poet of Poetry Life & Times from January 2005. More of Robin's work can be found here: http://myweb.tiscali.co.uk/ibispoetrymagazine
And in Amparo Arróspide's Gift of Tongues: EXCLUSIVE NEWS UPDATE: Some of Robin's poems are due to appear in an anthology "Blue Corn", to be published by Kedco in 2005. 
Also Robin's exciting epic "After the Cave, the Comet" is now available for purchase either as a CD or Ebook at Mystic East.
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Quarry for Blake Debassige [1] and Scott Snow [2] I "Brother of ours, how long did you glide with Weendigo [3], there, midst all his trees, zooming in fast on his snowy and wide teal navy blue, echo muffling forest?” II Brave, where did you find your quarry lurking or whereto took she flight? Is hers a tale you'll tell, her's a story seen in embers we feed throughout the night? III Was there in that dim forest but 1 beast left you could have hunted down, 1 single harried quarry? “Bundle hands and feet.” Old Weendigo, he's deft! “Brothers, share the pipe! Come, weave us 1 brave story.” IV But Cedar Island's Bear Moon Lodge all too slowly wearily warms to plumes of smoke the peace pipe's borne up to Paths of Souls [4]. Do you hear them? Oh Mishoomis [5], shaman, listen! Go! Call off Winter's storms before they kill us off in drifts no soul can dodge! V Said he, three times he said, "I hid in dark, I did, in what dark I hid. But there I spied her, roe! She'd quaked and broke the brush. I seen her beady eyes, and fears unfold her ears, before I sees her, sees her rush through Bear Moon's [6] crusty snow before she stood stalk still and stiffened, like that spruce moonlit all alone in a stranger cold. VI So here goes the tale he'd told. VII The night grew wild for it knew why its Crescent Moon criss-crossed its Path of Souls, as she flit lit a long gaunt silver roe, who slipped and fell to swoon, tumbled in a little ball there, where she'd been hit! VIII Felled by 1 arrow's silvereen scream, she breathed in once, but gasped, as Death accosted her by a dark white stream. IX His nimble quiver his swift hands had spun through drifts he'd seen her in, half flit, in tangled Cedar [7] stands she reigned in, she, the woodlands' loneliest Queen. X He heard her single scream passing in a blast, and crept up on her by that stream, his brown eyes gaunt so far downcast. XI His flint had hit her flitted flank, from which her spirit bled, had raked her thin raked ribs and froze her solid in her dread. XII Prays such as stars touch silvered lips, the beast's, the 1 who's dead, the brave's, now pale, some more than wicked hoarfrost nips. XIII All hail! Old Makwa's [8] Moon has hailed our deep desire to cringe a while around a little fire which roasts (we hope) her red flesh soon. XIV All skin and bones you've left us, roe, your flesh has drugged our souls, your face makes prayers of eyes as wondrous as the snow where your blood's annealed your last littlest trace. XV We'd dragged her back on a black travois the winds beat to and fro. Here's Cedar for you, and hear our prayers. "It's flint killed you, wee manitou [9], our roe.” XVI We hear you calling to mishoomis, our dead, We've seen a trail of spirits weeping over moons, as Mothers query them, "Fathers, will our children live to laugh another Summer with our brother loons? © 1998 & 1999 by Richard Vallance, revised June 2004Explanatory Notes: As this is an Amerindian ballad, there are images, thoughts and spirits herein many outsiders will not recognize. So we wish to shed a little light on these:
[1] Blake Debassige, Canadian Ojibway artist and painter, 1956 - RICHARD VALLANCE was Born in Guelph, Ontario, Canada, March 11th., 1945, Richard Vallance, H.B.A., M.L.S, is fluently bilingual in English and French, and reads Spanish and Italian, ancient Greek and Latin well. He wrote his first major poem at the age of 18, in 1963. For years, Richard wrote mainly in the field of Library and Information Science. At Chicago, in October, 1983, he won the $1,000 Data Courier Award for Excellence in Online Published Papers. Richard has composed over 2,500 poems. In 1998, he published his first full book of poetry, A Quilt of Sonnets: Forty Four Familiar Poems, Ottawa: Providence Road Press, © 1998. 56 pp. ISBN 1-896243-07-x. In February, 2001, Richard founded his first poetry discussion group, Describe Adonis, for sonneteers. All of Richard's poetry groups have now been transferred to Smartgroups (UK), under the banner The New Pleiades = la nouvelle Pléiade. Richard's world class poetry page is Poesie’s laissez-faire Faire Foire, which showcases over 40 poets worldwide. PLFFF features sonnets, haiku, contemporary and historical poetry, and grants the monthly Prix laissez-faire Faire Foire Award . PLFFF is a member of Phenomenal Men of The Web: Arts & Humanities. Richard is the Editor of 3 Canadian poetry E-Zines, accessible here, Poetry Journals. Since September, 2001, Richard has been the poetry reviewer for Poetry Life and Times, which features the monthly Vallance Review. He is also regular contributor to the same E-Zine. Richard is also often featured with the U.S. Amerindian E-Zine, Autumn Leaves and in the US print poetry journal, The Neovictorian/Cochlea (Madison, Wisconsin). 1. 10 of Richard's poems were included in Millennium Dawn, Kedco Studios Press, Las Vegas, NV, © 2002 ISBN 1-878431-38-2. CONTACT: Richard Vallance (Coolgoose.ca)
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UNWARRANTED ANGER Language on the public media Is limited to soapscrubbed words. I must rush to my encyclopedia To find proper reference to turds. Nastiness is smoothed by overt beeps Whenever drama asks expressions That convey violence that sleeps Under the surface of suppressed aggressions. So now I wonder what I have done To my computer when I disturb its sleep. I click its switch to start its run And, nastily, it responds with a beep. IDEA Go and catch a synapse snap On the horizon of perception. Discover that a thunderclap Awakens prime conception. Follow now the flicker glow That puzzles out the path Where fear and faith trickle flow To ensnare aftermath. The searching twists and bifurcates Along unlikely mazes. Each seeking spark complicates, Diffuses into crazes. Most frequently each glow dies In sequestered isolation But, rarely, one odd surmise Can bloom to conflagration. SNAKES AND APPLES The snake shows sinuosities, Celebrates the sinister. Signals salacious suggestions, Shrouding stated sexualities In slitherings sinusoidal, A sustanance of strange satanic Superiorities. Apples are appreciated, Alimentarily acceptable, Always admired as Acid or ambrosial And, alternatively, Anathema to aspirations Accounting to The Almighty. Snakes and apples, no doubt, Are odd in combination. Especially when used to rout Mankind’s inhabitation Of his first idyllic spot. Ah well, I suppose This first religious blot With all its consequential woes Could have been inflicted By a butterfly with a fig To have Adam evicted. Contrariwise, perhaps a pig Would do to dump the blame Onto. This then sad swine To live in consequence in shame For defying the Divine. But now it’s snakes that we’re stuck with, Viper, cobra, rattler, boa, Slitherers we’ve no luck with. No doubt all conserved by Noah, Along with all the rest he’d grapple, Bats and cats and natch, the apple. © Jan Sand, 2004JAN SAND is a poet and illustrator from New York (now residing in Helsinki), is a regular contributor to Poetry Life & Times and the newsgroup alt.arts.poetry.comments. A great deal of his work is about animals, or science fiction. Recently Jan was published by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press, on their latest CD ROM e-book, "A Way With Words (Poetry Real and Surreal), which also includes complete books by Dale Houstman, Sara L. Russell and Keith Gabriel Hendricks. Jan's illustrated book on the CD is called "Wild Figments And Odd Conjectures", which is also sold separately, in a limited-edition "single" CD. To see an illustrated article about Jan's poems, visit the November '98 issue of Poetry Life & Times, and scroll down past the Editor's Letter. He also has his own poetry pages on Charlotte's Web at Artvilla. Back to top
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LAMIA (sonnet trilogy) I Within fathomless chambers of your dreams, Past glittering remains of lost desire, Like fallen empires borne on lava streams, Therein I fly, soaring on wings of fire. Rare sandalwood imparts her smoky breath, Sweetens the air wherever I alight, Even unto Hades' caverns of death, Bringing your shuttered eyes eternal night. I gaze, unblinking as the eye of Ra, Toward the sun and her attendant spheres, I know the genesis of every star, Each wormhole, where all matter disappears. Bold deities tremble beneath my glare, Fall into heedless sleep - and I'll be there. II Answers to why he cannot sleep at night Aimlessly circle in his tortured mind. Dark hair in disarray, face deathly-white, He strives to leave the conscious world behind. And still she comes, despite his fevered prayers, With kisses more ferocious than the first, To dissipate all memories and cares, Pinning him down, to slake her torrid thirst. Soon hushed entreaties melt to honeyed sighs. He feels the draught of wingbeats on his face, Opium petals flutter to his eyes, She presses close; his heart begins to race. Daybreak arrives, the same as all the rest: He wakes supine, with claw marks on his chest. III Glide down from Brighton's bright Pavilion, Feeling the salt sea breeze upon my breast; Beneath the Arches, mortal men dream on, While I alight nearby, to take my rest. Now mermaids rest their voices and depart To deeper fathoms than mankind has seen, Swirling through chasms in the ocean's heart To rest on undulating beds of green. Now pigeons wake, now seagulls speed their flight, And Oscar's sphinx has folded her great wings. Mankind awakes to greet the morning light With eagerness for unimportant things. Soon comes nightfall. When everything is still I shall return for you, to take my fill!SARA RUSSELL Poet, cartoonist and short story writer. Editor of Poetry Life & Times. Newsgroup signature was originally 'Pinky Andrexa, Last Of The Cyber Vixen Poets From Outer Space'. Won Internet Arts Award from Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press. Runner-up in Capricorn International Love Poetry competition 1998. Her website Poetry Life & Times recently won the Alpha Poets' Poetic Eyes web award. Won Poet of the Week in the Poetry For Thought group (The Globe groups) for the week April 28-May 4th, 2001, with the poem "If You Were Mine". Inducted into The Poets' Hall of Fame, 2001, and included in its anthology for that year. Recently broke several bones after falling from a train; now fully recovered after almost a year, and walking without a limp following a recent successful hip operation. Published Works: 5 illustrated e-books published by Kedco Studios Artist Profile Press (most recent first): Worlds Inside The Head, Quickies, Spiders And Gliders, A Way With Words (in collaboration with four other poets) and Pinky's Little Book of Shadows. Also published in several Kedco e-book anthologies and Forward Press bound book anthologies.
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© Sara L. Russell, 22nd September 2004