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Cpj viii


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  • 1. December 2011 ::: Nollaig 2011 Artwork by Luana StebulėAnthony Sullivan (Ireland) , L. Summerton Morgan (USA), Tomás Ó Cárthaigh (Ireland), Spiros Kitsinelis (Greece / France), Hal O Leary(USA), Matthew Walz (USA), Tatjana Debeljacki (Serbia), Lizzie Corsi (USA) Bernard Lorimer (Northern Ireland), Randall Aittaniemi (USA),Sabahudin Hadžialic (Bosnia and Herzegovina), Deepak Chaswal (India), Erica (USA). Kathy Coman (USA), Kim Wilson (USA), GonzaloSalesky (Agentina), Rishan Singh (South Africa), Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (USA), Irena Jovanovic (Serbia),Dan Castle (USA), Greg Gunn(Canada), Lisa McCraw, (USA), Matthew Bell (Australia), Laura Cleary (Ireland), Niall O Conner (Ireland) Evin Okçuoglu (Turkey), SimonRhee (USA), Elizabeth A. Fontaine (USA), Luana Stebule (Lithuania), Barbara Wühr (Germany / France), Frank C. Praeger (USA)Cartys Poetry
  • 2. Activism and the PoetForeword Activism is on the rise, look around, noAs 2011 draws to a close, we have again mistake can be made about it. No more areanother great year on which to look back, people standing on the sidelines, they arewhere we brought the best of poetry from getting out there to make their voices heard.Ireland and around the world to a readership What effect that they are having is totallyin Ireland and around the world. another story, but they are getting out there anyway.We have seen and partaken in the 100,000Poets for Change event, and look forward to From the Occupy! Movement – the Irishpartaking in the 2012 event, we will be activism which is largely ignored here in thecharting the participation in the 10 Years and local press – to the 100,000 Poets for ChangeCounting Project, we have seen the launch of event, started on Facebook by Michaelthe book locally by Ken Hume in Tullamore Rothenberg, to the 10 Years and Counting“Snowstorm of Doubt and Grace”, and event against the wars in the middle east andreported on the poetic events around Ireland. elsewhere, its not just street marches, but a cultural movement which is orgainising andIn the year to come, we hope to have a print uprising.edition going (a short lived ambition realisedin earlier issues!!!) that is carried in shops, As we face into 2012, let us remember theetc. For now, we will be online only. poets and bloggers in jail in Burma and China in particular, and elsewhere unknown aroundFormatting of the Magazine the world. Anther poetic spirit and artist in jail we remember is Leonard Peltier, jailed by theThe magazine is now in a formatting stage, USA for a crime he did not commit. In a recentrhyming poems come in the first section, non letter published by Whisper n Thunder herhyming after. Other features are scattered thanks his supporters and outlines some ofthroughout. Let us know how you find this to the blank issues heretofor kept out of theuse. limelight in the case. In this coming year... let us continue to be active. The pen can be as mighty as the sword. Swords may fight wars... but it takes a pen to sign the peace!
  • 3. ContentsRhyming Poetry Non Rhyming PoetsAnthony Sullivan (Ireland) Tatjana Debeljacki (Serbia)Our Moonlight Serenade Are ThereI Think I Just Felt My Heart Break There IsWhite Flag From My Heart I Will Never Forget That NightA Prisoner Of This LoveOur Spirit From The Soil Lizzie Corsi (USA)L. Summerton Morgan (USA) CaptivatedGranmas’ Molasses News Item - "108 Breaths"BlindedDusty Roads Bernard Lorimer (Northern Ireland)Freemans MillWhitecaps on the Sea The WavesA Pocket Full of Marbles Atom +A Moment of Silence Better Off in the Bog End of NowhereTomás Ó Cárthaigh (Ireland) Randall Aittaniemi (USA)A Month of Mondays Contrite RemarksIf Poets Had Consequence ErosionWriter Forgetting their Readers The Nomad that would be HeroWords Written in Anger and Anguish (Anne Sexton) Heading WestTurbulent Seas Unconscious WonderWhere Snow is But a Dream (Haiku)Morning After the Night Before Sabahudin Hadžialic (Bosnia and Herzegovina)Walking by Trees at the Grand Canal, Tullamore" "Anonymous" by Anonymous (me!!!) " Reality Filmed Vice VersaSpiros Kitsinelis (Greece / France) Living In ‘The Dreams’ Street Repeticio Est Mater StudiorumI Drink to You LifeFor You Dont Know Copy Paste States, Pardon Me, CitiesHal O Leary (USA) Ananas And Banana Blues For My Ex-Country/HomelandHomecoming Country SongI’m Not Sure How If Only I Were YoungerThe InnocentWar Is Hell Deepak Chaswal (India)My LifeDear Friend “Man” "Freedom"Matthew Walz (USA) “Death by Water” "Angels/Demons"Maiden of the Night "Meeting with Christ"My Enemy “Superman”Tragedy in the Fall Erica (USA)NEWS: "Arise & Go Now" Release Three Years DownNEWS: Offaly Writers Set to Join the Million
  • 4. Kathy Coman (USA) Matthew Bell (Australia)Rain Silent World Mr MockingbirdKim Wilson (USA) Cleansing Rain Dark Moon RisingBold StatementsDays Laura Cleary (Ireland)Gifts PossibilitiesGonzalo Salesky (Argentina) RunawayYou Will Be Niall O Conner (Ireland)HarlequinsOmen In Search of RootsRishan Singh (South Africa) Evin Okçuoglu (Turkey)My Friend We Had Known We could not understandLuiza Flynn-Goodlett (USA) Simon Rhee (USA)The VisionFossor’s Lament HaikuAnimal TimeThe Times Elizabeth A. Fontaine (USA)Irena Jovanovic (Serbia) Scars That Run DeepOne Raindrop Luana Stebule (Lithuania)My Dear SoulHoney Like Sweetness FarceMy Radiant Lotus Garden TwistUnited In Love OnlySweet Fragrance Of Your Soul Other WayHow Can I LabelsThis Is A Wonderful Day Anike (name)Nothing Compares To You, Lord SatoriLike A QueenEnergy Of Colours Of Life Barbara Wühr (Germany / France)Golden DawnRadha & Krishna I - Sunbeams II - Revealing TruthDan Castle III - Cosmic Cords IV - Day of St.BarbaraOnce More Into the Breach.. V - Pégase lami de mon âme V – Pegasus, the friend of my soul… (Translation)Greg Gunn (Canada) VI – I love you so much…SHEEP SEARCH SKYWARD Frank C. Praeger (USA)THIS ATHENIAN SITELEAVENED APHRODITE A Fretted PatienceREPETITIOUS REAPING How to Say ItBEDRIDDEN A Topping Off Fixated ManeuversLisa McCraw, (USA) ExuberantShe Fell Like a Raindrop News Item: "Whisper n Thunder Cookbook"
  • 5. Anthony Sullivan ::: IrelandAnthony Sullivan needs no introduction to long time readers of this magazine, having had his work featured on these pages in practicallyevery issue since its launch some two or so years ago now. Further work can be read on his website OUR MOONLIGHT SERENADE I THINK I JUST FELT MY HEART BREAK Beneath a starlight symphony I think I just felt my heart break Playing our moonlight serenade If pain can feel like an earthache The sky belongs to you and me Cos there you are again with him Tonight our dreams are on parade In one more photo youre both in Each secret wish at last revealed And he has his arm around you While whispers of passion cascade And your smile says you want him to Beneath a starlight symphony And it hurts more than I can take Playing our moonlight serenade I think I just felt my heart break { CHORUS } I think I just felt my heart break Evry breath lost is worth the cost And now Im left just waitin on To all lovers on their crusade Those tears I know are sure to come ( CHORUS ) And you bring breathlessness to me As sure as now, I know youre gone When love is shown and love is made And youre gone now, theres no mistake During our moonlight serenade I think I just felt my heart break The stars sparkle like our hearts beat I think I just felt my heart break Dancing our moonlight serenade If pain can feel like an earthquake We move in time til times no more And leave your world the lonesome view Oh how your lips softly persuade Of four damn horsemen stormin through That all the world my arms could want Its last nights news in todays light I hold in you, our promise made The tale of how a dream took flight While stars sparkle like our hearts beat And it hurts more than I can take Dancing our moonlight serenade I think I just felt my heart break { REPEAT CHORUS X 2 } REPEAT CHORUS Beneath a starlight symphony And I dont want to know about We dance our moonlight serenade Moments the camera did not see The one it caught was bad enough { REPEAT CHORUS } To leave me in this agony How you bring breathlessness to me REPEAT CHORUS X 2 During our moonlight serenade. Oh he has his arm around you And your smile says you want him to I think I just felt my heart
  • 6. WHITE FLAG FROM MY HEART Wear those signs that say were closin down And my heart might well soon wear one too Oh Kellie Cos i think Im good as gone to you, but Why do you smile like that Straight at me REPEAT CHORUS Cos now Im smilin back And I cant seem to stop myself And yet i know should freedom somehow And I dont want to turn away Be offered on this or any day Kellie, what have you gone and done Still a prisoner of this hopeless love To this poor boys heart today Would my weak heart choose freely to stay, oh Oh Kellie I wonder would you REPEAT CHORUS X 2 Keep on smilin still if you knew What your smiles been doin to me ( CHORUS ) REPEAT VERSE 1 And doin to me from the start Cos Kellie, what your sweet smile does As a prisoner of this love. Is get a white flag from my heart OUR SPIRIT FROM THE SOIL Oh Kellie Can you tone down your glow Oh Mother Earth, all glorious Then maybe And cradle of humanity Well maybe I might go Beneath your skies, beyond all ties From weeks beginning to its end All souls once soared in harmony Without searchin the late-night sky For sign of somethin bright as you But Mother Earth, so wonderous But you shine brightest to my eye We have suffered such cruelty Our fellow man, claiming your land REPEAT CHORUS As their birth-right of prophecy, but So Kellie There is no force under heaven Where do I go from here Can steal our spirit from the soil You got me No barrier can break the bond Always wishin youre near Of all the blood, and tears and toil And near as I can get to you From a centuries deep belonging ( Chorus ) Aint close enough to satisfy That grows a love forever loyal Thoughts tangled up here in my heart Hands can take, just what they can reach That my heads tryin to deny But nothing can steal our spirit Can steal our spirit from the soil REPEAT CHORUS X 2 Oh Brother Sun, your light has shone Oh Kellie On darker ground where life bled thru Why do you smile like that For stolen homes and broken bones Straight at me And history hidden out of view Cos now Im smilin back Oh Sister Moon, youve seen our tears Oh, now Im smilin back For how the way of life we knew Yeah, you got me smilin back Blazed the trail to a promised land Where honored promises were few, but A PRISONER OF THIS LOVE REPEAT CHORUS Darlin i could wait a whole day through In the hope of just a word from you Oh Brother Sun and Sister Moon But when such luck dont break the silence And Mother Earth, mother of all I just go on servin my sentence, and Through your world we are but travllers Short is the time before we fall Im still a prisoner of this love And we know all we truly own Love that i never can reveal We leave for those who follow on Always bound by those emotions ( CHORUS ) In ways some who would deny us That i know not, how not to feel Will never know were never gone, cos I stay, a prisoner of this love Always a prisoner of this love REPEAT CHORUS And all the streets all around this town REPEAT VERSE
  • 7. L. Summerton Morgan (USA) Granmas’ Molasses Dusty Roads Granma made the biscuits The dusty road i grew up on granpa tended fields is all but vanished, all but gone as children chased the chickens replaced by asphalt, barren, cold gathered feathers for their quills. The homestead lost, despairing, sold. A ragged dog named Hobo Grandpas plow lies rotting where that never had much sense he left it lie, last he was there spent hours chasing rabbits the open well is safely sealed that ventured out the fence. replaced by monthly water bills. A kitty cat named Punkin’ The ditch that made my grandpa gripe we discovered in the ditch the city folk replaced with pipe by Maple Tree where Granpa’d shade the fish are gone, the crawdads went ‘n supplied my Gran’ma’s switch. their muddied home now cold cement. A place where time seemed endless Carlisles wood-planked genral store dirt roads and iced tea glasses where old men gathered, lie, and swore where time ne’r grew any older soda pop and sweet Moonpies soppin biscuits in Gran’s Molasses. was torn asunder, Carlisle died. Blinded Shooting marbles, circles drawn upon dirt roads un-traveled onBlinded by the night where demons oft come out to play where children played from dawn to eve Sightless, the enlightened, there, among where in fancied worlds of make-believe. monsters layHidden neath the shadows lurking, waiting for the child i wonder where the kids have gone Who never sought to see beyond, the haunted and (locked inside with TVs on) reviled. who never have, who never know’d the simpler times on Dusty Road… There among the oft allied, sighted others play Tread upon the maddened, who defy the light of day Freemans Mill Who never looked upon the shadowed placid or the calm The old mill long had closed its doors Forever cast in darkness, where the torment met the rotting wheel would turn no more aplomb. no grain to grind, no country stores where old men sat, told stories, swore... Where upon we walk alongside each and every day The walking interrupted seeking shelter from malaise And rocks that formed the waterfallWho ask for naught ‘side reasoning of those replete with became the playground for us all norm on summer days, it beckoned, calledBlinded in the darken, lighted sheltered from the storm. beneath the old mills rotting walls.... The chill of water, mountain-fed awakened spirits, long since dead where millers’ children once were fed on banks upon which lovers wed. And yet i hear the echoes still where laughter of the children filled those rotting walls upon the hill ‘twas once the home to Freemans
  • 8. Whitecaps on the Sea Time would take those marbles He had gathered ‘long the way Dancing on the waves And render them asunder are wing-ed angels by the sea On the playgrounds where he play… whose fathers sailed and perished while they waited patiently Until such time as age defined Lost unto the graveyard of Those marbles he had lost Atlantics Cape Fear coast Would redefine his memories fortunes lost forevermore And spent at such a cost… and haunted by the ghosts. He’s long since lost the shooter Who frequent estuaries Daddy’s gift to eldest son seeking freedom from the grave He recollects with sadness where currents buried treasures All the tasks he’s left undone… the angels dance on waves And daughters of the fathers Among his daily duties who waited patiently Ever seeking, yet to find sail forevermore and dance That precious tiny marble as whitecaps on the sea.... Represents his state of mind…. A Pocket Full of Marbles A Moment of Silence A child just half past six Drawing circles in the sand A moment of silence is called for today Waging tiny marbles As we take a moment toand to pray Firmly gripped within his hand. For our fallen brethren who’ve fallen in war Far from their homeland and welcoming shore. His favorite, a shooter Daddy’s gift, he never bet For all of our sons and daughters who serve Lest he not remember Protecting our freedom, it’s time to observe Lest forever, he forget…. A moment of silence, for those underway Fighting our battles, as heroes are they. He waged those tiny marbles ‘gainst the best that came his way Who give of themselves, that we who remain On dirt-lined streets and playgrounds At home, do not falter, or fail,wane Where he ventured everyday… For this is our mission, it’s their sacrifice All of our heroes are paying the price. And there along life’s highway Tiny marbles represent Pray for our heroes, for those left behind Lessons learned from winning Pray for the comfort and loss of affined. And the losses he had spent… For those altruistic, unselfishly pay A moment of silence is called for today.Matters of the Heart is being re-released in limited quantities. The 2011 Edition will include240 Poems and 4 Short Stories/Tales. Each copy will be autographed personally by theauthor to the individual purchaser.Leon continues to write and share his poetry online. You may find him at the following links:Send a friend request to:“i welcome new friends and readers and will direct you to my poetry pages. Moreinformation will be provided when the 2011 Edition is completed. Thank You ALL for yourcontinued support and kindness!” -
  • 9. Poetry – Tomás Ó CárthaighWriter Forgetting their Readers Where Snow is But a DreamWords written in worry Elsewhere snow fallsChart the horrors of the mind Child is dreaming of snowmenDont make pleasant reading Summer sun beats down.For the reader who may findToo much raw emotion Morning After the Night BeforeFrom a writer seeking a shoulder to cryForgetting the reader may have problems Last night, they walked and talkedFor whom a way out is not to die. And fought and kissed and whatever else as well This morning the hangover strikesWords Written in Anger and Anguish (Anne Sexton) Too many stories not to tell And live and hope that nothing happenedAs Sexton slowly slid out of control, a feature of her That will show in time a night of the pastwriting was to go to free verse from rhyme. Love is great to share when at the time we share it But such fleeting lust will rarely lastWith words written in anger and anguish Too many look at each other with guilty eyesFrom rhyme to free verse she veered After the nights dalliances of the heartThe former written when demons under control In awkward silences and words - whichever worseThe latter when they were freed, unsteered They manage in mumbles to greet and partShe careered across the page with words The morning after, sometimes they thinkHer therapy became our literature, we read The lesser part of the hangover is caused by the drink!Without guilt, as if her medical notes, which werereleased Walking by Trees at the Grand Canal, TullamoreWhen they should not have been, psychiatry meetspoetry: instead Arms to sky, they wave good morningA new genre, and old story, and neither the therapy As I walk by, maybe a warninghelped the poetry Watch where you fly, the sky adorningOr the poetry enhanced the therapy Birds that cry, they may leave their markAnd like reading all medical notes Believed good luck to be by someThe reader is none the wiser for reading, and can be Who never, from work walking have comeLittle the better afterwards. Had a bird shit upon their clothes Could be worse - going to work Id suppose...Turbulent Seas I nod good morning to the bare leafed trees Who stand arms to the sky at ease..."as easily as an old woman reads a palm"Crossing the Atlantic - Anne Sexton " "Anonymous" by Anonymous (me!!!) "Journey set upon with an illusion of a boat Someone wrote this poem, without a nameBy one who could not swim, but read a tale From rage and anger, with pen they cameOf a man who walked on water in Gallilee Better to spill ink, I think, than bloodAnd thought she too could not fail Though to spill the latter they wish they couldSo to walk on the waters of her emotions But we have seen enough of war and killingBut it was not to be, faster than she could think And it will all pass in time God willingWith a glass of vodka in hand, she took on the waves So we will take the beatings and the tear gasAnd found the only way was down... she did sink. Voice our anger ignored, bear the load as the crisesThe old woman of her writings if she were to read slowly pass...Would she have seen that garage in her palmWould she have foretold her, or told a fairy taleHer worries and her agitation to calm?Each person - each of us has a destinyHers charted as if her words were each a medical noteHow many were written with watered eyesRead to hear their sound, each caught in her throat?
  • 10. A Month of Mondays They Slept in PeaceIt seems as if with all thats on War and slaughter disturbed them not- And its not only somedays - For over thousands of yearsEverything than can has gone wrong As nation after nation invadedAs if a month of Mondays With guns, and swords and spearsBut yet I try to soldier onAnd make it work my way Through famines they were not disturbedAnd that things get done at all When they were it was not from needIt never fails to amaze me everyday! Or conflict, or natural disaster No, but from mankinds selfish greed.If Poets Had Consequence Now ask debris, theyll be swept awayIf poets had consequence in these modern times As are swept to one side wishes of the livingAll corruption would not be But there will come a Judgement on a DayBut they dont, so it is and flourishes It will be unforgivingAnd laugh in the face of those like meWho wave mere words, not wrote the paper written God as we know him will declareOr th breath in which poems and slogans are said That those who desecratedThose times when poets words to reputations mattered Shall punished be for their follyLike the times of decency, they are dead. Destroying what he created!If moral had consequences in these modern timesAll corruption would not beThere would be no need for protest and satireFor campaigners and those like meWho wave mere words, at times when in other times itwould be gunsAnd blood flowing on the streets insteadOf a world weary of fighting after two world warsAnd has buried too many of its dead.Freedoms Western Writers For Granted TakeWe in the West, we take for grantedWords that we write like theseWe criticize all around - and rightly so -But we can do so at easeBeing able to do so it is easyAs a writer you cannot failNo fear of police in the middle of the nightYour home to come being an overcrowded jail.You kill a man, you do timeYes, but it is set in lawWrite an opinion, a crime...Justice writers never saw.Just the cold hard bars and guardsDaily instil fear and flogCritics, journalists and bards:Student who writes a blogThey sleep tonight, rememberAs you too to sleep you goWriters for freedoms emberThat one day a blaze itll
  • 11. Spiros Kitsinelis(Greece / France) For You Don’t KnowI Drink To You You ever slept in beds of rooms, that felt they were my freedoms tombs.To you my girl I drink tonight. You ever smelled the scent of skins,To you that spent with me a night. of girls that filled my nights with sins.To you that have so many names. You ever walked the lands Ive been,To you that played with me some games. or ever had the dreams Ive seen.I think of heaven each time we meet. You know the images my eyes can seeA star you are, so bright, unique. and whether inside I feel free.But one of many my heart has craved Well if you dont, dont speak a word,and with all others my heavens made. that paints an image and a world,To you I also drink tonight, where you would place my heart and soul,that never spent with me a night. for you dont know what makes me whole.To you whose name I never learned. For you dont hear my laugh or sigh,To you whose love I never earned. so save your words and don’t ask why,I think of hell each time we meet. for what you think is just a lieEach time a nightmare, so dark, unique.But youre no devil that lies would tell.My lust for you takes me to hell.Hal O’ Leary (USA)Hal OLeary, an eighty-six-year-old Secular Humanist whobelieves that it is only through the arts that one is afforded Homecomingan occasional glimpse into the otherwiseincomprehensible. My son, hes coming home, weve missed him so... Yes Mam, thats why were here, about your son... So smart. Hes going to go to school you know....A DAY TO REMEMBER, first published by Original Yes Mam...This is the silver star he won.Writer. Yes Mam, thats why were here. About your son... He has this very lovely fiance.MY LIFE, first published in Crannog Magazine. Yes Mam, this is the silver star he won. Shes lovely. We expect him any day.HOMECOMING, first published by Copaiba He has this very lovely fiance.IM NOT SURE HOW, first published by Thoughtsmith Dear Mam...He wont be coming home I fear. Shes lovely, we expect him any day. Your son was killed, and that is why were here.THE INNOCENT, first published by Ink Blot. Dear Mam, he wont be coming home I fear.DEAR FRIEND, has not been published. Of course hell come. Weve waited oh so long. Your son was killed, and that is why were here. I thank you sir, but certainly youre wrong. Of course hell come...Weve waited oh so long. So smart...Hes going to go to school you know. .I thank you sir...But certainly youre wrong. My son?,,,Hes coming home!......Weve...missed him
  • 12. I’M NOT SURE HOW WAR IS HELL Yes, War Is Hell, that’s what they say,We’ll get through this, I’m not sure how. But when it comes, it’s all HOORAY!We’ve suffered things like this before. The flag, of course, is on display,The world’s too much with us now. As patriots all kneel and pray.It’s hard to say what lies in store. “The enemy must die today”. But who is this foe anyway,We’ve suffered things like this before, We send our brave boys out to slay?When we were young, but now I fear ‘Thou shalt not kill’ commandments say,It’s hard say what lies in store. But they’re not human, it’s OK.We might not make it through the year. Beside they come from far away And worship God another day.When we were young, but now I fearOur time is slipping fast away. But who am I to question theyWe might not make it through the year. Who do what I did yesterday?We might not make it through the day. For very much to my dismay, Back then I hid my feet of clay,Our time is slipping fast away. And off to Nam, I joined the fray,I fear, my dear, it may be true, To fight for, Good Old USA.We may not make it through the day. But now, for ignorance I pay,There must be something we can do. And here in Arlington they lay A wreath and rue the dayI fear, my dear, it may be true. We bought the lie of Tonkin BayThe world’s too much with us now. A DAY TO REMEMBERThere must be something we can do. A summer morn, a sun beyond compare,We’ll get through this…I’m not sure how. A stroll to bask and take the summer air, A life reborn, a day extremely rare, THE INNOCENT No soul could ask for anything more fair,I’m in my grave unsure of why I died. So, off I set, not really caring where.For liberty and freedom it was not. It was as though I’d never had a care,I didn’t know the leadership had lied. At ease and yet alive, for unaware,I trusted, never knowing why we fought. I longed to know what waited for me there. On such a day, I felt that I could swearFor liberty and freedom it was not. That nothing dire could possibly impairI didn’t know they profited the most. My golden ray of hope. I do declareI trusted, never knowing why we fought. It lit a fire I felt a need to share.That’s why, for now and ever, I’m a ghost. But, not to be, for down the sidewalk, there,I didn’t know they profited the most, Appeared a sight that gave me quite a scare,The psychopaths, that lied us into war. For I could see, and much to my despair,That’s why, for now and ever, I’m a ghost. Someone, at night, had scrawled a messageOur sacred land’s not sacred anymore. there. I knew, of course, it wouldn’t be a prayer,The psychopaths,that lied us into war. Or children’s play, and so I’d best prepareThey sold my life to satisfy their greed? Myself for coarse and yes, the foulest fareOur sacred land’s not sacred anymore. To turn my day into a sad affair.Could I have died for such an evil deed? But as I neared, I had to stop and stare, For on the walk, I saw and do declareThey sold my life to satisfy their greed? Not what I feared, for there, without a flare…I didn’t know the leadership had lied. In yellow chalk, it simply said “HI THERE”.Could I have died for such an evil deed?I’m in my grave not knowing why I
  • 13. MY LIFE DEAR FRIENDIt’s true, that in my youth, I was besetWith fear that I might lose my life, and yet, At times like these,I must say that the fear was quite off-set the world will seem indifferent and cold.By treating life just as I did roulette. There must be something one could do.I’d go all out and never hedge a bet The sentiment of sympathyThe fear of loss was one I’d never met. Seems not enough.I’d raise the stakes and never break a sweat.My life became an appetite whet, It merely says,A banquet that I never will forget. I’m sorry fate has dealt you such a blow. That doesn’t touch the depth of what I feel,And now, a member of the Senior Set, And so, it doesn’t let you knowI may be past my prime, but I don’t fret How much I care.I’ve used life well, and now I’m pleased to letThe ones that follow get their tootsies wet. At times like these,And true to form, I hope that they can net The cold indifference will dissipateA life like mine, for now that I’m a vet, In knowing there is one who sharesThere’s nothing more I’d really like to get. The loving warmth true empathy can give,And as the end draws near, with no regret, A warmth we share.Old Death becomes a promise, not a threat. It truly says, I feel not simply for, I feel with you. It says to you, you’re not alone. It lets you know your deepest grief Is also mine. But also know That very empathy will mean we share The beauty and the joy as well. Whatever our two fates decree, We share as
  • 14. Matthew Walz ::: (USA)A graduate from the University of Minnesota where he studied sociology and history and iscurrently residing in Minneapolis. His poetry and fiction has appeared or is forthcoming inthe following literary magazines: Grey Sparrow Journal, Blinking Cursor, The SheepsheadReview, A Prairie Journal, Burning Word, and Calliope. He can be reached by email of the Night Tragedy in the FallFarewell fair maiden, of the night, Leave us to the fall;We kissed forever, or at least till daylight, She left and didn’t come back.But I will never forget the restless play, I tremor and tremor,Though we may be apart, forever, far away. But she didn’t come back. Leave us to the fall.I’ll lean in, softly, and with a smile,And happily, joyously, think all the while; Leave us to the fall;The time we spent can never go to waste, I traveled the world but was a fake.Even if this is, the first, and final taste. I quiver and quiver, But it’s all for her sake.My Enemy Leave us to the fall.I see him—a passerby,Grinding teeth and narrow eye, Leave us to the fall;And hope that he won’t catch She left and didn’t come back.My war torn mind in such a wretch. I shiver and shake, But her eyes have turned black.Divert my covered thoughts, Leave us, once, and for all.Cleverly trenched just like a fox,But no sooner does he see,The decrepit, impoverished likes of me.My scowl turns into a smile;He steps towards me and all the whileI raise my hand and say:“It’s so great to see you on this fine day.” Poetry Video – Stephen James Smith and Enda Reilly “So it gives me great pleasure to share with you a stunning video for a poem by W.B. Yeats (September 1913), it was produced by some of Irelands finest. Those being award winning director Myles OReilly, Stephen Mogerley and photographer Bob Dixon. Here is the link: if you like it please be so kind as to share it with friends and leave a comment. This is to celebrate the debut album titled Arise & Go! by Smith & Reilly, aka Stephen James Smith (me) and Enda Reilly. To get some info on us just go here: and like us.” - Stephen James
  • 15. Offaly Writers Set to Join the Million ClubThe most obvious link between the Irish and the Native one million mark. And this very special milestone editionAmerican people, at least as far as most of us might be will include among its contents new pieces by both Cartyaware, is still that supremely noble of charitable gestures and Sullivan. Carty, who has seen his work publishedexpressed by the Choctaw Indians in collecting and and even translated as far afield as China, as well assending money to Ireland during the famine, simply himself being the founder and editor of the online because they had heard of the suffering of the Irish Cartys Poetry Journal , has contributed three shortpeople during that dark hour in our history. poems; The Crooked Mouths , Columbia River Creation , and Old Crow Brings Daylight . Sullivan, whoHowever, a new link is in the process of being forged, is currently working on his third collection of lyrics andand its one which, thankfully, has its roots in the poetry, following on from the publication of his second, somewhat happier creative world of the arts. Writers Pilgrim In The Heartland in 2009, has contributed hisTomas Carty ( from Banagher ) and Anthony Sullivan ( lyric, Ballad of the Red Bird ( Spirit of Love ).from Lusmagh ), both of whom are based in Tullamore,have been regular contributors to the Native American Whisper N Thunder is a non-profit charitableweb-zine Whisper N Thunder since its inception just organisation founded by Billie Kyle Fidlin in Arizona inless than two years ago. And now, with the two year 2009, with the web-zines first edition going live atanniversary just around the corner on January 1st, both midnight on January 1st 2010. The organisationsmen look likely to be celebrating more than just the mission statement is to empower Native Americanswebzines birthday, but also their being part of the through education, awareness and opportunity. ItWhisper N Thunder team that breaks through the one achieves this aim by sharing the stories, history, traditionmillion page-requests marker! and culture of the indigenous people of America, as well as highlighting current and on-going events andWith the page-request figure having climbed to over 940, developments.000 by the start of December, the January edition isexpected to take the web-zine beyond the history making - Anthony
  • 16. Tatjana Debeljački (Serbia)Tatjana Debeljački, was born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku.Member of Association of Writers of Serbia -UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia - HDS Serbia, HUSCG –Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, HKD Croatia since 2009 anda member of Poetry Society "Antun Ivanošić" Osijek since 2011. Deputy of the main editor (cooperation with magazines &interviews). of the magazine "Poeta", published by Writers’ Association "Poeta" of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin – Belgrade.Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996;collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”,published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-ENwith music, AH-EH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008.Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages.Blogs - Interests poetryOther interests
  • 17. ARE THERE I Will Never Forget That NightSomeone is breaking the branches?! I will never forget that night when you cameFrom midnight to the dawn. to me lying on the couch out of the darkness.The forest is trembling inside me.My trees are innocent, On my parents couchThirsty of milk, by the window with the starsFirm hands and you don’t recall?The scent of effervesce.Im drinking my mint tea. There’s so much, volumes I want to ask you,Im bringing tranquility without the aim Do you remember the way we would lie in theAnd the flowers for the vase. sweetest of animation,When I look at it is never the same. Suspended,Im starting to believe in fertility of miracles. Resting where even time itself could notIs there the flame, which could turn the touch usheavens Even for a moment,Into the ashes? How we seemed to pour into each other,Are there any hands to pick up my ripe Filling each other to the brimapples?! With excitement, passion, and love, Do you remember?THERE IS On my parent’s couch, that window with a million stars,Someone is cracking the branch?! Hearing the odd sleepless cow,Hang on till morning. Hearing you,Here it is inside of me, It was like a million candles lit your way downInnocent, thirsty the hall to me,Still waiting for the bread and milk, Waiting for our romantic subterfugeSipping the mint tea. I lay awake preparing a masterpiece ofBring the peace without the aim cushions and covers,And the flowers for the vase. Everyone in the house slept soundlyDoesn’t know that her soul is freezing, so she While your hand gracefully covered yourtakes her time. mouth,Every now and then she sees her but never You, gasping,anything happens. Trying so hardStarting to believe in miracles. Not to scream;Is there the heavenly love and Soft gentle touch of my hands rubbing you,Such a flame I miss you so I can hardly breathe...That it never turns into ashes? That was by far the most passionate night ofAlways ripe like an apple! my free young life,Eh, my quest for the fire... The way our milky bodies intertwined,I’m intoxicated by the poem, not wine! Flowed rhythmically together with the tide ofYour words are the wind the night,Blowing my love Crests rising and falling to the pace of ourAway!!! breathing, A nightingale’s midnight melody fills my ear, and I fill you up all the way past the brim with my unbridled
  • 18. - ”Captivated” - Lizzie Corsi, (USA)“I am an undergraduate Florida student attending Palm Beach State College” Ive become tangled, Wrapped and wrangled. Constricted and confused; Feelings of obscurity: Compelling and suffused.5 This heart’s pulsing, this mind’s racing, These feelings, though unsecure, continue a tighter enlacing. Reasons for this captivation remain uncertain, the fact burdens me so. How do these connections become more twisted as we grow? Yes, it is you; I have seen you before,10 Why is it now my eyes see you in a different light: someone to adore? Irrevocably, irresistibly, unintentionally magnetized, Words of expression are captured and imprisoned, unable to be vocalized. Object of my affection, how good you truly are. Why must your heart live a distance so far?15 Filled to the brim with life so vibrant: You are kind and gentle, so wonderfully lucent! But you are also blind and I am helpless. You can not see what I so desire to confess! The secret is damaging, my wounds are deep.20 It’s too heavy and exhausting to further keep. Its power knocked me down, so quick you didn’t see. I flew up, then came down, crashing to the ground so clumsily. Open those eyes! See the devastation and sense the urgency! Come to me hastily! This is an emergency!25 No… I have fallen hard, with no one to hear. To remain stranded and alone I do heavily fear. Trapped like a bird, overcome by emotion. Why must you be oblivious to all this commotion? These feelings are squeezing tighter; thick vines too huge!30 I can’t do this alone, come give me refuge! Save me from myself, and end this ruthless tie. Cut my constraints; unravel my entanglement, just free me to fly! Follow me please, as I so wish and desire. Help to simmer the flames, or ignite the fire.35 Offer me bandages, heal my heart. Mend what’s been broken, and never depart. Kiss the bruises, embrace my soul, Make me feel good, make me feel whole. Uncoil the metal of this battered wire,36 And give me the light I desperately require. For this unrequited love has brought about such misery, So break the curse, open those arms, and simply love me. Because when I look at you, I see the future I want. One that without you, my world could become empty and gaunt.40 Please my darling, won’t you smile for me? Smile a smile that can calm the sea? Someday won’t you look at me sweetly, with eyes so crystal and true,
  • 19. And promise me wrong you will never do? What I ask of you, my beautiful dear:45 Someday look to me, let it be my voice you will hear. Hear my thoughts, my feelings, my desires for you, And return them all, giving yourself, and treasuring my virtue. And let me warm your soul, keep your heart, and settle your spirit. Giving in to each other, our feelings we will forfeit.50 Unknowing to my weakness, I know you are innocent. Oh how I wish my longing, to you, could be so salient! Someday I hope I’ll catch your eye, So you can end my struggle, and with it the pain will die. For now, I can only hope you’ll come so my love can be aided.55 Silent and incomplete, I by you am captivated. News ItemMark Wallacott publishes online a journal and also books of his writings, one of which we are delighted to feature here108 Breaths features 108 haiku poems and 4 haibun.They are a deeply personal collection that will make youlaugh, reflect and wonder about Mark Wollacott’s fiveyears in Japan. The book has been described asproviding an “intimate view into Japanese culture andhow different it seems to an outsider” by writer RebeccaMayglothling.The book comes with a foreword by poet Kiersty Boonas well as an introduction to haiku, an afterword by theauthor and an appendix of notes giving the readerbackground information on Japan and Mark’s timethere.This is a must for “every type of poetry reader, from thestudent in the classroom to the seasoned poetry reader.”The Hardback edition currently costs £14.99 (plus £2.50 for p&p) if you order via
  • 20. Better Off in the Bog End of NowhereBERNARD LORIMER to turn and take this freight train homeNorthern Ireland to soil and blood in harmony sung as bards they bade the publics sake“A student who just moved to Galway from from turn spun steel city awakeBelfast, heres some pieces Ive been working and disperse into woodland lungon.” clear breath, clear stream moonlight and songThe Waves bountiful mire for my tall amber fireWhere calm waters that flow in the mooring waters of the salivate grass knows the morning passDusk having faned to steady night from its alter white to pale crimson lightSoft and lulling to the great white bright light amid the shadowy reedsAbove forever round and passing roundSpinning oceans her anchors bound safe and soundWhish will ya now bed blanket boundWhish will ya! no thought of stony streetWhish! pot bellied stove my boggy coveThe waves of all us all brimming full of heatAll the hush now be hush waves of usOf all of us gaels hark this callCome flowing or flowed themselves amongst by an oak tree tallGnashing and crashing whilst they speak once too oft and hold seatThe smash of rocks in the same dáil direWhish full of oak fed firesWhish where the corncrakes caw never reachedWhishThose torrents over trenches at the SommeSpilt across and dripping to deathly doneTumbling downAft rising upShips of soldiers drownedThe oceans secret soundA wishA wishA soft trembling wish for leave or some vinegar in thissalty funkAtom +night before she arrived my living treeupon a rib and just for meate she the fruit sumptuouslywhile river ran unto the sealife was bliss and all was calmpear sweet melon bananaI feel her perfectly all placethrough her sing and on her facebeauty that is lain aroundshapely flowers from giftly groundgentle sunlight raining below withheavenly water makes all things growall glorious things that he confidessublimely reigns and inside hidesa single atom of her beingconceals the image of
  • 21. The Nomad that would be HeroRandall Aittaniemi A wasteland is on edge,(USA) waiting for a hero that arrives too late. Call it fate, you can call it hopeless.“Im 22, graduated form UMASS Amherst, a new writer so They will be avenged, this much I promise.I am previously unpublished.” They say he’s a tragic hero.It gives pleasure to us at Cartys Poetry Journal to bring Endlessly yearns to help but it’s an abated work.this new writer to the printed page. He always hurts whoever he’s closest to so he never stays, ever blowing through. Contrite Remarks Learned he can’t let himself care too much. Many times expectations rise, hopes filled.I’ve been thinking, living breathing Tries to build, has to rewind and restart.that I need something new to believe in, Burdened by a big heart.but it keeps on swinging back round to you.I need a new direction away from this obsession, Knows he’s destined to carry the curse.a cognitive correction for this infection. So he drifts as an apparition,A left hand turn at the four way stop, mental roadblock would wandering prison. Lives under no one’s’ command,do. always the stranger in a foreign land.Every different school of thoughtpaired with these contrite remarks, Heading WestI say I’m doing good when I’m feeling blue. Stare into the winters’ night.With all these emotions flowing, The coming morn my only fright.passion gushing, feelings growing. I wish it could stay like this again.Don’t treat me like some sort of lifeless prop. I wish you could stay with me my friend,You told me that I should go away but we’re going separate ways.and yet I feel compelled to stay Soon we’ll be divided by the days.even though this subject I should drop. You head into the night and I’ll head west.To forget I made my mission, I needed this new start I must confess.of me and you the same old vision Between grass and sea is where I’ll be,but my beating heart, it just won’t stop. in case many years from now you look for me. I see the coming of the rising star Erosion signaling that the beginning can’t be far.This world seems a little less green. Unconscious WonderIt seems obscene but the sun’s receding east.At least the stars are still bright, Girl with the hidden braid hair.empathetic of our plight. Knowing that we’re trying too late to Girl that doesn’t wear underwear.reach I love the shells on your feet,a soft coated beach where we can watch them shine on collected as you skimmed upon the beach.through thick mocking fog that veils our intentions. Sun burst eyes glow as they glisten.Our cryptic confessions of earths’ burning. Smile so perfect, can’t help but listen.A charred warning taken too late. I love the way that you move.Maybe it’s fate as winds swirl and blow, PJ bottoms and undershirt, your best grove.telling us what we already know about tar that’s impeding You seem to dance to the music in my head.and concrete that’s completing our spaces limitation, You look so beautiful sleeping in my bedboth physical and imagination. Steel replaces trees even if you take all the covers.and nullifies the breeze that refreshes our minds You talk in your sleep, unconscious wonder.and the ties that bind us all together. Natures’ epoch erodesinto times unknown unless we solveour need to “evolve” and embrace times of the past,times of foliage times of
  • 22. 2011. - Co-editor of the “Poets for World peace” Vol. 3Sabahudin Hadžialić (Anthology of poems – poets from 25 countries from allBosnia and Herzegovina around the World together with Dr. Ram Sharma from India) 2011. – Editor of the FIRST Anthology of ex-YuBorn in 23.9.1960.g. in Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina, aphorisms with 73 satirics/aphoristics from ex-YuEurope. republics. 2012: Within the preparation are…Today he is a member of the Bosnia and Herzegovina The novel (trilogy "CROSSROADS OF THE WORLDS").Association of Writers (Sarajevo, BiH), Croatian writersassociation Herzeg Bosnia (Mostar, BiH) and Association Official WWW: http://sabihadzi.weebly.comof writers Serbia (Belgrad, Serbia) , Academy “IvoAndrić” (Belgrade, Serbia) and Journalists Association ofBosnia and Herzegovina and Ambassador of POETASdel MUNDO in Bosnia and Herzegovina.He is Editor in chief of the electronic and print magazine"DIOGEN" pro culture: andEditor in chief of E –magazine MaxMinus: from Sarajevo, Bosnia andHerzegovina.He has the status of the independent and self-sustainedartist in the Canton of Sarajevo. He writes poetry andprose with the editing and reviewing books of otherauthors.He is freelance editor in the publishing house Dhira,Küsnacht, Switzerland. He published poems, articles,essays, aphorisms, plays and short stories in almost allmajor newspapers & magazines in Bosnia-Herzegovina,Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Macedonia. His poems, shortstories and aphorisms have been published in journals inEngland, Ireland, Spain, Italy and USA.His poetry and prose were translated into English,French, German, Spanish, Italian, Albanian andRomanian.He was the co- owner is the first private newspaper inSR BiH "POTEZ", Bugojno, Bosnia and Herzegovina -1990.So far he has published ten books of poetry and prose.He published four books internationally: Book of poetryin France 1998 (French language), Book of aphorisms inItaly (Italian language), Book of poetry “Beggars of mind”(published in BiH back in 2003.) in Switzerland (Germanlanguage) and “Selected poems” book of poetry (inEnglsih, German, Italian, Albanian, Spanish and Frenchlanguage). His art work has been included in anthologiesof poetry in France, Canada and Bosnia andHerzegovina, and in the Anthology of satire of Bosniaand Herzegovina and of Balkans. He has won severalawards among which are the best: "May pen" for thebest young poet of former Yugoslavia in 1987(Svetozarevo) and Award of Academy "Ivo Andric"(Belgrade) for 2011. He lives in Sarajevo, Bosnia andHerzegovina.Prepared and
  • 23. REALITY FILMED Don’t turn into a shadowy street.Dismal imageof my own imprint in time You can easily get lost.that’s realinside the vision that- isn’t, There areis desperately in search for one way and two wayHer ! streets… Like peopleQueen Elizabeth, sometimes spotlessChatherine, Nikolajevna, sometimes grubbyPrincess Diana, andFatima sometimes just a dead end.Disappear in front of the eyesof wild hordes. REPETICIO EST MATER STUDIORUM…I remain alone Warmthtrembling with trepidation of time and spacetrying to figure out is nothing elsewhat is it that they want. but unforgettable lightness… of bizarre rhymesVirtual reality of a surreal film-world that reverberateis nothing more than among twisted corridors of my soul.a treacherous impersonation of a real worldthat deceives me …a Servile Servant !.. Chilliness of déjà vuShe’s gone ! and spaceWill she ever come back ? is nothing elseThe question is swept by the wind. but… bizarre formI’ll wait for the storm to calm of odd expectationsand try to catch the mistral wind to find a cove, that sway embarrassinglyand search for the place where I met her. to the rhythm of her tambourine.Barefoot and naked. …Back in the day.On the stage ! They dance. Without us.VICE VERSA …Cosy darknessResonates chilly. Long time agoChilliness the two of uslight got lost in insanity.gravitate towards My insanity.warmth. Hoping thatAnd everything she will say NO to this madness.Would be just fine…Like withered flowers of faith ….….If only That was it.I knewthat …I am able to express the truth.And not lie Encircled by a wall, in hopeTo meand You ! LIFELIVING IN ‘THE DREAMS’ STREET There are times when I don’t feel like
  • 24. She takes in breath They did not ask for permission.for me. The very same people who nowCOPY PASTE want to establish customs zones,I am not guilty ! introduce joint parliament sittingI only obeyed my party line ! and start to exchange war criminals.And The very samethis goes on THEYand on who caused the trouble in the first place.for centuries. … I can only saySTATES, PARDON ME, CITIES one word COUNTRY/HOMELANDIn the little town One day you will realiseacross the seven seas thatlived a small nation. PEOPLE lived there for generationsThis nation could fit into one city. and not… NO, DON’T SHOOT !!and nowhere else.At least that’s what little nation’s Emperor thought. COUNTRY SONGPardon, Duke.And one day some people left the city. Speculationthey were the first to leave. revivesFollowed by the second. reminiscenceAnd the third. of the moments of destinyEmperor, pardon, Duke in my dreams.was left alone. I really don’t know… why this title ?The name of the city ? When I wantLook around, to say something completely oppositeperhaps this is a story aiming to speak ofof your.. city. unspoken, unheard of,ANANAS AND BANANA and unthinkableThrough this poem At least today,I’d like to tell you now and here.that I know Elite culturehow much I love you. is nothing else but… the wish of marginalised peopleThrough this poem to establish the rule of impossibleI’d like to tell you in this corner of the world.that I want Let them live with to be mine. Off I go the soul-brothel… I’m off to the pub !Through this poemI’d like to tell you IF ONLY I WERE YOUNGERthat I can carry you. I read… PoetryI’d like all of this written by the young poets…however I can’t manageHow can I have you, love you and carry you. IHow, when I can’t afford don’t knowto keep up with keeping you. if I should call itBLUES FOR MY EX-COUNTRY/HOMELAND Regressive or Progressive ? I better shut upI had a country. and continue readingThey took it away. The poetry written by young
  • 25. Deepak Chaswal "Meeting with Christ"(India) Sometimes ago I visitedHe is a poet from the soil of India. Also Prof. of English Jerusalem to meet theand critic. His poetry exhibits his perception of the Soul of Christuniverse from the perspective of an insider. Published in Which was wandering hereinternational poetry journals: Pacific Review, Sam Smith And there with some otherThe Journal, Pamona Valley Review, The Tower, Forge, Noble soulsEnchanting Verses,Earthborne Poetry Magazine, Kritya-A Journal of Poetry, Indian Ruminations, Bicycle Review, As soon as I observedElectronic Monsoon Magazine to name a few. Their serenity, tranquillity And contentment“Man” I could not resist Myself from puttingA bundle of lies Questions to themBorn in cries Because withoutWith blood Interrogation we cannotAnd sighs Trust even GodTears the wombAnd ends in tomb I while adjusting my tieAnd still claims Asked a questionHe is innocent. With an artificial sigh O! Lord,"Freedom" People say You areThe Lady with the Above swordgolden rings Do you think the society in which you livedclipped the Was without discord?parrotssilken wings Christ just smiledWas surprised As if in the hearts of his heartwhen it again He cried without voicepicked the Because he had no choicesame cardof "Freedom" I asked the second questionshe most despised. Which was my firm presumption Do you think crucification is the“Death by Water” Only way through which One can be driven to death?They dilutedHim in the water Christ tried to thinkLike aspirin He replied with a mild winkTo get relief He was literally dumbFrom headache As if his heart was numb"Angels/Demons" Without giving any reply Christ was looking shyThey may come I still asked the third questionfrom sea, air or ground Which was in the form of inspectionlike the wind, water or soundand crack your ribs What are your views about morality?as if you are pigs. Do you think that it exists in the world in totality? Christ turned his backTheir counting starts from As if he was defending himself from media attacknine and ends at eleven Christ started walking towards EastThey live on earth I think he realizedbut come from heaven That I was not a priestThey will SEAL your fate Rather a twenty first century Beast.Cant say about the
  • 26. “Superman” Three Years DownDarwin showed Believe in somethingThe progress of man Without baseI will tell you about Safe distanceThe superman Far-wide-across Mental messagesI saw the supermanHe was busy in preparing Hugging through barsA plan Kissing through songsMay be Breathing in dreamsTo conquer the world Feeling in words Knowing in sensesI saw supermanWho was totally Having through promiseDifferent from monkey and man I miss youI saw supermanWho was bending backwards Alive through voiceHis eyes could hardly Denied through absenceSee upwards Laughing in fantasies Crying in silenceI saw superman Building in lettersWho was neitherSitting nor standing True through painHe seems to beThe incarnation of I love youEternal damnation - “Erica” a.k.a. “Spirit Love”, 21 from Los Angeles,I saw the superman USA. Prefers to keep discreet and mysterious...Who could hardly speakOr chant a sermonI saw the superman RainWho was neither monkey nor man Kathy Coman (USA)With clawed handsAnd semi circled reverted back I love the wayHe was waiting for You fall up against my skinEither some crow I feel its God’s way of naturally cleansing meOr some swan. From sin’s scars That tries to reopen themselves to me daily So He sends youI saw the superman To cleanse and refresh my soulCrawling slowlyOn the sand Kathy Coman graduated from the University of Toledo in 2008 with aIn between the desert land Bachelors of English. She has been published in A&U Magazine asMay be well as online at jerryjazzmusician.To Bethlehemor some alien
  • 27. BOLD STATEMENTSWhy are so many people needing to MEASURED. MEASURED Record the evidencebe un-acceptable. Why do they and scream it from within. Neverreach out to me in such a forceful allow FORCES to be with you; theremanner. Do I appear to relinquish is a heaven and the only way tomy RIGHTS as an achiever in any know that, is to FORGIVE Forgive FORGIVE.given effort. Read me my when you can’t or simply whenMEMORIES and the answer will you don’t want to.reach out and touch someone; Escape and FREE your…..anyone. The remedies that reside Knowing their mind allows thewithin my mind are consequences PLEASURE to revolve around whatthat may render one USELESS in I resolute; and the REWARD will betheir efforts. Recycle mandatory all mine, no yours too. Supportaffections and reside amongst the that which is MANDATORY. ICOMPETITION that may master don’t think so far that which weanger’s rejects. What we fail to accept is only as far as the eye cansometimes realize is that we make see and to only see can bring aboutMISTAKES but we are not to be UNBELIEF. UNBELIEF Boldness is a fortifiedheld accountable for the such. ELEMENT that will extinguish anRECAPTURE every demeanor that enormous, burning DESIRE there DESIRE;may fight to survive and within is another understanding whichthat circle, may become beknownst must be LEANED you. When a TIGER cries andthat they do, we can’t hear it as - Kim Wilsonwell as when a TREE falls and yes,it does make a SOUND Feel me SOUND.when you can’t and even whenyou won’t because everything IATTEMPT to become onlyremembers that which may bringabout my DEEPEST fear.ROARING is a call of the wild.Screaming comes from inside thecloset and the mercy never rest.FAILURE can never be accountedfor if the attempts
  • 28. “Days” GIFTS Days don’t look as glorious when your heart’s I use my gift to write out loud. I know I’m not the only one; been shattered. escaping, feeling, It seems time takes, trying, as the itty bitty ‘peaces’ asking, struggle to get together; again. forgiving, I looked out into the sunshine praying, and saw nothing; excepting, but a blurry eyesore sight. accepting, The grass seemed to turning away, get greener in a divine instant. giving it up, I thought it was a heavenly light seeking, blue shaded with whites needing, and grays and birds; the sky. blessing, My heart leaking; waiting for retaliating, nothing yet sadness arrived attempting, to keep my tears company. misusing, Reaching, wanting, wasting crying, served a relentless purpose. keeping, What invaded was evident sharing, that what is to comes; hurried. hoping, Nights seems to be brighter wondering, than days; filled with fear as praising, cultural boldness spit and scream reliving; and yell that it’s familiar; will refusing gather what in the hell’o is going on! itty bitty together again. There is only one WAY, TRUTH AND LIGHT! My name is Kimberly Wilson and I create poetry from who I am on the inside. I have a load of venting, inspiring, captivating, informational emotions per myself to
  • 29. Gonzalo Salesky (Argentina) Gonzalo is a 32 year old Argeintine writer whose worksYou Will Be can be read on his blog at gonzalosalesky.blogspot.comYou will be breath of sea, you will be nostalgiaWhen your mouth leaves and does not return. We are honoured to carry aYou will be my breeze when the wind drops, translation of his poems in the English language.You will be fire beyond words.You will be the sky, void of my pages,And the prayer to announce my departureWhen the pain, this world and our lifeTake everything and leave me nothing.HarlequinsAs harlequins in the windYour laugh flies with me.It envelops me and rises in mid autumn,Makes me grow and mature in silence.Maybe it grows dark for someBut, my love, only your love is enough for meTo reach eternal paradise in life,To be able to daydream of your eyes,And so to forget, amongst all, those tears.OmenI know that in life, no matter how,Fire is always extinguished by day.Night is short when winter looms,Time cures and heals wounds.To stop talking is not good medicine;I know the harbinger of light and agonyIs being fulfilled, no matter when it arrives,Perhaps it is near and finds you asleep.You will not see it coming even if it is announced,Do you know how sweet and frivolous is this expectation?Because very soon you will emerge, it will be so easyLike coming full
  • 30. Rishan Singh (South Africa)Born in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. He has achieved many accolades in his life. His poems haveappeared in publications in South Africa and abroad. He is a South African poet with a great feel forthe creative arts. This is his second publication in Cartys Poetry Journal. MY FRIEND My friend, at least look back at our friendship, How much can I say, perhaps there is that element but that my friendship for you of kindness that might have crushed me. is my precious treasure. Im only human but my life is now in sorrow, How I hoped that youd come, crushed into glass pieces is but ever since you left how I live. I cant move on. My life is now painful. My Friend, My life is now sorrowful, How much more can I say, full of tears... hate is all I too can express, but the word no cant come I feel I have no worth, to my lips. but I guess this is what life brings. In life I have been blessed My life is now painful. with kindness, My life is now in darkness, but what do I get? I cant move on... My dear friend, how my heart hurts, but Someday when Im gone; I shall never forget
  • 31. Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (USA)Recently migrated to the San Francisco bay area, after completion of her MFA at The New School.She was awarded the Andrea Klein Willison Prize for Poetry upon graduation from Sarah LawrenceCollege. Her work has appeared in The Sarah Lawrence Poetry Review, Breadcrumb Scabs, Oberon,Four and Twenty, Ghost Ocean Magazine, and is forthcoming in Meridian. She was chosen as firstrunner-up for the 2011 UNO Writing Contest for Study Abroad. She recently completed her firstbook, Congress of Mud.The Vision Animal TimeYou walk out of a teeming wood, nose I bleed like the white mutt who hid underthe air— daffodils pucker in sunny clumps, the porch at thunder, her puckered teats inan aeolian harp of new leaves, egg-teeth lace-pink rows. Her fur is stained a rustyslit shells, and jays extend albumin-slick brown, and I kneel, at six, to touch, to knowwings, kindling snaps under furred paws. that steady ache and leak, a staccatoAll winter, downed in snow, you huddled, liquid, ritual cremation. The houndcave-bound, restless, hair dreaded in mud, in me points—mirrors reflect a monster,savored the cavern of your empty stomach, perched on hind legs, dulled senses and talons,dreams that conjured a horizon of saplings,swollen peaches, each with a single gold adorned and swaddled from the chill, lightly furred, arched neck bisected by a pulsingbead that whispers wasps from their hives. jugular. Monthly this beast reeks iron, tendsFeet bare, you wander from the thicket: its toothy gash, burrows in a knit nest.rays graze your pale shoulders, freckles,the mammalian crests of breasts. Raise Just out of the circle of firelight,a hand to shade your eyes, the other, stretch my fellows growl, curl down to lick and where I linger, like a town, bridges dashed The Timesby ice storms. I ghost you, our twin hollows, ripebreasts, but I’ve grown feral, all slant spine Approximately the heft of an infant,and canines. Scoop me from the shade into small pistol, or a shoebox with a year’ssummer’s racket. Tame me under your hands. worth of receipts the morning of tax day,Fossor’s Lament this newsprint cannot cease squawking. It coughs like an outboard motor, emitsIt’s a myth, this “six feet.” Four, just below puffs of statistics, the latest from a newthe frost line’s the deepest you can level.The floor shifts: silt, gravel, limestone, grunting conflict, “boots on the ground.” Daily,layers. My pick slices soil to rock, then it arrives, steals into our mailboxes, or tongues the welcome mat, soddenI busy the shovel. Backhoes, such coarseinstruments, incise loam, fling pebble-rich with a morning sunshower. Shavedirt, but can’t narrow walls, pack them tight it thin for the parakeet cage or let it pile,to stave off cave-ins. Coffins, beware of plastic-sheathed on the top step to tripsuch haste, the hill is likely lousy with gophers. the postman, it won’t stop declaring,We humble, stooped by work, see hearses snake with single-spaced certainty, of the Past,the gates, deliver another fellow to mistaken, cluttered, savaged by worry,what’s known as rest. But my kin harrowed and its ruddy handmaid, the Present,catacombs, left limbs as legend, and our slippery with ire. We shuffle in, clutchwork will stay, bear witness on judgment day. the day’s summation to terrycloth chests, knowing we’ll not appear in its folds, that alcove of relevance, our syllables set in wine-dark ink, as if definitive, as if, once, we’d known what to
  • 32. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalIrena Jovanovic (Serbia)Born at Zajecar, Serbia (Europe) in 1971. She holds a Master’s degree in painting and worksas a painter, ceramics designer, poet and sculptor. She has been writing poetry for almost20 years in Serbian language; now has now started writing in English too. Her first collectionof poems in English entitled CROWNS OF LIGHT ABOVE OUR HEADS is in press. She and herwork are devoted to spirituality, in service of the Supreme Lord. She is greatly interested inHindu Vaishnavism. She will mostly be found engaged at Facebook. One may visit thefollowing Link of her page:!/pages/Irena-Jovanovi%C4%87/
  • 33. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalONE RAINDROP HONEY LIKE SWEETNESS Honey like sweetness of Your love, LordI am only a raindrop of Your all potent divinityon the petal of Your all expanding, all perfect knowledgeof Your divine flower, Lord which is all sweet in essencefallen from inner self nectarean in substancefallen from Your Inner Self and opulent in wonderful glareconsisting miracle embeds me in deepest oceansunknown to myself of secure joyful silencemiracle of Your Miracle peaceful happiness insidemagic of all Your potencies merged with all powerful bliss…love I did not cognize Like in uplifted dreams about Youbut which arises at the horizon Lord, I awake in my own completenessin beautiful golden dawn in Your all beautiful presenceof Your Divine Touch in mellows of all tastyand I surrender to it exalted super excellenceI surrender to You in Your honey like sweetnessone raindrop. after countless billions of tasteless births…MY DEAR SOUL MY RADIANT LOTUS GARDENMy dear soulmay you live forever Sparkling like gemin light of all spiritual atoms initiating firein eclectics of all elliptic in the crystal of dawnforms of spirit radiating spectrumand life iridescent glarelove and observation chosen to satisfy Your Omnipresence, Lordin condensate of perfectness in my hidden sanctuaryhigher vision and mercy my small hearts radiant lotus gardenforgiveness and beauty set thickly with minikin diamond likemagnificence and happiness faceted fractals of soul reflectionsin cascade followings O, Lord, I am just a smallest sampleof shiny wishes and of Your uplifted Divinitysinging visions diminutive selfsparkling hopes O, please, please enlist me justand opulent realizations and only as a little lotus budin Lord... in Your paramountin Lord... brilliant lotus
  • 34. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalUNITED IN LOVE HOW CAN IUnited in love How can I plant the seedme and You forever of pure love into your heart,Lord spiritual love, divine oneYou and me together and untouched?o, God If I offer my heart in an arati ceremonywhy to my sweet Lord,where can you join me?how If I bow myself down towards Him,it happened will you follow me?long time ago I want to put my lifewe were there into His handsnow again and surrender my loveunited in love soul and existenceunited in love. to higher instances of His love... Will you join me?SWEET FRAGRANCE OF YOUR SOUL Can you follow me, untouched, divine and spiritualizedYour sweet fragrant soul in sublime love?so dear, shiny and blissful So how can Iso hidden, beautiful and odorous plant the seed of love,like tiniest flower love of Godfrom secret garden of Lords presents into Your heart?so pure and fulfilled with loveso essential, nectar like and preciousyour soul THIS IS A WONDERFUL DAYyour sweetest wonderful soulLords jewel on the top of His crown This is a wonderful day -o, my dear friend - Krishna is playing His flutethat is your soul birds are chirping all around Himyour lovely sweet soul bumble-bees are buzzing collecting nectarmerged in the ocean of bliss following His garland and blissful shineof divine love of God peacocks are decorating forests with opened mandalas of their tails many flowers have offered their lives happy to ornament His divine crown smelling out their entire life essence o, Lord, I would like to be one of them what else could I say it is perfect O, it is such a wonderful day!
  • 35. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalNOTHING COMPARES TO YOU, ENERGY OF COLOURS OF LIFELORD Your energy colours my life, LordNothing compares to You, Lord like endless spectrum of rainbowto Your beautiful soft mellows and essences spreading nuances over my foreheadso oceanic mild, overwhelming and soothing my mind and heart dived into varietyNothing compares to You, Lord o, what opulence and beautyto Your extraordinarily amazing divinity what perfect intelligence of Yourssplendor of Your Inner Self what sublime essence emanatesand charming mesmerizing appearance from all Your creationO, Lord! Nothing compares to You touched by YouLord of my heart and soul!My heart beats are Your drums GOLDEN DAWNfor orchestration of divine symphonyof all universes imagined Golden dawn arises, o, Lordby Your omnipotent Mind Your Name shines blissfullyYou play your flute, divine soloist my eyes are full of tearsand we follow Your melodies Your Form is so effulgentcompletely rapt by happiness my life is so tinyuplifted by following in Your footsteps but essence is presentecstatically searching for Your traces in its basketseverywhere, in everything Oh, molten goldSo, nothing, nothing compares to You of effulgence of lovenothing compares to Your Embodiment isLord of all universes so sweet and ecstatic amazingly beautifulLIKE A QUEEN and infinitely dear - my eyes are fullLike a Supreme Queen, Radharani of nectarean joy and tearswalks through galleries of my life - golden dawn is comingmy divine Lord Lady, source of my life form in Your Golden Soul.Im tracing for Her tracesfootprints of golden splendouranything that She has touched RADHA & KRISHNAilluminated areasunknown passages in the labyrinth of my When Oneheart becomes Twohidden chambers for divine eternity game startssecret odours of uplifted divinity playful lightsfor I want to serve Her share flightsfor I want to serve Her and delightsRadharani, queen of my heart in between of each other ends and starts - all parts are sublime together - apart again and again sustained in shine nectarean, divine love of
  • 36. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalOnce More Into the Breach.. (Dan Castle)AgesMy eyes find you attractive.mysoul finds you recall the sweeter memories,of old lovers I have known.for all those Queens of Hearts,as they performed their parts,of dallying and dreaming,Chronos wore away their throne.Now I stand here in my evening,watching memories of morning.Yearning for past joys and grieving,for the beauty that has flown. And still Id love to spend my hours,mongst a million new born flowers,while I listened to your singing,all hopes of joy sounds ringing,with no thought of any ending,of your journey through your time.Loss and pathos in this story,as my beard now long grows hoary,yet somehow theres peace and glory,that Lifes dance of love goes
  • 37. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalGreg Gunn (Canada)Born in Windsor, Ontario in 1960, Greg grew up in four small towns throughout Ontario beforemoving to London in 1970.An electronics technician graduate of Fanshawe College in 1982, Mr. Gunn began writing extensivelyand has done so for over thirty years, he is most passionate about poetry. Other interests includemusic, astronomy, philosophy, photography, foreign languages, and gardening.To date, Gregory has had poems published in Inscribed Magazine, Green’s Magazine, The TorontoQuarterly, Yes, Poetry, Wordletting Magazine, Songs for Every Race, Ditch Magazine, AscentAspirations, The Light Ekphrastic, Carcinogenic, Steel Toe Review, Cyclamens and Swords, et al. Alsopublished are five collections of his selected poetry.SHEEP SEARCH SKYWARD foliage until the meagre meandering of the west breeze had aroused it. HazeThe anima humana enwraps the spacious grove which is a neophyte. It has studied nestles the trees, the ivory pilastrade,the coyote, fully cognisant its antiquated pillars, graven obelisks;of its scent; still it maintains and this enclosed portico maintainsblatant skewed dogmatism, everything in a few fleeting momentsgullibly grazing on the luscious of your breathing. You shall have respiteearthly greens, as though in this site as you drink wine and imbibecarnivores were nonentities. the words of Plato. Rest awhile waiting. I’ll meet you here tomorrow.The gastrointestinal tract,is but a dissimilar species; LEAVENED APHRODITEalarm wigglesthen stampedesinside its stomach like a snare- Leavened Aphrodite, risen from foam,gnashing brute. could garner not her yearnings, she had but one desire, tender as an olive leafWhile the mouth supplicates to the estuary, a concubinefor articles of faith, the spirit of a single light and lust, compelledevil-eyes the coyote, to become subterranean.habitually masticates its preyand religiously thrives. Dismay is merely mortality in pursuit of celestial adjudication ,THIS ATHENIAN SITE in an ill-suited location below cyclamens in non-elevated ethereality.A vast ivory marble colonnade:its columns are ashen like birch trunks, Impart what pensive kisses wanderor like Grecian pillars in the sea, over the skin-Elysium of the psycheinfused in a glaucous mist that drapes to wherever The Fates Of Love awaitaqueous, from the emerald Sargasso- with spears cocked to pierceladen olive trees stemming out the unsuspecting humankind.dappled urns. The early evening twiststhrough the interlaced gates as though But since vine aren’t oviparous,it had slumbered amid the fragrant and even proselytes appear
  • 38. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journalto recover their rational. You will In their mind they travel avenueseventually discover the three motifs of abrupt resolve wearingof this natural magic are flora, excreta, comfortable track shoes.and temptresses. May they proffer youserenity’s aplomb; equanimity. Elevated, my legs forget troubling thrombosis, envision dance floors.REPETITIOUS REAPING They plié and aren’t afraid to jump.Withered winter. The sallow Confined to Gortex, my legsland furrowed by hoof tracks just foresee a future enwrapped in yours.before the snow cloaked it couldbe construed as an obsolescent Heavy as lead, lowerembarkation program long since gone. extremities become pensive.Upon its zenith a lanky evergreen waves Nearly lifeless, complaining its falcon wing crown like a warrior. of pain, longing for liberty,The nadir beneath rest those fallen in wide open spaces. Jubilantbattle, coffered and counted. in take-for granted things.So quiet, so inert seemingly that Like a toddler learning to walk,the frost-laden loam can’t be tilled, I am those legs and these legsor stretched out shadows straggle are me. I am taking small steps,like a hoary crop of hair. But still dreaming of mountains almostthe cloudless threshold of dawn grows touching the clouds, seekingnoticeably gloomier. Little creatures serenity. Emboldened, standingmay discover safe accommodations more erect with each passing the gloam, as well as I perchance.Could all this desolate spatial charmbe a semi-fallacy; a partial white lie?The bristly bog demonstrates ice floesheets splattering, intertwined twigs,and waterlogged logs beyond thatcavernous arc where the sky and thisgravel road form a union, signifiesa path to follow, not a digression.This lacklustre tract may be desertedbut you bear in mind it is no desert.The plow’s tines will be sharpened,banners lowered, the dogs of warplanted, cultivated, and sown again,for many more harvested bumper crops.BEDRIDDENBedridden in the infirmary,my feet dream of traversingforest paths in October, snow-laden trails in January.Before windows, my feet dreamabout the sun in
  • 39. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalLisa McCraw, (USA)She fell like a raindropCascading toward the earthIn a pivotal danceOne she did not knowDid not want to learnBut she fell anywayLanding feet firstBut splintered piecesScattered her birth soilAnger and disappointmentFragmented her postureAs she tried to stand proudBut too many psychotic blowsBent her backMade her stoop lowLow enough to see the realityOf the dirt beneath her slippersShe thought she was a princessBut landed in the muckAnd became a queen of the damnedShe wanted her own kingdomHer own kingInsteadShe got someone else’s leftoversAnd her ruby red slippers were too tightAfter the house of pain crashed on her frameShe wiltedA flower once falling from the cloudsToday, just a lone petalDrifting, waitingFor a new tomorrowA different sorrowFrom the lastThe one beforeShe dreamed of greatnessBut she is defeatedAnd weeps aloneHer hope is goneHer belief no moreLife is not a dreamBut a lonely woman’s choreNOLA..P(Nothing Out There Like A…POET)© 2011Lisa McCraw, pen name NOLA...P(Nothing Out ThereLike A...POET)
  • 40. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journal SILENT WORLDMatthew Bell 1 - SILENCE(Austraia) The silence is deafening As if the world is no more No birds chirping No car engines idling Not even the sound of children playing There is stillness surrounding me Uneasy and thick As if it’s a living breathing presence The only thing left 2 – STAGNANT WORLD Not even a breeze To kick the dust up around me The air is stagnant and odd Something is gone The smell of life Has disappeared No more robust smells of roses No more smells of coming rain The sky is empty Not even a cloud 3 – EMPTY STREETS A creeping dread fills me As I walk through the empty streets Cars lay empty, void of life I pause and look into the shop fronts29yr old emerging writer/poet, i am a quiet But nothing looks backreserved person who is enjoys reading, music Just an inanimate mannequin That has no lifeand writing, writing is my life its the only thing That has no purpose now but to rotthat keeps me sane, there is not a day thatdoesnt go by that i am not working one of my 4 – DEAD AIRnovels, various poetry and short stories, most The phones are deadof my poems can be found on my facebook Not even a dial tonepoetry page darkness inside, i dont have one The whispers of past voicesparticular style for my writing, its a mix of Are slowly forgotten I can’t even remember what words sound like anymorevarious types of genre, styles and mediums. I open my mouth An uncomfortable silence But nothing comes outInside/213762091981676 5 - EMPTINESS I cross the vast lands Of this once vibrant earth But all is the same Not a living soul can be found The remnants of this mechanical world Rotting and rusting away along the roadside In the fields tractors are left abandoned The grass growing high Cocooning them in vegetation As the world returns to how it once was before man took
  • 41. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journal6 – SILENT WORLD DARK MOON RISINGStanding at the cross roads on these desolate back roads I see a dark moon risingI collapse to my knees Peeking over the horizonThe tears streaming Night sky engulfing the criesThey taste of nothing As the children of light go silentAs they roll across my lips Hushed whispers are dyingI stare at the heavens and scream As the world grows more violentBut alas nothing Stars in the heavensNot even a whimper No longer guide usNot even a cry Leaving us to wallow in our own vicesI’m alone in this silent world Life’s heartbeat becomes dormant As if this earth no longer supports usMR MOCKINGBIRD We fade away into obscurity Praying for a renewed sense securitySitting in the cool beneath a tall blue gum tree Knowing we failed to stop this insanitySummer wind blowing fills me with ease As the dark moon risesCome Mr Mockingbird sing to me Defining us causing this deafening silenceA tune of majestic harmonyAs you float in the evening light peeking through the leavesCome Mr Cricket let me hear your chantMixed with the frogs croak on the rivers bankI drift away caught in a daydreamListlessly watching the water in a tranceCaptivated by the ripples as they move and danceMy foot tapping to the unheard songThe beat in my heart as I sing alongChewing on a blade of grass as the daylight goesWatching the fireflies emit their ignited glowMelancholy mind lost to starry dreamsNever coming backCause I’m lost to the momentTrapped in this serene state of beingCLEANSING RAINGreen grass growing wild and freetangles of blades wooven togetherlike a blanket wrapping the earthcold and wet between my wrinkled toesgrey clouds overhead flash meanacinglya brewing storm lingering in the skya calming sensation filling me wholedroplets of rain fall majesticalyeach one a cleansing showerstaring in awe at this beautiful beastas it rolls overhead like a grey waveClosing my eyes the rain drips on my browI listen contently as the rain sounds like a tattoorythmically dripping as it fills the puddlesstaining the concrete darkDozens of blotches run togetherforming like little lakesthan the little lakes become litte oceanslittle oceans bordering the lush green grassa tiny coastline stretching down the
  • 42. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalLaura Cleary (Ireland)A 26 year old girl living in Dublin. She has had poetry published by Ascent Aspirations, DCUs SleeplessNights anthology and has been shortlisted for the 2011 iYeats poetry prize. Her interests include reading,cooking, eating and sleeping (preferably in that order) Runaway A length of thread is needed To hang my hope upon, To tangle through my fingers, To hang my wishes from. You offered me a coin purse To squash my fears into, Yet, I’m hesitant to take it. I won’t take from you. I have other options, Dredging through dirt suits me As you kindly pointed out And Ill always suit myself.Possibilities So now,If I were your mother Now I’ll suit myself,You would eat right Suit myself in chain mailHere, as much as you like To join the Latin quarterWhile I stir by the sink To snuffle out the whores.Swirling roux into milkGrown plumper on feeding, Their weathered loins unravelling Have caught in countless places,On fuss, rerepairing Have run through even more,Your worn elbows, thumbsPushed through your geansaí, They dangle many threads.I’d use that word, ‘geansaí’, So, I shall take a battered stoolIn front of your friends, To squat upon and listen toThat treacle thick tide Their lives lamenting sing-song pleasOf wine uniforms, creeping For the first-born of their scattered seedsIndoors most mornings to Molested by the by-passers.Swallow you, carry you I shall win their threadbare heartsInch you from home, withThe memory of me still Then they shall use their many meansHot in your mind as To find for me a lifeline, To string my lies up with.The spoon in my glass.If you weren’t my motherIf you loved me
  • 43. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journal In Search of Roots by Niall O Conner (Ireland)Niall O Conner is a n Irish writer, published again here on Cartys Poetry Journal. is his website. II come bearing sheets of forked ideasand web-linked names of strangersfrom whose loins Id sprung.I come as a city dweller,to find in what small and mean house, or field,my predecessors had struggled, unaware as yetthat more could be known than the next harvest,the next child.At first I found three modern houses,complete with double garages, new cars,and trampolines.Each fresh house, with an apron of closely manicured,useless grass, whose clippings, heaped to rot,led me up the lane way. to where the ditch was still agrowing,and the years were taken back to when the mosscovered stones, were still naked in their busyness,and when a bend was first turned,for God knows what reason.It is to this bend I go, this willful, or unconscioushieroglyph, where one man stoppedand made our family’s home. III find the first, weathered and decaying house,single storied, single roomed, one eyedand open mouthed, silent in its memoriesof house proud ornament, busy courtesan hens,and other yard to pots.At the second house, a horse waited, half door, open.I was recognised as one of those who braided strawto bend its will, and so, it tipped its head and snorted.We gazed; exchanging memories, andI saw in his stead, Maureen, and Delia, motherand farmer’s daughter, glad for the break in weather,
  • 44. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journalthat allowed the half door to stand open,and the sun break in;names I know from a census night, that were impressedby pen, clumsy in thickened hand, listing proudlyread and write; English for the future,English and Irish, for the past.Three cottages in all, with no door facing anotherso each man, father and son, could leave in the morningand go his own way.From here, at the age of fifteen, my great-grandfather,had left, and crossed the fields to another farm, pickedby the same calculation and observation, he learnedat the side of a towering leg, that was never uncovered,never revealed, as flesh.Even in death, those trunks had remained so,covered by a shroud that strangely stretchedfrom chin to toe, and those great handsthat had spread seed were now knuckled, and boundrestrained by prayer, and rosary bead. IIIIn the graveyard of Kilcolman, where he lies now,within a worms length of farmers who once eyed his land,with intent; between the lichen and the moss,I searched in vain, for a carved name,that would tell me, I too lay here in part.The western wind, that is without beginningor end, fills all the empty spaces between themand me, and around these stone placementsI stagger, not knowing where, and when,I am to fall.Then from the derelict church, of rounded stone and sky,a shivering dog fox bolted from where the hunters lie,and I was shocked to see, as if it was always there,a landscape shared with toil and care,and rough hewn cart, followed by skipping waif,and a tired, stooped man, with chin on forearm,on upright spade, gazed wistfully in my direction,and saw his future, before him
  • 45. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalEvin Okçuoğlu (Turkey)Born in İstanbul-Turkey in 1956. She graduated Atatürk 2-Şiir Bahçesi/Poetry Garden, Ekim, 2006 (71 poems forTraining Institute and started teaching English at High children)School. Later she completed 4th year at Marmara 3-Ünlü Besteciler/Famous Composers, Oct 2006 (lifeUniversity. story of 10 composers)She worked as lecturer at İstanbul University for 19 4-Çocuk Emeği Öyküleri/Stories of Working Children,years. October 2006 (ten stories about working children) 5-Toprak Öyküleri/Land Stories, Oct 2006 (stories aboutShe wrote stories and poems for children. She has 6 land)books. Her other poems and stories are published in 6-Konuşan Eşyalar/Talking Objects Oct 2006 (Talkingdifferent literature magazines. Objects -10 stories) 7-Çilekli Masal Pastası/Tale Pie made of Strawberry Oct.She has a translation book named “Kosovalı Kız Zana” 2007 (ten tales)(Girl of Kosovo) 8-İçi Görünen Şiirler (Poems 2009)She has 2 daughters, and lives in İstanbul. 9-Sardunya Kırıldıkça (Stories 2009) EvinNames of her books for children are: ekmekten önce onur deme zamanı1-Sakın Kızma Anne/Please Dont Get Angry Mom, 2006 ATP publising) Had Known We could not understandDarkness wouldn’t have known its darkness They came this time without the guns.If the light hadn’t penetrated inside. Without bombs they destroyed homes. Without boots our rights were trampled.Water wouldn’t have known that it flows Without force we were evicted,If a leaf hadn’t fallen on it. not suddenly, but over years and no doors were shouldered open.Human beings wouldn’t have known its It was our traditions that they routed.humanity We could not understand.If he hadn’t strained love from his comb------ With radioactive leaks and wastes, with their social reconstructions, oh, how they came and passed, altering all that once had been before those years of our destruction. She burns too brightly Icarus thinks to himself Sailors fall easy Simon Rhee (USA) We have no bio for this poet, alas, and it was too close to deadline wait for one. He likes surfing, and is from California, USA.
  • 46. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journal ELIZABETH A. FONTAINE (USA)Born and raised in Springfield, MA. I have been writing poetry for the last twenty-three years. For the most part, I write about humanitarianneeds, sometimes with a story-like base to it. Im a single parent raising my wonderful and bright son, Austin. During my lifetime, I havehad the opportunity to join the U.S. Navy. During my first tour of duty, I got the chance to be stationed in Sardinia, Italy. Ive been:published in numerous poetry anthologies; with a variety of stand up poetry readings, as well as every Thursday I attend Blog Talk Radio.There are two ways to contact me: Fontaine (this one has a small assortment of poems on this site) orthrough fontaine_elizabeth " SCARS THAT RUN DEEP "Dakota was a special young girl. as a misfit through socialism.She was fascinated with inquisitive taste Schools essentially offered more resistanceand knowledge for the world. and a condensed ignorant population.However, at a very young age On the other hand, she found it hardershe viewed life with little importance. to concentrate on her education.One look in her direction Meanwhile, her parents behaviorand you could literally feel her sufferance. continued to formulate a vindictive pattern.When Dakota was ten months old Their excessively notorious tempersshe found herself caught in a house fire. flared because of financial matters.Standing in her crib Generally, there was no sense in the intense flames kept getting higher. Dakotas daily punitive damage was usually a beating.Ultimately, the extreme temperatures Sometimes getting locked within the confidesbegan to melt her skin. of her bedroom,Even the firemen without eating.who helped to save her life She often felt trapped and isolatedfelt pity as their hearts cringed. staring beyond those walls at night.Dakota was seen as The girl constantly craved and longedan angelic and innocent child. for someone to hold her tight.That all changed with the critical disfigurement At least for someone to show herof more than just her smile. affection and compassion.This girl found herself susceptible Rather then facing consistent boutsto nonstop gawking and ruthless criticism. of depression.So in this regard, Dakota prays that her futureshe became branded may hold a new
  • 47. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalLuana Stebule (Lithuania)Once more we are proud to feature Luanas poetry.Farce Is it just the smell taste sound shapeSame midwinter As the most important and can not find.Torture slow walk to the ring. Wee bit on the demanding gourmet of GodStill winter, split slightly. still winter, Shoo away harsh and emotionless words, still winter. May be the light...Sun wanted to climb up, May be the light,Moon thought maybe thaw. May be...Cold stray Lure Round ball rotatesDripping melted bit. more,Wind husky whisper Disappearing comforting hope ashAlready lives in a waking deep sleep... Your own transportation hub is broken.Again wanted to go back to the bud,Rain the wheel again and repeat Onlylong-rehearsed.Improved life in the blink of... Lakes have already returned to the cloud Even the sun dazzle.Twist Closed eyes. Another shoo away and harsh gusts shooSee images you have already left. away,In my dream, day dream, feelings of sifting. Maybe the truth,Casually, lazily yawning worse days. maybeFlag-mast, the wind gave. raunchy.Constant hurry, stay in the daylight I am still a cloud or a cloud will be more?Should wait, wait, stay. And the rain slowly pours.Wheel of Time is rotating and rotating, I still...Unfortunately, this weather-beaten, snow Letters between the point,drops, perfect.. Between demanding silence.Fears. Probably not; Among the sounds of sustainable,Neither moth nor crickets than the flowers. weak rushMarsh, still aches your spirit identify other.Failed, and broke dripped. Reduce other namesColorless, cheese - in silence of your tears Hope is frozen whimsical life...Already feeling restless soul to download. This is just a momentThis autumn Scam - temporary. Only sings error.Soreness hanging on the corners Perception becomes more importantI wait patiently dreams - capture. measure.We are all seamlessly intermixed Dont touch,The perfect one. Dont touch.Humble cook and thrive in the Do not be afraid.Not a moment or an hour per day.We are energetic soup of chaos always...Consciousness is still blind maid.Wish to express their willDeluded senses, and only
  • 48. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalOther Way And it is so we are still.Look,Paper back into trees openness. Anike (name)Look,Glass in the sand back Of the noblest soul vibrationsmeasurements. Mature thoughts spasms.Linen dresses, flowered fields. Im trying to get wisdom Om (sound) ...sees, Medieval alchemists failedAll knives forks spoons Change.underground. Base metals into gold,Ghost gold, silver and iron Still did not invent medicines for all diseases.And you have time. Especially from the soul,Dust to dust Especially from the soul,eternal circle. Especially from the soul.A New Beginning Piercing thought hope will be held on the inwill be. deep of the universe, Angra Mainjus hanging aroundLabels Vigilantly monitoring every breath. Rejoice failures and downsIllusory effects of the environment Ephemeral reality spill canvas.Drag yoke of belief Abstraction torture misleading,not remember a better Its your life picture.Freud nor Jung. Laughing demons Anath,Harness turbulent rolls Anuzda Mazda banishes images,Slope - steep. As ever, the hope white canvas.Is less and less talk As ever, the new testsWith your heart. continuation of the eternal.Words are incapable of loving touch,We look forward to the fullness. SatoriMiracle happened inside,Fail and the outside. Knelt caught the echo.We are each other, Here and now, the presence of.Pathetic note, Reach its high point spread collar,so it Buried thirst for self-destruction.Upset and frightened Pressed shallow thoughtshis own ego. emotions again,The long-awaited walk Fraudulent cadmium colorexperiences on mountain tops. junction.Fire - Agni. Between birth and deathIn the clarification toward enlightenment, mysterious whirpool,You do not need words. a measure of timeIt was a ford rocks all recurrence.already crossed the The next generation will understand already,awaited silence. that spring,surprise... That autumn.coals was circulatingTo me logged inWhisleing boyhood wind.Greenest leaves tornthe proud
  • 49. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalBarbara Wühr (Germany / France)Retired Secretary, (b. in Germany in 1939), has been one day... but I love writing... and I added poems andliving in Montpellier (France) since 1959. She is a photos of my paintings too... because these paintings aremember of “The School of Poetry” on Facebook. part of ‘my therapy’ - and I found balance , living here and now... .” Her hobbies include: Poetry, Painting,Nowadays she is very occupied in writing her first book Esoteric –Spirituality, Reading, Cooking, Sewing,titled Ma Voie, ou comment renaître de ses cendres... . Gardening, Just Dreaming; Sports: Tennis, Skiing, ChiShe claims: “In this book I am telling nearly everything Gong, Tai Chi Chuan.about my life... and I do not know if it will be publishedI - SUNBEAMSSo entering, tiptoeing, what do I find?A poem called “Passing By”. Never mind!It is the Poets right to yearn and howl,Sunbeams attacking his body and his soul!The grey hair not turning black,The hopes being drown just for lackOf being loved with his whole body and mind,Of those things he cannot possess or cannot find.Religions telling us that we must not desire,All our dreams finishing in hell and fire;Mankind is obliged to live in jealousy and fear,Not being happy just “ Now and Here”.I am preaching the liberty to love and share,Not to restrain others to be your slave and careThat, as long as poets and other artists make us dream,Let’s rejoice and be reinvigorated by the sunshine beam!P.S. I composed this poem today, when commenting the poem called "Passing By"by Mr. Susheel Kumar Sharma of
  • 50. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalII - Revealing TruthArchangel Saint Michel and his angels coming soon with swords…That’s why “Indigo Children”, fighting with apocalyptic words,For a better world came some time ago to earth,They have chosen to be “Light Warriors” since their birth.It is very hard for humanity to accept the revealing truth,Which like the sound of black music we are calling the blues,Are those awakening sonnets revealing in us so much sorrow...So much yearning and crying for vengeance in all those rotten boroughs.As fire can be drowned in the great see and the visionOf wounds being healed, by the moon’s energy of oblivion,The “Light Maker’s” task being the connection to body, soul and mind,Healing with love and understanding…nothing better of the kind!The “Light Warriors/Makers”, as black and white,Showing the way to balance and put it right…Bringing the light to Mother Earth both together,Thus being the perfect androgynous couple
  • 51. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry
  • 52. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalIII - Cosmic Cords(Inspired by the theory of strings)You hit the main point in my heart,Seeing no more hanging gallows in my yard;Being at the end of my tether,Climbing on the next rope-ladder…What do I find to heal my sorrow?Do you remember I have two strings on my bow!And I tell you that with devil’s black luck,I am able leaving behind me this infernal fug.To my astonishment I see angels with bright shining hands,Playing with delicacy universal music on stringed instruments!All together being a particle of the great “One” of all those Lords;Come on the inside vibrating to the music of the cosmic cords.J’
  • 53. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalIV - Day of St.BarbaraWhen “ Metatron” sent me the light,“Sainte Barbe” began the fight…Too much fire is of no good;Therefore in between I stood…“Braveheart” with so much love,Sharing with all of those of above;Then letting it flow beneath and besides,In all directions, the energy collides!Parcels of sparkles shining so brightThat you and I are ascending…Just HERE AND NOW, until realmsWhere there is NO ENDING!(I wrote this without “thinking”…It came to me automatically on the day of Beard the great martyr; and St. Barbara (in Greek and Latin ) is asaint of the Roman Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church , celebrated on December 4th)
  • 54. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalV - Pégase lami de mon âmeBarbara WÜHR,17/09/2011 Les aventures mon âme… ma sœur,Je ne les crains pas, je n’ai pas peur !Chevauchant la plume du corbeau noir,M’emportant au Champs Elysées, il faut croire.C’est là que la plus douce vie éternelle m’est offerte,Cependant mon amour m’attend dans la brise experte…Et un nuage blanc vient me soulever dans le ciel bleuL’azur, ivre d’amour, cherchant mon âme dans les cieux !Entourée de lumière divine et caressant mon âme,Le plus bel amour étincelle en moi comme une flamme,Ce rêve éveillé me fait penser à toi laissée sur terre,Et mon vœux de te rejoindre est de loin le plus cher.Et voilà que je te retrouve sur cette page blanche,Pégase me déposant doucement sur cette branche,D’où je te regarde cherchant encore tes mots pour le dire…Ecoute ton cœur… entends-tu le son de sa mélodieuse lyre ?Je suis en toi mon âme sœur, comme tu es en moi,Pour toujours réunies, fêtons cette union dans la joie !L’inspiration des poètes cherchant leurs mots sans finSe trouve dans le blanc et le noir ne faisant qu’UN !
  • 55. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journal(beneath the translation by Google)V – Pegasus, the friend of my soul…The adventures my soul ... my sisterI do not fear them, Im not afraid!Riding the pen of the black raven,Carrying me to the Champs Elysees, we must believe.This is where the sweetest everlasting life is offered to me,But my love is waiting for me in the breeze expert...And a white cloud just lifts me in the blue skyThe sky, drunk with love, seeking my soul in heaven!Surrounded by divine light and caressing my soul;The most beautiful love sparking in me like a flame;This waking dream makes me think of you left on earth,And “my wishes reaching you” is by far the most important.And here Ill meet you on that blank page,Pegasus gently depositing me on this branch,Hence I look at you still seeking your word for it...Listen to your heart ... do you hear the sound of his melodious lyre?I am in you my soul mate, youre like me,Forever together, celebrating the union of joy!The inspiration of poets seeking their words without endIs in the black and white being one!
  • 56. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalVI – I love you so much…Dear Poet, overwhelming words like this wave areTurbulent flowers of sea foam coming to me as a saver.My soul awaiting you, oh my lover, since eternityBathed in invisible traumas and the dark side slylyShattering our love in thousands of fragile bubbles!Now, you and I are breaking upon the rocks all those rubbles,Unraveling this wall obstructing the view to our eternal alliance…At least rising, clinging together, being just ONE in this cosmic dance!
  • 57. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry JournalFrank C. Praeger ::: USAA Fretted Patience A Topping Off Marks defaced, skunks, rabbits, chipmunks Wish bilked,alter lately unfulfilled.the mythic must, the should, the did. Unattractive aftertastesA waterfall terminates. left as fossils,Forest rangers appear but, then, memorials,as if, as if they consist of air. and, still, an eagerness forwardedBrown-needled paths go on. to every nodding head,Barren oaks, decaying leaves, wilted grass, nagging as to needancient thoughts. as fortunes flippant ways abound.Torn, treed, a fretted patience. I am jostled,Add, add, closed off,fill any crack. but not denouncedEach gift a bribe, or cut away,a bride displeased, left, lauding overthe most of me destabilized. a brillant unasked for first. Without lasting renunciation,How to Say It subject to tell, a call for sacrifice.Not largeness per se, Each day contest.or crankiness for an answer. Pushed, the weary populateYes. where no broken light bulbs line the wayHows that, nothing more. and each treasure tantamount to an old shoe.Confronted with your leastpallid image of yourself, Fixated Maneuversyes.Mouth closed, That deep, dulled to no end, unstated,molars grinding, seethes.contested claims, Leaves sanctifiedsurfeit of assurances, still.and, just as before, Nodular fettered slips, consecrated, aligned,yes. recede precessionally.Screwball life, Candled,a tattletale dotes on your past starred,but more when the only lesson is less. windowframed sleepwalkers roam.I can keep saying it, A listlessness drawn out to dawn.yes, Rushes of sound, word-haunted rage,panderer of my fancies an assurance to each scene as thievesto make invincible every guess.I cant Drummer boys drum away.and dogs cant Those that have not been heard,explain, that have not seen loose ropes and frayednor cats slither their way through this. sleeves, that have not desisted from lines of least
  • 58. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journalare now to be found boarding up old houses, Exuberantcommiserating over moon stones,while those who might have been heard, Skin tight Levis,who might have answered - drummers drum last vanity of youths escapades,away - last gesturewould have, by now, oblivious to shame, of a greater would be nobility,forgotten their own ashen faced anger, of crescendoeven, the drummers drumming might, by following crescendo,now, towards a days disintegration,although fixated on their maneuvers, a robins manifesto,be reluctant to remain. a chipmunks pause, unrequited novel sexual assignments. Who is to hunt for the secret narrative of each persons life, each intractable animal? A lifetime of it whether it was lunch, dinner, or sleep, a music of soundless entreaties that came after with its own affect. Stairs that vanished as we descended. Stairs, music, an autumnal patina spreads - a childs shrill cry, a huge fear, a lasting deficit. A flute player without a flute on the far side of an empty square, the far side of each glance, and the fartherest side of a paradisical thought serenely composed as a kitten falling landed upright. The flute player is no longer there, then, reappears, gesticulating to the images of another era, to an unfolding light; and out of the explicit shadows to have found there past the outlying hills and lowering fog, sun turned, heightened, held bronze, purple, yellow, white, intoxicated further than the plush exuberance of blooming peonies, those who may have been the fulfillment of a final
  • 59. Dec 2011 Carty’s Poetry Journal Native American Cookbook!!! Whisper n Thunder is a 501c3 NonProfit civic benefit organization dedicated to empowering Native Americans through education, awareness & opportunity. Our cookbook authors come from many tribes across Indian Country, who have shared their family favorites with you in this compilation cookbook. Whisper n Thunder Cookbook for Healthy Living 2011 Authored by Whisper n Thunder Inc. So many of us love to eat! Food is comfort, food is celebration. Food is a memoryList Price: $12.00 of loved ones and times past. What we eat feeds our body and soul, but can feed our waistline too. Try your hand at traditional Native American Indian recipes, with healthy suggestions that taste just as delicious! Inside youll find favorite recipes and healthy living for todays adventurous cooks. With beautiful artwork throughout, this is a stunning addition to your cookbook library. Enjoy! Visit Whisper n Thunder Ezine online for our ISBN/EAN13: 1466490632 / 9781466490635 quarterly magazine. Buy at: