All posts filed under: New Poetry

“Alethiometer” and other poems by Eleanor Hooker

Alethiometer for John & Fedelma Tierney   I have one marble only, glass-curled greens and blue. It’s kept inside a golden globe with turquoise studs, I swing it from a chain: my dowsing stone, my truth-seer. Once it knocked against an ancient head, cracked it so its walnut core Leaked sepia images of a being lived inside another time, another age, Before the image replaced the real and the real was more than shadow.   Outside the cave I glassed the play of light and shadow, And when my only marble fell from its golden globe onto a blue Tiled ocean floor, I swam after. The ancient head, wise with age, Told me he had too lost his, recalled the studs Inside the coloured orb, their curled blues, their seedy core His own two eyes: Learian days that left him sightless and a seer.   My ancient friend dismissed the lies of a mummer seer Whose falsest claim is that to love someone is to dispossess him of his shadow, To wipe out every trace …

A celebration of women’s poetry for International Women’s Day 2017

Featured image from “The Infinite Body Of Sensation” by Salma Caller   Salma Ahmad Caller is an artist and a hybrid of cultures and faiths. She is drawn to hybrid and ornamental forms, and to how the body expresses itself in the mind to create an embodied ‘image’. UK based, she was born in Iraq to an Egyptian father and a British mother and grew up in Nigeria and Saudi Arabia. With a background in art history and theory, medicine and pharmacology, and several years teaching cross-cultural ways of seeing via non-Western artefacts at Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, she now works as an independent artist and teacher. salma caller artists statement [PDF] “In the Glass Coffin” by Kim Myeong-sun Today, I withstood agony again, Because my life is still lingering, Trapped in scarcely visible sorrow. If my body is trapped Like the life of a dinky, dinky thing, What is with all this sorrow, this pain? Like the bygone prince, Who had loved the forbidden woman, I believed I would live if I danced in the …

“Foraois Bháistí” agus dánta eile le Doireann Ní Ghríofa

Foraois Bháistí   I mbreacsholas na maidine, leagaim uaim an scuab nuair a aimsím radharc nach bhfacthas cheana   ag dealramh ar an mballa: fuinneog úr snoite as solas, líonta le duilleog-dhamhsa. Múnlaíonn géaga crainn   lasmuigh na gathanna gréine d’fhonn cruthanna dubha a chur ag damhsa ar an mballa fúthu, an duilliúr ina chlúmh   tiubh glas, an solas ag síothlú is ag rince tríothu. Fuinneog dhearmadta ar dhomhain eile atá ann, áit agus am   caillte i gcroí na Brasaíle, áit a shamhlaím fear ag breathnú ar urlár na foraoise, ar an mbreacscáth ann, faoi dhraíocht   ag imeartas scáile, dearmad déanta aige ar an léarscáil, ar an bpár atá ag claochlú ina lámh: bánaithe anois,   gan rian pinn air níos mó, gan ach bearna tobann ag leá amach roimhe. Airíonn sé coiscéim   agus breathnaíonn sé siar thar a ghualainn, mar a bhreathnaímse thar mo ghualainn anois,   ach ní fheiceann ceachtar againn éinne. Níl éinne ann.   Rainforest   In morning’s piebald light. I set aside my duster on finding …

I. Am. Straight. Are you ? & other poems by Lisa Lowther.

Dedicated to the many people all over the world that cannot live liberally & authentically for reasons of culture or other. May you find a path that frees you to be true to your beautiful intrinsic self, whatever that may be. Closet Ivory Solid Wooden Door – unbreakable Shining Gold Handle protected by two one on either side admittance – speaks quietly the other will decide as you attempt to open not just anyone is welcome White Backless Gowns on shining skin Chiffon, Encrusted Diamonds heels that can match any Elegant Masquerade Masks green eyes of foreign waters pearls, bright & round as the moon reflected only to the celebrant By Invitation – The Other Vintage Lace some roses too For Your Entrance – not an exit of mine, this time do close the door on leaving the two shall rest awhile A little like my own Even I did not feel invited into this poem I. Am. Straight. Are you ? Contemplation of what life once was & could have been momentarily fills my …

“The Wind of the World” & other poems by Müesser Yeniay

The Wind of the World For my grandmother you are under the earth I am on the earth with your body that is tired of carrying the wind of this world -a stone in the middle of my heart has been rolling without stop- I don’t know where you have gone the only thing which is clear is that you are not here The Phenomenology of Writing Now you are an empty page inviting writing –maybe- because of lust just not ready -your call is on my mind for quite a while- call me call me the flow of ink is a remedy for my wounds Illness You hit me like you were punching the wall woman isn’t your cave in which whenever you like you can lie down you can’t climb over her like a squirrel. not of his nectar but of his pee he lets inside he loves like he shakes a tree manhood is a serious illness Rajm Outside is night inside is separation this must be the last day of the …