Words from the Mirage
* * *
The yellow cat stoops in the
yard, plays on the pecan tree
clinging to a limb in the wind
with his front claws,
swinging like the brass
pendulum on the clock itself
he drops disappears into
thin air on silent feet.
Danny P. Barbare
Danny P. Barbare lives and grew up in the foothills of South Carolina. He loves to go on long walks especially on quiet winter days and visit the mountains of North Carolina when he can. He reports: My poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and journals since 1981. My first publication appeared in a magazine called Midwest Poetry Review in 1986. I have pretty much written steadily over the years appearing in some college journals and small press magazines including online magazines which can be found under my name especially under http://www.yahoo.com/.
* * *
With Morning Glories
Our fighting lacks maturity; stark rage
consumes our entire energy once our
feeble egos threaten to despoil. Grim, caged
adults, we chase familial phantoms hour
on hour around a den of lurid fears:
I, your mean daddy, marshal through your brain
Napoleonic orders which with tears
you disobey, enjoying them just the same.
You, my rejecting mama, with cold teat
bared, mocking me for wanting to be warm.
Like lonely wrinkled Rembrandt children fit
for geriatrics, ancients taking forms
from nurseries. This is love? This temple
Venus and her blue-eyed boy lost in talk?
-- Louie Crew, email@example.com
Louie Crew reports that I have edited special issues of College English and Margins. I have
written four poetry volumes Sunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976)
Midnight Lessons (Samisdat, 1987), Lutibelle's Pew (Dragon Disks,
1990), and Queers! for Christ's Sake! (Dragon Disks, 2003).
The University of Michigan collects all my papers.
As of today, editors have published 1,910 of my works.
* * * * * * * * *
Dance of the Torches
Far, far away, the flames do play,
Leaping in the far distance
Across the way, candles wildly turn,
Doing their reckless dance.
Stars glitter, then fall, in the sky;
Hopeless realm of night.
Falling, falling to our green realm,
Into our fading sight.
Memories, mere dreams, rise in the dark,
Blind eye of the mind.
Dreams of death, memories of fleeting love,
All, all of a single kind.
Jerome Brooke was born in Evansville, Indiana in 1949.
He lives in Thailand. He is a retired attorney. He has
written a number of collections of poetry, including Our
Lady of Silk, Dark Sea of Sulu, and Mirage : Dance of the
* * * * * *
on lily pad
till thin sliver
a frivolous fly.
on office pad
bulging and bald
small eyes fixed
on bright fly-like figures
then a jab
and primly pinned
another unsuspecting tax-dodger.
Bob Nimmo reports: My poetry is anchored in the areas in which I live, including Asia, and reflects my passion for world affairs and the global difficulties we all face. I am often moved by the struggle of others, finding as Wilfred Owen so aptly observed: "The poetry is in the pity."
I have had literature books published by Pearson-Longman and poetry, short stories plus longer theses published in magazines, newspapers and books in Britain, Asia, Australia and New Zealand.
* * *
WHAT YOU LACK
What you lack tonight in the middle of the sea
is not the compass
---you have the stars there in the sky.
What keeps you among the waves is not the wind
the wild maritime storm that blew away
---now silence and doldrum reign.
What scares you in this dark night is not
the oceanic cold of the morning water
---nightmare has petrified your nerves.
What you lack this hopeless night
is not the memories, an entire life gathered in a shell
---fear has razed your recollection.
What you lack this last night
is your boat which cracked and sunk
and left you without hope in the middle of the endless sea...
Ridvan Peshkopia has published a poetry book in Albanian (Qyteti Ideal [Ideal City] 1992, Tirana Albania), and also translated from English to Albanian poems of Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou, which have been published in the Albanian literary magazine Fjala [The Word] during 2005-2006. Ridvan also has translated from French to Albanian poems of George Brassens, and published them in Fjala (2005). His poems in Albanian have been published in Zëri i Rinisë [Youth's Voice], 1991, and Fjala, 2005, 2006.
* * *
Another Afternoon Charade
Another afternoon charade. Sullen
children in the lot together,
we played the rain as if
we knew the sound of porous ground
beneath the asphalt;
played at going, and arriving
where the rules change,
and sang the difference
through tomorrow's raincoats and umbrellas,
sang the rain
of every day's charade.
Richard Spuler, Ph.D.
Spuler's poems have appeared in numerous literary magazines. He is currently working an a collection of short stories and poetry (Memorabilia and Other Assorted Forgettables). For nearly 20 years he has served as Senior Lecturer in German at Rice University in Houston, TX. He enjoys music and reading.
Words of the Mirage
Dreams and shadows...