******OUR POETRY ARCHIVE******: July 2015

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

EDITORIAL

WELCOME

OUR POETRY ARCHIVE

Is poetry the supreme expression of the noblest human emotions: of love and sympathy, of awareness of the infinite value of life; of the realisations of the eternal truth through individual talents of creative genius? Yes poetry is all these contained in a single volume of human brilliance! And a poet’s life is the extension of human consciousness into the eternal essence of life and sympathy. His soul belongs to the future as well as to the present, to his own epoch with the cultural heritage of his predecessors. So a true poet lives not only in the present but also in the future, with his cultural heritage projecting the eternal essence of human sympathy and consciousness.

It is the magic of poetry which every poet wants to live with, to explore and to put an individual signature of brilliance into it. So we with our limited capacity wish to capture this entire phenomenon in this online monthly poetry journal and want to present our readers a flavour of contemporary poetical activity around the world. In our July number we are happy to publish thirty six poems of eminent poets form all over the world, and hope to satisfy our readers with their individual brilliance!

As usual we invite poets around the world to participate in this journey of poetical exploration with their poems! Our address is <ourpoetryarcive@gmail.com> Our gratitude to all the contributors of this issue and benefactors, supporters and friends.

~~EDITOR S

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CHRYSSA VELISSARIOU

CHRYSSA VELISSARIOU

OIL LAMP

With so much love around me
how could I -the "powerful" one-
truly understand
wilderness,
destitution,
loneliness,
abandonment?
They exist in both breadth and depth!
I sense they exist
I never practically experienced them though.
All I know
is that I say Hail Marys
every morning and evening
and I bow gratefully to whatever
I have sacred,
for the garden it was given
to me and where I sprouted.
I wish at least the fate of my parents
who lived, no matter how, but
with their children alive and active around,
who will close, as it seems,
their eyes surrounded by people they love.
No matter how "small" our lives seem,
they are in fact so "big",
if they are happening steadily
around a pivotal arc of
ongoing and sincere love.
So I think,we are lucky
and we surely are in charge
of conveying
this constant value
through no matter personal sacrifice.
Let me burn as a lamp lighting up
with the oil of the love I received
even if I'm consumed.
At least I can do this.
(C)CHRYSSA VELISSARIOU2015

GITA ASSEFI

GITA ASSEFI

LAST SYMPHONY...

I never took a list

of the symphonies

I performed for your love

but I knew

somewhat in your secret corner

you felt the music

when I carefully assorted

the melodies

to reflect our lives

how it rises and falls

and contented faces

as if they have already found

the answers

proud and foolish

too cliche

for our souls

We ignored

when we got lost

hand in hand

in this jungle

We never left our tracks

We never desired to be found

Faceless beings

werent our kinds

We knew

we were different

from the start

when a lot of sounds

echoed

and the sky

covered in the colours

of rainbow

and we found a life

within a life

A secret door

opened

we entered so calm

all with intention and desire

and remained pure

and clear

like flowing transparent river

we showerd the little white pebbles

stuck in our lungs

For how many centuries

we beared this silence

pretended to be dumb

but what matters now

is our strengthened bond

this desire of two

to be one

and shine

once again shine...

GITA ASSEFI

DORI FOSTER

DORI FOSTER

READING ONES CODE

One was taught
by society
to play the game
of getting ahead
and staying ahead
but the game does not
mean much when
it turns into a routine

There is something
much better to play
of finding a satisfaction
a simple joy and intrigue
in every day
the simple whisper
of the trees and the
slowing of ones mind
to take it all in

Unfulfilling is that cup
investing all that time
all that energy into
an unproductive turn
of events, so stubborn
we are, to just stop
it would seem the
illogical has its attraction
what is revealed
the heart picks up
where the mind left off

This vision is like a key
to unlock the immaterial
which will make sense
of the material
we all have a code inside
that responds at times
it is just finding it
and turning it on
possibly a do-over
is cast and one must
seize it when it arrives

DORI FOSTER

SHEENA MOSIER

SHEENA MOSIER

SWEPT AWAY.

As I walked, in the street one day,

strong winds came and swept me

away. I ended up in some faraway

land, to everyone there, my entrance

was grand.

Everywhere I looked, there was

something to see, as I watched

the dancers, dancing away. A

handsome young man, bent

before me.

No words, had to be said, it was

as if, we could read each other's

head. Oh my gosh, does this mean

that I am dead?

Looking in his eyes, my breath he

did take away, reminding me of

that awful, fateful day.

As we walked through the crowd,

suddenly, I screamed out loud.

As the crowd, slowly parted away,

finally I knew that she was okay.

The handsome young man, placed

me on a bench, suddenly from me

a sob I did wrench.

In front of me, were beautiful

gardens, from the woman there,

I begged my pardon. Looking at

me, with a backward glance, I

ran to her in a flash of a chance.

Suddenly I heard a some laughter,

and there he was, hanging from a

rafter.

There she is, my little corker, I was

so happy I felt a little dorkier. Every

where I looked, there was someone

I knew, they looked at me and

said "We are always here for you."

SHEENA MOSIER.

ANNA ZAPALSKA

ANNA ZAPALSKA

DEAD ROSES

dead roses
like a hair
without a shine ...
never dance
in the wind
only lose their petals
one after another
don't touch them
don't break them down
look at them but stay away
don't stop a breath
rather give them
a silent water
stop fire an euthanasia up
beyond borders you are

ANNA ZAPALSKA

NORMAN WILSON

NORMAN WILSON

CASTLING DAYDREAMS

Chaotic was the storm before night
Castling daydreams after the light
In desires setting fantasies afloat
Seeking passages over loves moat

Fire flared from eyes of hazel green
With a heart pounding, to be seen
When night fell into loves charms
As stars sparkled brightly in alarm

Suitors coveted her beauty in throes
On horseback they rode they rode
Through rivers-streams and woods
For first glimpse of her if they could

Her heart fluttered on a seesaw bed
From books of romance that she read
When she finally let my love come in
Castling the reign of two hearts to begin

NORMAN WILSON

ANCA MIHAELA

EXISTENTIAL QUESTIONS

What is left
of a soul that slowly
is flickering on the remnants
of its mind and heart?!?

How do I restore
my own fire
when everything is falling...
...yet growing?

How would I change
the rhythm of my Life
pressed against my own ear?

How can I be held responsible
for the consequences
when everything
is out of sequence?...

How would I freeze
that moment
which is irreplaceable
and insatiable?...

How would I remove
the sleepless nights
and unspent memories
from the edges of my Being?

How can I cure someone
who falls under the weight of My Heart
so myself... I will not remain unsung?

How many testaments of regrets
shall I write
to someone who has fallen
from the grace of my eyes?

How would I
not let the cadence of my heart
to be taken for granted?...

Each bite and sniff of my Life
reminds me of this fragmented World
and its hypnotic deception!...

PHILLIP MATTHEW ROBERTS

PHILLIP MATTHEW ROBERTS

ODE NO. 11: REVERENCE FOR THE MORNING

Listen to birds at black predawn

when the last constellations fade

into soft pale blue--these meditative

hours when long ago I trained

as an athlete; my pulse ascending

with the same ceaseless rhythm

heard now as my penned fist

disappears into this white purity.

My avian friends flown from heaven

trill throated songs joyously pleasant

--their natural ease borders on parody

compared to my cautious phrases

balanced at the hilt of my will

honed into an unapologetic weapon.

Concealed behind draped windows

I patiently observe the sun

wander its seasons as if one

returning to a burnished throne.

These soft and quiet hours alone

with the words--my wildly entangled,

unkempt hair thicker than plumage.

Hidden in my secret small corridor

buttressed within my cloistered nest

against man's undesirable realm

I write minuet passages; queer

songs cradled in a silence

untouched by human noise…

My tiny voice precariously

astir upon a window sill

where return my solemn echoes

--peacock, hawk or eagle

(only in wishes unfulfilled)--

I remain undeniably

flightless though I soar

beyond all I've mourned.

PHILLIP

ANNA BURGESS

ANNE ASKEW - THE TORTURED WOMEN

The doomed hand of fate was felt
for this un-armoured saintly heart.
Of venial crimes she did commit.
Of God’s verity she depart

Under restless greying skies of dawn,
the act of six strings sown.
Enforcement by the King of right.
Rigid adherence to the throne

Of prodigal unyielding faith she cant,
to kings dislike and more
The fist of popish force was felt
And Towers hell she bore

Remorselessly tortured and vilified.
The rack her nightly bed.
Broken and stretched to no un-end
The Lord in vain unsaid

Hips and shoulders ripped from sockets,
elbows and knees askew,
but no amount of torture thrust
did this lady recant ensue

The bloody butchers knives at will,
to slaughter her body still more.
Depravity the nightly curse,
until she could no more endure

On a searing summers day on nigh,
was the high squalid scene.
Her broken body toted in arms,
and tied to bonfire reams

Asked to recant her unseemly sins,
she shook her head in scorn
and when the flames took a lick.
To God’s good will she born

Into the sky the flames curled high,
and shimmered to her broken chest
and finally without a sound
Anne Askew found peace in death

ANNA BURGESS

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