Wednesday, August 1, 2018



The soccer world cup 2018 held in Russia is over. Personally I have watched all the 64 matches live on the television set in my house. It was really one grueling experience to watch so many matches even late at night over thirty one days. Yet it was really worthwhile. Playing football at this highest level of creative talent is no less an achievement than writing poems with literary merits. Watching so many different countries with different football skills and football traditions is really enjoyable. Even it reminds me of the different literary traditions that we try to showcase every month in OPA. These exchanges of different traditions and cultures in different spheres of life are very essential for the humanity as a whole to proceed beyond the present realm of civilization.

As we are working in the literary field with poetry, it is our way of expression to disclose our emotions and sympathies with others. Poetry without sympathy can never touch human souls with emotion. Poetry without emotion can never move human souls with sympathy. Yet only the emotional poetry may bore us soon. So to preserve the emotions with sympathy in expressing poetic talents requires great skill. If only we can master this skill only then we can be able to reach more hearts with our poetical creative brilliances. And even this skill requires deep philosophical insights with spiritual realizations of eternity. Only then a poet can reach to a greater audience. These thoughts were behind our minds before we embarked upon the project of bringing the fourth OPA Anthology. So our main objective of the Anthology was to bring out one representative collection of creative brilliances around the world regarding the spiritual realizations and the philosophy of spirituality as perceived by the contemporary poets of the present time. We did our best to make it representative and referential one.

After the successful publication of the OPA Anthology of Spiritual Poetry ‘Beyond Borders’, we are back with our regular monthly issues. We would like to thank all the participators of ‘Beyond Borders’ from the entire editorial desk of Our Poetry Archive. Our readers would know, that every year we are publishing one Anthology based upon one particular topic or subject. To our surprise we are blessed with the vast number of contributions from the participators all over the world. This is really an amazing achievement for us especially during this very short period of web publishing. We would also like to thank all our friends for their kind support and participations helping OPA in every respect. Even we are happy to announce that the number of readers is also increasing day by day. The total number of page views has now crossed 500000 marks, including the page views of the Anthologies published by OPA so far.

At the beginning of our journey our mission was to build up one international platform where readers can find out different literary cultures and traditions in one place. We thought it will help us to understand different voices around the world, which may one day bring harmony among mutual differences. Yes we still believe this is one of the useful gateways to cover-up the tensions among different nations and nationalities. People will one day come to understand that we are actually equal among all the inequalities, which makes the human civilized. We believe our civilization requires these human steps especially at this present time of political and social turmoil around the world. Yes at first it may sound to some extent a Utopian idea that poetry can bring harmony among mutual difference leading to ease out the socio political tensions around. Yes, it is not at all an easy task, nor even can be achieved in our lifetime. Yet we can only start the journey. Let’s see what can we do ourselves and how far can we proceed collectively. We still believe that as poets and thinkers writers and creative artists alike it is also our responsibilities to proceed along this line of vision. And to our surprise we have won many friends along this collective journey so far. Yes, this is just the beginning and the road is long ahead. We hope more and more responsible world citizens also will join with us in this long march of Poetical Revolution to make this world a peaceful and harmonious abode for humanity.

With this hope, here we are again with this present number of ‘Our Poetry Archive: August 2018 Volume Four Number Five.’ This is a general issue and we are glad to introduce twelve new poets to our regular readers in this number. We hope readers will also enjoy their talents along with others’ poems. This month our Poet of the Month is poet Margaret O’Driscoll of United States. Readers will find her interview with our editorial panel much interesting. Our heartfelt thank goes to the poetess for her acceptance of our invitation.

We would also like to request our readers and poets alike, to introduce Our Poetry Archive to their friends and relatives who love the music of poetry.  Anyone who wants to showcase his or her literary talents internationally is also most welcome to OPA. Any talented poet can send at least 3 poems and one current profile picture along with the explicit confirmation of the permission to publish his or her copyrighted materials in OPA. Our mail address is

With Thanks,
From The Editorial Desk



email us to:



ALICJA KUBERSKA: What does poetry mean to you?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: Connection in concise form...a glimpse of soul

ALICJA KUBERSKA: What’s according to you the meaning of poetry in the contemporary world?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:   Poetry has the power to validate, question, soothe, empower, raise awareness, reach out, bring joy, unite... and so much more!

ALICJA KUBERSKA:  Can you describe your creative process while writing a new poem?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: I respond to a trigger...could be anything...then expand on the idea

ALICJA KUBERSKA:  Did it happen to you that a poem was just your dream ?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: Yes...I wrote a piece some years back about my dream of escaping to live a simple life...and now I’m living it! 

ALICJA KUBERSKA: Tell us about your inspiration. What’re the most important subjects to you?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: Nature, family, friends, incidents, relationships, issues such as domestic violence, mental health, injustice, the environment etc

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Which were the emotions that inspired your first verses?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  Sadness and anger regarding injustice

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Was your aspiration to become a poet or did all happen by chance?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  I wrote for family at first but then tentatively reached out to others with my work

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Who is the first person you read your poems to and why?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  Family members...because I wanted to share some memories with them

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Have you published any poetic anthology, if so what did you feel the first time you got it in your hands?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: I published my first collection in June, 2016…’The Best Things In Life Are Free’...felt great to see my painting of a newly emerged butterfly as the  cover image..(representing me) and it was the realization of a dream to see eighty of my pieces in one compilation!

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Who are the poets you prefer reading? Do you get inspiration from them?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: Maya Angelou, Langston Hughes, Robert Frost, Gerard Manly Hopkins, Patrick Pearse, William Wordsworth, Irina Rathushinskaya, Shevchenko, Ken Saro Wiwa, Seamus Heaney, Mary Oliver, Adrienne Rich, Derek Mahon, R.S. Thomas, Richard Wilbur, Anna Akhmatova and so many more! Yes, I feel both inspired and empowered by reading their work

APRILIA ZANK:  How important is accessibility of meaning to you? Do you challenge the readers to work hard to decipher your poems, or do you prefer transparency of meaning?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: I prefer transparency of meaning, mostly...being beautifully simple is a perfect art!

APRILIA ZANK:  What kind of poems do you write mostly? Do you have recurring themes, or are all your poems unique?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: I mostly write pieces with rhythm and rhyme….it flows naturally and is classical! On occasions I write in free verse.
The most recurring theme in my work is the wonder of nature!

APRILIA ZANK:  Do you think your poetry is typically feminine / masculine? If yes, in what way?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: I don’t question such aspects of my poetry...I allow the muse to guide me!

APRILIA ZANK:  Do you write mostly about yourself, or do you also have an open eye /ear for the issues of the world?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  Both! I write  personal pieces and also write about issues of the world

APRILIA ZANK:  In what way is your poetry different from that of other poets?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: I remain true to myself...I don’t follow popular styles or themes..I don’t slave over pieces...I allow them flow naturally and let them be!

LEYLA IŞIK:  What are the main factors to make poetry real poetry?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  It has to be felt in the soul

LEYLA IŞIK:  Do you think imagery is important in poetry? Where does the importance of imagery begin in a poem, where does it end?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: Imagery is summons up the senses! Imagery may even begin with a title and great imagery does not lasts forever !

LEYLA IŞIK:  What are the most used types of poetry in your country?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: Free verse, spoken word and slam poetry are popular

LEYLA IŞIK:  What’s important to be a good poet? To write good poems!

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  To light a spark with the reader!

LEYLA IŞIK:     Who are the most important poets and their main properties nowadeys?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: For me it’s someone who has an unique voice, not afraid to be different, not necessarily those who are well known or those who have won awards, but those whose work strikes a cord with me

DEBORAH  BROOKS  LANGFORD: Understanding poetry begins with visualizing the central images in the poem. What do you see, taste, smell, hear, and feel? What is the imagery of your poetry?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  So agree! My nature poems especially are rich in imagery, a feast for the senses, from lilting birdsong, beauty of sunsets, succulent wild berries, scent of wildflowers, touch of moss,  etc

DEBORAH  BROOKS  LANGFORD: What is the mood of your poetry? (Or How does it make you feel?)

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  My lighthearted pieces are sweetness and light! My dark pieces reflect deep issues but I try to add a note of positivity to finish!

DEBORAH  BROOKS  LANGFORD: In your poetry who is the speaker of the poem? Are you speaking to yourself or to others?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  I try to reach out to others usually, to bring, at least,  a moment of reflection to their lives!

DEBORAH  BROOKS  LANGFORD: What is the message of your poetry?  What messages do your poetry convey?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL:  Bright pieces: happiness & joy in the simple things in life
Dark pieces: raising awareness of difficult issues

DEBORAH  BROOKS  LANGFORD: Does the internet and social media contribute to the success of your poetry? Is this the reason you write for?

          My primary reason to write is to make this world a better place and Facebook is a means to promote my work and touch others

NILAVRONILL SHOOVRO: Thank you so much dear poet for the interview. We would like to know your personal experience with OPA as a literary web journal. Would you like to share anything more with our readers?

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL: OPA is an international journal of repute, edited by Nilavro and team and I feel very privileged to be invited as guest poet for August 2018. I’m glad to have this platform to share some of my work and hope it encourages readers to enjoy the simple but most meaningful moments in life!

MARGARET O’DRISCOLL lives in West Cork, Ireland and is a poetry writer, curator and editor. Her poetry has been published in various international anthologies, ezines and journals. She published her first collection in 2016, ‘The Best Things In Life Are Free’, it has received star reviews and many of the poems included have been translated into many languages worldwide.




Pulled by powerful magnetism
I’m aboard an Arctic cruise ship
Ice cap, ice breaker
Thermal gloves, cocktail shaker

Sunglasses against the glare of white
The captain carefully navigating
Binoculars scanning floating icebergs
Scenery so serene, scintillating

Fur lined boots, fjords
Company on deck heartily laughing
Seals lie languidly on snow clad rocks
Suddenly a blue-green iceberg’s calving

Night time brings a new panorama
On deck I watch as I’m dining
The dome of darkness lit by stars
The Great Bear in brilliance shining


‘I saw a beautiful sun, nannie
It was orange, shining bright
I saw it on the way home, nannie
Hope I see it again tonight’

‘What was that sun I saw, nannie’
‘Oh, that was the sun going down’
‘Going down where, nannie -
To the other side of town’ ?


Come lie with me on warm grass awhile
Inhale the sweet clover, the scent of pure soil
Walk hand in hand beneath hawthorn trees
White petals drifting by in a warm Summer breeze

Stroll arm in arm along a lane to a bog
Taste succulent blackberries, hear the croak of a frog
See the beauty of butterworts growing by a stream
From cupped hands sip cool well water - a dream

Watch a dazzling dragonfly flit to and fro
See young trout darting to the shadows below
Hear the pheasant’s call as it takes to the air
Tall creamy meadowsweet in bloom everywhere

Touch the bog cotton, feel the sun on your face
My gift to you is any wild place


Warmth of Spring
Sap rises
Growth surges anew

Take it, take it
Take the sun’s caress
Take the richness of the earth

Renewal, rebirth
Sap spreads through every vein
Every sinew

A great greening
Unleashing of leaves
Buds burst forth
In quick succession

Plants don’t stop to ponder
The time is now
Be swept up with the rising sap
For it is Spring, it is Spring
Embrace the feeling it awakens


Each side of the road covered
In wild garlic around every turn I pass
Wonderful white flowers flourishing
On either side there en masse

A winding avenue garlanded in garlic
Low banks and verges alike
No palace could ever compare with
That scene I passed on my bike!


MARGARET O’DRISCOLL lives in West Cork, Ireland and is a poetry writer, curator and editor. Her poetry has been published in various international anthologies, ezines and journals. She published her first collection in 2016, ‘The Best Things In Life Are Free’, it has received star reviews and many of the poems included have been translated into many languages worldwide.




then you go like living
in one hectare of heaven
over our heads
In the Beginning was the Poetry

In the Beginning was the Poetry
it renews the wires ripped
of souls
and makes a deep texture:
the Soul of the World.


Alle nonne della nostra vita

Poi si va come a vivere
In un ettaro di cielo
Sopra le nostre teste

In Principio era la Poesia

In Principio era la Poesia,
essa riannoda i fili strappati
delle anime
e ne fa un tessuto profondo:
l'Anima del Mondo.
5.11. 2014


I saw a flourishing tree
And under its foliage
Lined up corpses
Covered with sheets
Incredibly white
And there were kneeling people
Who were crying.

Like a salty wind.

To me flowers in the field
Are enough the drunk bees
The trills of nightingales
And the swallows’ mad swirling

Like a salty wind.


Ho visto un albero fiorito

Ho visto un albero fiorito
e sotto le sue fronde
in fila dei corpi
coperti da lenzuola
incredibilmente candide
e c’erano persone in ginocchio
che piangevano.
Come un vento salmastro.

Mi bastano solo i fiori
Nei campi le api ubriache
i gorgheggi degli usignoli
ed il pazzo turbinio delle rondini.

Come un vento salmastro


Balloons rise like little pink clouds
Into the still air heavy with ash and sulphur
Twisted iron rods lie all about
A harsh rain has fallen from the sky
Houses kindergardens schools courtyards
Wiped out forever
By giant diggers
May the rose bloom upon those.
Would you play with us
In our Gaza gardens?
Child of Paris, child of Rome
Child of Berlin, child of London would you
Come play with us in the garden?
May the rose bloom upon those.
Dark clouds flaming rain
Dazzling lights deafening blasts
Above us above over our dazed skulls
These are no fireworks
It’s not a party with rich gifts
Games of fire in the garden!
Kinders of fire in the garden!
Devouring flames, blasts, hunger
Horrid thirst and bloody scream of the dying
Greedy for darkness in the lightless labyrinths
Salt in the teeth emptied eyes
In the gardens of Gaza there are, I see
Magpies and black blacks crows in flocks
For the last flight before the sky
The last crows amid the ears
Rotted before the crash
The rose is withered the rose is cut
Worm-eaten flour abysmal chasms the hearts
Bursting loves uprooted
Each flower severed with hopes and games
Dried all shades of dew
Rounded and round the gardens
Of beautiful Gaza, of ancient Gaza.
May the rose bloom upon those.
The noble dawn covers
Its cheeks flushed with weeping
Hundreds of angels butchered
With the women mothers and daughters
Their emptied eyes collect
Verses never written poems lost
Forever just as their young lives.
The gloomy rosy-fingered Dawn
But are not the children
The wealth of the world?
They are our breathing future
Running and shouting down the narrow alleys
Of the ancient towns
The children of the poor used to everything
Playing with anything, even with unexploded rockets,
And catch war
Or play hide-and-seek amid the rubble
Amid the waste and the walls ravaged
By careless poverty
And the cannon shots of the sons of the rich.
One to ten one to a hundred one to a thousand.
The rose petals float
On the concrete dust breeze
The rich can count better
But the final count’s wrong,
It doesn’t add up mon ami,
It never adds up.
The dumb rose, the desperate rose
In the gardens of Gaza the children
Play at children’s funeral
Wrapped in small Palestinian flags
The children of Gaza imitate
the mothers’ bitter cries
The rose wilts if love dies
Give us this day our daily death
The innocent blood bathes my sadness
For the wrecked games
in the gardens of Gaza
My sorrow!
Who will heal my sorrow?
Swallows has wings on the ground
like dried petals
Time is on the children’s side
Talmud says: the children’s
Breath supports the earth.
A child’s breath like Atlas.
The rose is reborn so Proserpina wills
Reborn under the sweet dew’s spray
Each petal revives with graceful crocuses
And the apple, peach and jujube blossoms
In the silence cradled by the oaks
At the end of the garden, so it will be again
We know, we all know, as
The children of Gaza are reborn at dawn
Their cries will be louder than the blasts
Than the bombs that spray their frosty death
From the sky
The rose undisturbed spreads its sweet aromas
he waste lives on undisturbed
In the fertile furrow of unawareness
Of the boundary between my luck
And the birth of sun everywhere.
So you told me. But we had
Our gaze elsewhere, away
From the breath of the feathery poplar.
The assault took us and the scream
Of the daily battle of bodies.
It's raining finally, here you are
Sweet smelling rain over everything
Is good for the three trees that we have
Planted in our gardens
All around the house
Yesterday afternoon
The peach the pear and the jujube
Before going to Istanbul
five days to dance with the muses
There are dead ends where we must no loiter
One minute more after understanding,
After learning the mute command
From the shadow of things
The dark rose the misconstrued rose
I come from the oak woods
From the Murgia of trulli and caves
I loved to lost myself for hours, my watchful
Gaze alert to any sign that might reveal
The presence of mushrooms or hedgehog dens
The fragrant rose before all those
Grateful for the first sun and dew drops
At sixteen they should have been elsewhere
Studying Plato and reading Hikmet
And dreaming of their sweet love
O Kemal o Naftali cursed be
Who forever stole the sun of the day
And the smile of brother and mother.


I giardini di Gaza

Piccole nuvole rosa i palloncini si alzano
Nell’aria greve ancora di zolfo e di ceneri
Tutt’intorno tondini di ferro contorti
Una dura pioggia è caduta dal cielo
Le Case gli asili le scuole i cortili
Gli ospedali
Cancellati per sempre
Da ruspe giganti
Che sia la rosa sopra ogni altra cosa.
Verresti a giocare con noi
Nei nostri giardini a Gaza?
Bambino di Parigi, bambino di Roma
Bambino Berlinese, bambino Londinese
Verresti a giocare con noi in giardino?
Che sia la rosa sopra ogni altra cosa
Nuvole nere pioggia di fuoco
Luci abbaglianti boati assordanti
Sopra di noi sopra i nostri crani inebetiti
Non sono giochi pirotecnici
Non è una festa con ricchi cotillons
Games of fire in the garden!
Kinders of fire in the garden!
Fiamme divoranti, boati, fame e orrida
Sete e sangue da morte che urla
Vorace di buio nei labirinti senza luce
Sale nei denti occhi svuotati
Nei giardini di Gaza ci sono, le vedo
A stormi le gazze e i corvi tutti neri
Per l’ultimo volo prima del
Cielo gli ultimi corvi nel grano
Marcito prima dello schianto
La rosa è sfiorita la rosa è recisa
Farina verminata voragini d’abisso i cuori
Scoppiati gli amori divelti
Reciso ogni fiore e le speranze e i giochi
Disseccata ogni ombra di rugiada
A tondo a tondo nei giardini
Di Gaza la bella, di Gaza l’antica
Che sia la rosa sopra ogni altra cosa
La nobile aurora si copre
Le guance arrossate di pianto
Centinaia di angeli massacrati
Con le donne la madri le figlie
I loro occhi svuotati raccolgono
Versi mai scritti versi perduti
Per sempre come le loro fresche vite.
La triste Aurora dalle dita di rosa
Ma non sono
I bambini la ricchezza del mondo?
È il futuro stesso che respira
E si rincorre vociando nei vicoli
Angusti delle antiche città
I figli dei poveri si sa che si adattano
A tutto e giocano con tutto, anche coi razzi
Inesplosi, alla guerra ad acchiapparsi
Oppure a nascondino fra le macerie
Fra i rifiuti fra i muri sbrecciati
Dall’incuria della miseria
Dalle cannonate dei figli dei ricchi.
Uno a dieci uno a cento uno a mille.
Volano i petali della rosa
Al vento polveroso di cemento
I ricchi sanno contare meglio ma
Sbagliano il conto finale,
I conti non tornano, non ami,
I conti non tornano mai.
La rosa muta, la rosa disperata
Nei giardini a Gaza i bambini
Giocano al funerale dei bambini
Avvolti nelle bandierine di Palestina
I bambini di Gaza imitano
L’acre urlo delle madri
La rosa appassisce se l’amore perisce
Dacci oggi la nostra morte quotidiana
Il sangue innocente innaffia
La mia tristezza per i giochi
Distrutti nei Giardini di Gaza
La mia tristezza,
Chi sanerà la mia tristezza?
Ogni rondine al suolo
Le ali come petali secchi
Il tempo è dalla parte dei bambini
Il Talmud lo afferma: il respiro
Stesso dei bambini regge la terra.
Il respiro dei bambini come Atlante.
La rosa rinasce così vuole Proserpina
Rinasce irrorata dalla dolce rugiada
Ogni petalo risorge coi crochi gentili
E i fiori del melo, del pesco e del giuggiolo
Nel silenzio protetto dalle querce in fondo
Al nostro giardino, così sarà di nuovo
Sappiamo, tutti lo sanno, così come
Rinascono all’alba i bambini di Gaza
I loro vagiti saranno più forti dei boati
Delle bombe che spruzzano gelo di morte
Dal cielo
La rosa indisturbata diffonde dolci aromi
Lo scempio abita indisturbato
Nel fertile solco dell’inconoscenza
Del limite fra la mia fortuna
E la nascita delle albe per ogni dove.
Così mi dicesti. Ma noi avevamo
Lo sguardo fisso altrove, lontano
Da ogni soffio di tenero pioppo.
L’assalto ci prendeva e l’urlo
Della quotidiana rissa dei corpi.
Piove, finalmente eccoti finalmente
Pioggia odorosa sopra ogni cosa
È buono per i tre alberini che abbiamo
Piantato nei nostri giardini
Tutt’intorno alla casa
Ieri pomeriggio
Il pesco il pero e il giùggiolo
Prima d’andare a Istanbul
Cinque giorni a danzare con le muse
Ci sono vicoli ciechi in cui non c'è da sostare
Un minuto di più dopo aver compreso,
Dopo aver appreso dell'ombra
Delle cose la muta consegna
La rosa buia la rosa incompresa
Io vengo dai boschi di lecci
Della Murgia dei trulli e delle grotte
Amavo perdermi per ore con gli occhi
Attento ad ogni segno che mi indicasse
La presenza di funghi o di tane di ricci
La profumata rosa prima di ogni altra cosa
Grata al primo sole e alle gocce di rugiada
A sedici anni dovevano essere altrove
A studiare Platone e a leggere Hikmet
E a sognare del loro dolcissimo amore
O Kemal o Naftalì maledetto sia
Chi ha rubato per sempre il sole dei giorni
E il sorriso del fratello e della madre.


VITO INTINI born in Noci (Italy) in 1956. Is poet and artist-performer, founder and art director of the Kunsthalle Gallery and Kunsthouse ArteNatura for artists in residence. Do you think that poetry is the foundation of all the arts. Poetry is the Music of the Universe and Nature, in all its forms, it is the sacred biological representation of the music that is in the deep storyline of all existence. In recent years she loves to paint trees to plant more trees in its beautiful countryside of the trulli in Puglia in Italy. Cultivate ancient grains and produces extra virgin olive oil centenarians. With her family has planted a small forest of trees and rare fruits. His writings and his poems are published in several languages. He has participated as a poet and performance artist in several festivals in Italy and abroad: Poetry / cloister of the poet Giuseppe Goffredo; Milan-Poetry; Nisan Festival of Poetry in Mghar, Galilee of the poet Naim Araidi; Kartal festival of Istanbul poet Metin Cengiz; finalist at Baghetta Prize at the Festival of Literature in Milan. He teaches History and Philosophy in high schools and advocates a Sweet Green Global Renaissance .