Three Poems by Valentina Cano
Botched Rehearsal
The absolute truth is that
none of you fit with me.
Your skin was sandpaper against mine,
gritting dirt into my pores
in an unending flux of dominance.
Your eyes were too wide
to focus on me,
only peering at the scenery
with cardboard trees
swaying in a static breeze.
Your hands, your feet,
aberrations of flesh,
horns and hoofs in pale swaddling
that glisten in a drop of light.
The makeup and mask
sliding a smidge to the right,
your curl of a smile
glinting out at
my screaming, retreating form.
Hemispheres
Lines in sand or in hair,
lines that block you and me
from our own skins.
Lines written in trimmed fingernails
and scabs made from shoes that were too tight.
All things we thought would pull the
other down the weathered footpath.
And yet,
the lines are not blurred
as they promised,
but stark and grooved with puddled blood
and with names curled up like
hair around a drain.
These lines, ours,
will never bend or waver
with the ripple of years.
We are where we are,
on opposite sides
of a pencil stroke.
Years
She’s repeated the same nightmare,
the same whirlpool of stagnant water
sucking numbly at her brain.
She pauses as she walks,
as if pecking crumbs off the sidewalk,
a breeze full of needles puncturing her eyes.
No one smiles as she walks,
no one notices her bleeding ears,
her dripping years,
like ragged water balloons,
splashing moments on the floor.
At the most, a dog
will turn and look,
smell her shoes,
those old soldiers,
strapped loyal to her stork-like ankles.
Author’s Bio: Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time either writing or reading. Her works have appeared in Exercise Bowler, Blinking Cursor, Theory Train, Magnolia's Press, Cartier Street Press, Berg Gasse 19, Precious Metals and will appear in the upcoming editions A Handful of Dust, The Scarlet Sound, The Adroit Journal, Perceptions Literary Magazine, Welcome to Wherever, The Corner Club Press, Death Rattle, Danse Macabre, Subliminal Interiors, Generations Literary Journal, Super Poetry Highway and Perhaps I'm Wrong About the World. She can be reach at: valca85@aol.com.
A blog for Contemporary Literary Review India or CLRI. It publishes new announcements, releases, and blurbs meant for CLRI the literary journal hosted on http://literaryjournal.in/. Previously, literary issues were brought out on this blog with own domain. Authors and artists published here can still search their pieces but with http://contemporaryliteraryreview.blogspot.in/.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Three Poems by Ron Koppelberger
Three Poems by Ron Koppelberger
Love Beneath
Set apart by the lines of azure skies and the ancient notice
Laying toward the unfettered lives of
Balanced beauty and tender eyes, a striking fashion
Of careless love, beneath the bonds of conceded reason
And near the soul of contrite wonder,
An ardent passion emboldened by the dreams of thoughtful
Repair.
Frayed Promise
Each one of the dawns rays, borne by the bleeding
Horizon and the advent of breath and blessed
Virgin bond, a cycle of revolution gone by the
Dusky tide of a dream, by lit skies in
Amber shawls of warmth, near the frayed
Promise of twilight in heavens lost
And careful lines of sleep.
Winged Trust
Easy in symbols of announced voyage, a gossamer
Veil, untold by the quest for liberty and love, by the minute
And wild diversions yet asleep, bred by charmed beginnings
And courses in cascading journeys of ethereal belief,
Rare havens’ in reflection and careful reward, a prayer
In deed, a summery in vaunt, the love of winged trust
In innocent shapes of sleep.
Author’s Bio: Ron Koppelberger is a poet and a short story writer. Ron has written 101 books of poetry over the past several years and 17 novels. He has published 491 poems, 341 short stories, and 86 pieces of art in over 155 periodicals, books and anthologies as well as in radio broadcasts. He has appeared in The Storyteller, Ceremony, Write On!!! (Poetry Magazette), Writing Raw and Necrology Shorts. He has recently won the People’s Choice Award for poetry In The Storyteller for a poem titled Secret Sash. He can be reached at: will806095@bellsouth.net.
Love Beneath
Set apart by the lines of azure skies and the ancient notice
Laying toward the unfettered lives of
Balanced beauty and tender eyes, a striking fashion
Of careless love, beneath the bonds of conceded reason
And near the soul of contrite wonder,
An ardent passion emboldened by the dreams of thoughtful
Repair.
Frayed Promise
Each one of the dawns rays, borne by the bleeding
Horizon and the advent of breath and blessed
Virgin bond, a cycle of revolution gone by the
Dusky tide of a dream, by lit skies in
Amber shawls of warmth, near the frayed
Promise of twilight in heavens lost
And careful lines of sleep.
Winged Trust
Easy in symbols of announced voyage, a gossamer
Veil, untold by the quest for liberty and love, by the minute
And wild diversions yet asleep, bred by charmed beginnings
And courses in cascading journeys of ethereal belief,
Rare havens’ in reflection and careful reward, a prayer
In deed, a summery in vaunt, the love of winged trust
In innocent shapes of sleep.
Author’s Bio: Ron Koppelberger is a poet and a short story writer. Ron has written 101 books of poetry over the past several years and 17 novels. He has published 491 poems, 341 short stories, and 86 pieces of art in over 155 periodicals, books and anthologies as well as in radio broadcasts. He has appeared in The Storyteller, Ceremony, Write On!!! (Poetry Magazette), Writing Raw and Necrology Shorts. He has recently won the People’s Choice Award for poetry In The Storyteller for a poem titled Secret Sash. He can be reached at: will806095@bellsouth.net.
A Birthplace But No Memories by Vinita Agrawal
A Birthplace But No Memories by Vinita Agrawal
The courtyard of my childhood
has only a hint of native dust
Just a faint aroma
as barely perceptible
as the fragrance of dried-roses
wafting from the pages of an old book
when held close to the heart.
Instead, the smell of
unruffled feathers
and castrated roots lingers.
Images of a departing caravan
dominate…
crying, kicking, clinging
to visible thorny briars, walls, pillars,
to invisible air, heat, storms
to friends…
Nothing helped.
The adults were implacable
and looked ahead with set faces.
I remember the Peacock
standing still;
no longer dancing.
becoming a part of the havoc instead
that was unfurling on desert sands.
Bikaner—dusty, sandy, ochre, gold
where peacocks unstitch
orange horizons
from tethers of darkness
at dawn
and later
their piercing cries
signal the night to draw cool curtains
on a hot day
Bikaner
where sunlight ricochets off
patient camel hoofs
measuring sand-dunes,
where the prickly pear cactus,
and the frowning succulents
bloom despite all odds
where aridity permeates
screwed-up morning-eyes
but keeps hearts beating
with the warmth of love.
So they say…about Bikaner
I am more used to
slick urban tarmacs of cities;
like cobras they have bitten into
my native land,
and have left it
to pant softly
in a corner of my heart
like a poor prey.
I taste its poison
in every breath,
it does not kill,
but does not spare.
Now roots of belonging have dried up into
months and dates on a calendar
into square folds of yellow paper
that timeless houses
don’t recall,
no one remembers
that the roots breathed there once.
Without the anchoring thread
of our soil,
we are like drifting kites
conquering alien skies;
always aching for ‘home’
the threads of our lives
quivering to be roped in
to the solidity of home ground.
I sometimes talk to the walls
as if they’re the homely horizons
of a birthplace left behind
The fan eyes the fetus
sketched on the bed
and blows desert kisses
to dot the clean slate of pillows
it takes pity on a girl
who has a birthplace but no memories.
Author’s Bio: Born in Bikaner, India, educated in Kolkata and Baroda, Vinita has M.A. in political science. She has been researching and writing as a freelancer for over 20 years. A poet at heart, she has been published in several magazines, journals, newspapers and Websites in India and abroad. She participated at the SAARC Literature Festival 2010 and 2011 and has also taken part in various other spoken word events. She lives in Delhi, India. She can be reached at: vinitaagrawal18@yahoo.co.in.
The courtyard of my childhood
has only a hint of native dust
Just a faint aroma
as barely perceptible
as the fragrance of dried-roses
wafting from the pages of an old book
when held close to the heart.
Instead, the smell of
unruffled feathers
and castrated roots lingers.
Images of a departing caravan
dominate…
crying, kicking, clinging
to visible thorny briars, walls, pillars,
to invisible air, heat, storms
to friends…
Nothing helped.
The adults were implacable
and looked ahead with set faces.
I remember the Peacock
standing still;
no longer dancing.
becoming a part of the havoc instead
that was unfurling on desert sands.
Bikaner—dusty, sandy, ochre, gold
where peacocks unstitch
orange horizons
from tethers of darkness
at dawn
and later
their piercing cries
signal the night to draw cool curtains
on a hot day
Bikaner
where sunlight ricochets off
patient camel hoofs
measuring sand-dunes,
where the prickly pear cactus,
and the frowning succulents
bloom despite all odds
where aridity permeates
screwed-up morning-eyes
but keeps hearts beating
with the warmth of love.
So they say…about Bikaner
I am more used to
slick urban tarmacs of cities;
like cobras they have bitten into
my native land,
and have left it
to pant softly
in a corner of my heart
like a poor prey.
I taste its poison
in every breath,
it does not kill,
but does not spare.
Now roots of belonging have dried up into
months and dates on a calendar
into square folds of yellow paper
that timeless houses
don’t recall,
no one remembers
that the roots breathed there once.
Without the anchoring thread
of our soil,
we are like drifting kites
conquering alien skies;
always aching for ‘home’
the threads of our lives
quivering to be roped in
to the solidity of home ground.
I sometimes talk to the walls
as if they’re the homely horizons
of a birthplace left behind
The fan eyes the fetus
sketched on the bed
and blows desert kisses
to dot the clean slate of pillows
it takes pity on a girl
who has a birthplace but no memories.
Author’s Bio: Born in Bikaner, India, educated in Kolkata and Baroda, Vinita has M.A. in political science. She has been researching and writing as a freelancer for over 20 years. A poet at heart, she has been published in several magazines, journals, newspapers and Websites in India and abroad. She participated at the SAARC Literature Festival 2010 and 2011 and has also taken part in various other spoken word events. She lives in Delhi, India. She can be reached at: vinitaagrawal18@yahoo.co.in.
Peace Lilies by Cathy Smith Bowers
Peace Lilies by Cathy Smith Bowers
(In Arrangemnet with Poetry Foundation)
I collect them now, it seems. Like
sea-shells or old
thimbles. One for
Father. One for
Mother. Two for my sweet brothers.
Odd how little
they require of
me. Unlike the
ones they were sent in memory
of. No sudden
shrilling of the
phone. No harried
midnight flights. Only a little
water now and
then. Scant food and
light. See how I’ve
brought them all together here in
this shaded space
beyond the stairs.
Even when they
thirst, they summon me with nothing
more than a soft,
indifferent furl-
ing of their leaves.
Author's Bio: Cathy Smith Bowers was recently appointed poet laureate of North Carolina, and I (Ted Kooser, US, Poetry Foundation) want to celebrate her appointment by showing you one of her lovely poems, a peaceful poem about a peaceful thing.
(In Arrangemnet with Poetry Foundation)
I collect them now, it seems. Like
sea-shells or old
thimbles. One for
Father. One for
Mother. Two for my sweet brothers.
Odd how little
they require of
me. Unlike the
ones they were sent in memory
of. No sudden
shrilling of the
phone. No harried
midnight flights. Only a little
water now and
then. Scant food and
light. See how I’ve
brought them all together here in
this shaded space
beyond the stairs.
Even when they
thirst, they summon me with nothing
more than a soft,
indifferent furl-
ing of their leaves.
Author's Bio: Cathy Smith Bowers was recently appointed poet laureate of North Carolina, and I (Ted Kooser, US, Poetry Foundation) want to celebrate her appointment by showing you one of her lovely poems, a peaceful poem about a peaceful thing.
International Poetry Fest 2011/November 11-12, 2011
CALL FOR POEMS
Welcome to the Fourth Poetry Festival. Since 2008 we’ve been organizing the Poetry Fests at National and International levels. We owe our sincere thanks to all the poets who gave us support in materializing the previous Fests. We are organizing these fests on our own.
A number of poets from all over the world are going to participate in the International Poetry Fest: 2011 to reveal various facets of the world at present. We are hosting this ‘Fest’ to promote World Peace, Harmony, Clean Earth and Universal Understanding among the world citizens. This International Poetry Fest is dedicated to all the creative writers who write in English. We cordially invite you to the ‘Fest’ and also request you to send us two of your poems on or before July 15th, 2011. We will publish one of the two poems in a book entitled “The Fancy Realm”. You have to present the selected poem to the distinguished audience on the day of the Fest. Your poems will transform young minds to noble human beings because your poems will focus on the world peace, human values and importance of nature to life.
Venue: J.K.C.College, Guntur, A.P., India
Event’s Dates/Time: 11th-12th November, 2011 / 9.00 AM To 5.00 PM.
Dear Poets, please go through the instructions and follow them strictly and cooperate with us in making this Fest a grand success:
- Send any two of your unpublished poems for presentation and publication.
- Give us an undertaking that the poems are original and is not published anywhere.
- Send your willingness to take part in the ‘Fest’ by 30th July, 2011.
- The length of each poem should not exceed 20 lines. Send poems in 12 Font, Times New Roman, single space, MS Word document 2003 version (.doc)
- Send your bio-data in third person, within 5 to 10 sentences, including your publications, Awards & Rewards.
- A panel of judges will shortlist the poems for presentation and publication.
- Selected poems will be published in “ The Fancy Realm”.
- “ The Fancy Realm” will be released on 11th Nov., 2011.
- The Poets who attend the Fest will get the copy of the book free of cost. (You can book your extra copies for concession price)
- There is no financial assistance from any organization.
- Breakfast, tea and lunch will be provided to all the poets free of cost.
- Free accommodation is provided to the outstation participants on first come first served basis. (Intimate the day and time of your arrival well in advance.)
- There is no Registration Fee.
- No TA & DA will be paid to the participants.
- Certificates will be issued to all the participants.
For further details email to: festivalpoetry@yahoo.com or SMS to:
* 09966893484 *09985444686
Organized and Hosted by:
P.Gopichnad & P.Nagasuseela
Dept of English; J.K.C.College
Guntur- 522 006. Andhra Pradesh.
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