Bio: Lawrence Miles is a poet living in White Plains, NY. He has recently been published in Post Grad Journal, The Wise Owl, and Syncopation Literary Journal. Two Door Sedan inspired by "Close My Eyes Forever" by Lita & Ozzy Not sure when I decided Going through the car wash in the car Was no longer a thing to do. So I walk to the other end of the car wash To stand with the others Waiting for their cars to come out Someone has lit a cigarette And a nearby radio plays “Close My Eyes Forever” by Lita and Ozzy Suddenly I am thirty years younger Even though the clothes I wear haven’t changed And I hold the same key to my current ride But I wonder if my old Chevy Citation With Crue in the tape deck blaring out of broken speakers Will come out of the car wash hand-toweled I am relieved when my current ride emerges because Some parts of the past are best left behind Even if Home Sweet Home comes on the radio next … Funky Cold War Blues inspired by James Brown at the Apollo during Cuban Missile Crisis Everywhere but on 125th St. The end of the world was at a hand As JFK addressed the nation On the placement of nuclear warheads A stone's throw from Florida The most dangerous man on earth Was not in the bowels of the Kremlin or the Whitehouse But was dictating foreign and domestic policy at the Apollo Under the moniker of the Hardest Working Man in Show Business He commanded us to Go crazy about everything but Armageddon To live for yourself and nobody else To think about the good things Think about the bad things Losing someone and finding someone Making them know they got the power Making the crowd scream all the way to Valerian Zorin’s ear at the UN “All the mistakes we made We got to try one more time So I gotta sing this song for you” The Russians blinked and withdrew The world went back to the brink while the sun set in Harlem Another engagement in a never-ending series The night train kept rolling Miami Florida Havana Cuba Moscow Russia Boston Massachusetts New Orleans the home of the Blues The Godfather reinvented the world several more times Through cold sweats and brand-new bags Sex machines and funky good times Doin’ it to death Over sixty years Since a new world was born At the same time another sat so close to the end Thank you JB For your New Frontier of soul Grace inspired by Jeff Buckley's album "Grace" The busker at Grand Central played Hallelujah Jeff Buckley style For the hundredth straight day The first time I heard that song Was on a bus to a Philadelphia protest Six months after her departure I was listening to the entire album And every memory flowed back with an intensity Which drove my sprit out of my body in feckless pursuit She chose another over me Then moved to the other end of the country And no one would have questioned either choice But I was still eft shell shocked and defeated By the end of Dream Brother I assigned albums to lost loves She had Buckley Others had Sinatra and Billie One had Dance Me to the End of Love by Cohen One I renamed Martha for Tom Waits With power ballads and one hit wonders thrown in for still more But that bus ride to Brotherly Love Brought back memories I thought I had released Buskers and coffee shops and road trips Twilight cityscapes Barefoot patches of grass And kisses before bus rides home It does not do any good For me or her or anyone else To hold on to impossible dreams And justify it as inspiration for verse Not even showing decency to the busker Performing an actual service for his supper I am waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say enough But the truth is I just haven’t paid attention Until I am Back at Grand Central Wishing for fifty dollars To put in his guitar case So he can change his song. American Idol a hypothetical piece if Ledbetter had been discovered on American Idol A prematurely old man named Huddie Ledbetter Walks into the Shreveport Louisiana audition of American Idol He introduces himself Tunes his guitar and begins singing Where did you Sleep Last Night In a hauntingly distressed yodel And staccato strumming Three minutes later he stops Says nothing Waits for his prefabricated verdict The judges speak empty bromides Telling him he is not what they are looking for So he simply thanks them and Returns to the bayou To play for whomever will listen But his audition makes the airwaves And causes an overnight sensation Soon thousands of people The local and national media Converge on Shreveport and Baton Rouge Memphis and Mobile New Orleans and Clarksdale and Highway 61 All searching for the new American phenomena But they all become frustrated Throwing their hands in the air “We can’t find him; he shows himself on television And now we can’t find him anywhere” And they all walk away Because nobody stopped and bothered to listen To the faint echo of his strumming Filling the clear warm air Trying to tell them that a man Is not judged by how he appears to be But rather what he says ... Love Hurts inspired by Gram Parsons Gram Missed the club by a year Which was probably His idea along Even if he never knew it But I wished He had made it to Twenty-eight
David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof
3 Poems from Glen Armstrong inspired by Jarmusch’s “Mystery Train”/ Tom Waits & Nick Cave
Bio: Glen Armstrong (he/him) holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters. His latest book is Night School: Selected Early Poems
Radio Station Night falls on the radio station, but its tower stands defiant, neon call letters stacked, and topped with a crazy orange-red planet. I listen while eating blackberry jam and butter on toast – a light, late supper – a chunk of salami and a beer. Sometimes, the energy it takes to cling to this rotating hunk of dirt amazes me. Gravity isn’t enough. Otis Redding, sometimes, is. I listen imagining who else might be out there hearing that same voice, that same broadcast: lovers who will part forever soon, young fools looking forward to their chance. Requiem for King Oliver I disassemble each day’s events and put the pieces away as a sniper cases his gun which is similar, I hope, to how the great ones case their clarinets. What was once so focused and warmed by my breath is now a puzzle to be assembled tomorrow morning. I will see you after breakfast if I can finish this Requiem for King Oliver. The night is simple. I’ve spent it hundreds of times. The doors in this hotel don’t quite lock. Half-written melodies run barefoot through the long shadowy grass that dreamers dream, down these hallways full of numbered rooms that all leave something behind after long division. Long enough for loneliness, too short for despair. A note, a quotient, a velvet rope. Skull Candy She’ll make do with a bracelet. A tee-shirt a stolen. Prop from the community. College’s production of Hamlet. It’s the sort of badassery. That one can buy on eBay. The sun comes up like the opening credits. Of White Zombie or The Black Cat. And the bird skulls whistle. The human skulls stir. Nondairy creamer into their coffee. They all go off to work. And their teenage daughters. Want them exposed for the hollow. Things they have and will become. They chew skull-flavored chewing gum. And listen to “Nick the Stripper.” Making do with skin. While the bone is still. Open to higher bids.
Poetry Showcase: Jacquelyn Shah (inspired by poets, artists, music)
BIO: Jacquelyn Shah holds: A.B. (Phi Beta Kappa, magna cum laude), Rutgers U; M.A. English, Drew U; M.F.A. and Ph.D. English literature/creative writing–poetry, U of Houston. Her publications include a chapbook, small fry; a full-length book, What to Do with Red; and poems in various journals. She was Literal Latté’s 2018 Food Verse Contest winner and is a 2023 non-fiction book contest winner, memoir publication forthcoming. Iconoclast, she loves surrealism and all quirky poems!
Gordian Knot Enriched by words, phrases, tangled, from a few Bill Knott poems Concealed from the eye, out of most of one dozen autumn drops, a liquid moment adequately echoes the picturesque golden flights into my(s)elf when I am blown from consummate capsules. This extravagance of savage yearly tearfalls attempts to assert the wisdom of a sparsely inhabited archipelago–– in the opus of my wandering (s)elf. Ritual aggrandizements must adhere on the ledge, dottily, just as caricature hits mirrors from the world, sidelong. Over the lip of this pit-deep surfeit of words the ground breaks off a little crust of exaggerated effortlessness when making art slightly obscured, to find you though with flyswatters and grins by the action of one thumb with a inky string in its mouth, syllables babbling in a dribble congealing to a damp knot. Heavy Metal after John Chamberlain’s Artur Banres, 1977 Menil Collection, Houston Bumper strips jagged rusty edges of random dents–– they don’t detract a bit from the gleaming chrome of Dodge, that’s his name––though the nameplate’s painted over, you can make out “Dee-O-Dee,” even a trace of the missing “Gee” & “Eee”––those squeals! Sixth-grade kids amazed to see a quarter of a wrecked car hanging on a wall Girls giggle Boys jab each other in the ribs Look at that! Holes screws peeling rough projections––all coated with oils An upper-right protrusion curved like a football helmet Great colors globbed & streaked intruding on one another–– maroon cobalt orange charging against baby blue scarlet chartreuse & ocher scrambling cream canary green gray dripping over gold & silver metallic black & blue butting against white-flesh dribble His history is hot- rodding Like a has-been president he loves the oooing & ahhing No Other Cento made from lyrics sung by pop stars I close my eyes, oh god I think I’m falling and I’m floating in a most peculiar way, spinning through the town, laughing in the purple rain ’cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in, ’cause this is thriller, thriller night. Hey, you, get off of my cloud, send in the clowns. There’s such a difference between us, babe. I’m gonna leave you. It’s not the way I planned it, but now I know I’m better sleeping on my own and I think it’s gonna be a long, long time. I found a new place to dwell: Strawberry Fields, forever. Such a lovely place, such a lovely place! It felt good to be out of the rain, and the vision that was planted in my brain? We were strangers in the night; I’m leavin’ on a jet plane. There is wonder in ’most everything I see! Now I’m no longer doubtful. Go ahead with your own life, leave me alone. Me, myself, and I, that’s all I got in the end–– baby, there’s no other superstar. Cento––lines, in order of appearance, from: Like a Prayer (Madonna); Space Oddity (David Bowie); I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Whitney Houston); Purple Rain (Prince); I Knew You Were Trouble (Taylor Swift); Thriller (Michael Jackson); Get Off of My Cloud (Rolling Stones); Send in the Clowns (Judy Collins); Hello (Adele); Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You (Joan Baez); Baby, One More Time (Britney Spears); Love Yourself (Justin Bieber); Rocket Man (Elton John); Heartbreak Hotel (Elvis Presley); Strawberry Fields (Beatles); Hotel California (The Eagles); Horse with No Name (America); The Sound of Silence (Simon and Garfunkel); Strangers in the Night (Frank Sinatra); Leaving on a Jet Plane (Peter, Paul, and Mary); Top of the World (The Carpenters); A Natural Woman (Carole King); My Life (Billy Joel); Me, Myself, and I (Beyoncé); Paparazzi (Lady Gaga) Inscrutable House With Sea Hag: A Centina* September rain falls on the house but in a secret moon-beholden way. I’ll enjoy pleasure, in the garden or in the room, since I have traveled through the plains and hills and I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. Meanwhile the Sea Hag was relaxing on a green couch. How pleasant! The iron kettle sings on the stove pleasantly. Wimpy was thoughtfully cutting open a number 2 inscrutable house shut up with green leaves and a little crimson. Yes, I fill all the air in my musical way, at least secretly, where I won’t have any hills, though my desire will not lose its green room. The first of the undecoded messages read: “Popeye sits in the room, and from Adam sprung nepenthe and Uncle Sam, pleasantly.” In the failing light, the old hills so formed he would have sparked love in a house. And I watch his spear through the dark way, but in the full face of the fire of crimson. Since (as the finger is close to the crimson in hot summer) I have a great room the color of spinach, Popeye chuckled and scratched away. This was the measure of my soul’s pleasant (for me, who would choose to sleep in a house) dance, like mad on the hot black hills. And the winds shriek through the clouds, mad hills closed around by all the highest crimson. I have no limb that doesn’t shake. Not even the house, laughing and talking to hide her room, had all its will of dreams and pleasant, pleasant inspiration. Plunge us now to the stars, for this is my way, so rooted is it in this hardest way! As a bird sleeping in a nest of hills I have no life save when the words are pleasant. From livid curtain’s hue, a tangram emerges, crimson, hovers half open above the room. Wherever I am, out in the plains or in a house, song, have your way with crimson! And let the music from green hills of spinach hold the soul of Sea Hag in a room of the pleasant, inscrutable house. *Centina, a cento-sestina––built from words and lines of six sestinas: “Sestina” by Elizabeth Bishop; “Sestina” by Algernon Swinburne; “Lo Ferm Voler Qu’el Cor M’Intra” (The Firm Will That My Heart Enters) by Daniel Arnaut, twelfth-century troubadour and inventor of the sestina; “Sestina” by Dante Alighieri; “Sestina: Altaforte” by Ezra Pound; “Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape” by John Ashbery. “Inscrutable House” follows the sestina’s form of thirty-nine lines with end-words that repeat according to the prescription, one each from those poets. As a cento, “Inscrutable House” uses exact lines from the poets in its first stanza; subsequent stanzas continue the form with prescribed end-word order using lines from “companion” poets. Example: in stanza two the first line is from Bishop but ends with the Ashbery word and the second line is from Ashbery but ends with the Bishop word. Only slight and occasional deviations exist within the lines. Ten Shades Ten shades of pleasing herself brings us to tomorrow. John Ashbery, “El Dorado” A weird and wonderful INTRO: buttered roofs, dandelion breath the salad of Nevada I Slog through the lines he’s reeled off, purloin, bring something of it back into the language melody to see what will happen conversely. (Has there been so much slogging outside and in?) II Keep your units pliable and folded; customize tattered spaces. Comb it wet through these otherwise days, these torpid interpretations you see. Mark the flow once the sluices have been opened a little, and admit to no mistakes. III Sometimes the stars wiggled, dangling from mistletoe (believe it, they feel the air). Along for the ride was a nursery of goats and poems, dream-dipped. IV Back at the jelly farm the scribes sank in wonderment–– delightful! July passed very quickly. V So why not, indeed, try something new? An outdated dispatch from the Mouse King? Hazy rituals whose ultimate purpose, far out, isn’t meant for us? Palinodes that charm our hearing? Digression or mild variation? VI In a small garden a harmonica was heard braying what is made and hard to screw up. The auks were squawking, the emus shrieking. Unlike a turkey vulture on parenthetical wing, one nuthatch covets the sky’s painted truths that can’t always be lively. VII One part fenugreek, 3 oz. filtered water? Why not? I’m game. Say no to nothing is my credo. For your attention: a scarf, a puff of soot, a little fawning for good measure. VIII Better to act dumb and accept the inevitable. Be glad it’s over . . . but it’s not over yet. Terrible incidents happen daily, echoes of conspiracy. You know something? I don’t care. The planets promise to roll next time. IX I’ll find a new wand, horizons will be bright, old panaceas rewired, good as new. Hail to something! Let bliss be unbuttoned. X I wasn’t pretending to say much. Cento––all lines (with occasional slight altercations) from: different poems in John Ashbery’s Planisphere and A Worldly Country
Poetry Showcase from Emma Lee inspired by Lana Del Rey
Rain-slick makes the colours brighter: neon and jewels, trashed by greasy fast food stench and strewn papers and, above the slush of car tyres, sirens, always sirens. I step on stories of murder and terrorism. I grind them to a pulp that I want to fashion into something beautiful, paint and glitter and acrylic jewels: a mini Gaudí urn; if it weren’t for the grit, dirt and germs, the lack of space in our threadbare place, sparsely furnished and still packed. You love the timbre of strings, the lingering echo of violins. You want to know where I’ve been, who I’ve met, never what sort of day I’ve had. I’m tired, hungry. You’ve not made dinner yet. It’s always my turn. You grab and pull me close. Tell me you love me, you’re looking out for me, you worry. But you think I’m lying. The tension reverberates like a plucked cello string. And cellos are always melancholy. I slacken: passive. I feel your fist, like a kiss. The room blackens. I’ll be tomorrow’s headline. I hear violins, sirens. December I was December, pulled you on like a favourite sweater against my chill. You were summer red, arrived on a motorbike to maternal disapproval, ignition for love. I needed you to flush my skin and melt my frost encased heart. You wanted me: blue jeaned rebel, your pillion, your one true love. But fires burn. You wanted to recast me make me porcelain-fragile: a doll you rescued, repainted delicately dress edged in gilt, voiceless, admired not loved. I loved you too much to break what you made of me. It shattered us. When I slip on blue jeans and my favourite sweater that hugs me, like you did, I want to be in your hold again. Dance in the Dark (originally published by Silver Birch Press) I feel like an echo. I wear my siren prom dress, killer heels, scarlet lipstick. My skin ghost. Mind blank. I could thread wire through my sleeves, loop it round the mirrored disco ball, then step out of my dress. Slip away like a spirit. Who’d notice me missing? I want my blue dress. I want my hair loose. I want the shadows of a setting sun. I want our song. I want to feel alive. I want the heat of your skin. I want your kiss. I want to dance in the dark. Somehow I’m settling for shoes that won’t dance, a dress that won’t let me breathe, hair styled, sprayed and pinned, strobes that highlight every blemish, coral imprints on drinks glasses that are too neat, too polite, too good-girl-pink in a hall scattered with rose petals the colour of blood. Bio: Emma Lee’s publications include “The Significance of a Dress” (Arachne, 2020) and "Ghosts in the Desert" (IDP, 2015). She co-edited “Over Land, Over Sea,” (Five Leaves, 2015), was Reviews Editor for The Blue Nib, reviews for magazines and blogs at https://emmalee1.wordpress.com.
Book Reviews from Spriha Kant: “Swill and Daffodils” by K.P. DeLaney
Review of K.P. DeLaney’s book “Swill and Daffodils” by “Spriha Kant”
The poet has dedicated this book to his poet family: Darryl Lovie, Sharon Toman, Magnolia, Tres K, and J.D. Greyson, which has proved to be worthwhile as it is a collection of a plethora of deeply heartfelt poetries.
Some poetries of the poet remind a few poetries by the poets Abel Johnson Thundil, Verde Mar, and Ratan Chouhan as well as the poetess Shiksha Dheda, as shown in the next four stanzas below:
Whatever message “Abel Johnson Thundil” conveyed indirectly through the poetry “Torture” in his book “Wilted: Poems of Modern Tragedy,” has been said directly in the last seven lines of the poetry “Monumental” by K.P. DeLaney.
The poet’s poetries “War” and War (Part two) are the burning furnaces as the chilling emotions in these poetries are enough to melt the hearts of the readers, this trait is common in the few poetries in Abel Johnson Thundil’s book “Wilted: Poems of Modern Tragedy,” the poems being “Loud Contemplation,” “Rolling down,” and “Into my arms,”, Verde Mar’s poetry “Newtown (Sandy Hook Elementary)” published on March 20th, 2023 in Gabriela Marie Milton’s Journal “Literary Revelations Publishing House” as well as in his debut book “Turbulent Waves” (without the parenthesis “Sandy Hook Elementary” though), and Ratan Chouhan’s poetry “Fire-fighters” from his book “Leopards and Other Poems.” Each poet’s way of expression is in a different alignment, though.
The poetries “Climbers” and “Everest” by “Abel Johnson Thundil” from the book “Wilted: Poems of Modern Tragedy” and “K.P. DeLaney” from this book respectively point indirectly to the ruthlessly ambitious workaholic trait which is booming rapidly like algae in people these days, though the expression of poets is on different alignments.
The poet’s poetry “I Have Insomnia” has traces of a few poetries in Shiksha Dheda’s book “Washed Away- a collection of fragments” in which she shares the details of her phase that how her mind used to keep drowning in a labyrinth of unrealistic quests and dreams and hallucinations, especially at night making her nights sleepless and without peace.
The poet’s brilliant use of metaphors, personifications, and similes have added impact in the poetries the way shades and tints add in a colour. Quoting a few of the metaphors, personifications, and similes below:
“like a match to gasoline we incinerate nights into nothing… until hello, sunshine.” “and then she whispered a story about the smell of time; something she read in a book one night about another planet and other lifetimes as if the New York Times was foreign language on paper… just jargon that didn’t even rhyme.” “choking the neck of every single sweaty bead as she haplessly hurdled our fathers like a herd of turtles.” “arms outstretched, her crucifix an opera trying to save this.”
This book gives the vicarious experience of traveling from one universe to another universe. Each universe is poetry sharing its own story, tales, feelings, and opinions with its expression. Some universes are filled with beauty, some with sensuality, some with nostalgia, some mixed with simultaneous different expressions, and so on. Sharing a few glimpses of a few universes below:
“half-melted ice cube made wimpy clank like a hapless tap on heaven’s door against the side of her glass and still caught in a laugh some liquid ran from her eyes down the lines of her chin. and I met it with my fingers, that dewy drop as it ran; that dewy sin… ready to begin and never stop; with my other hand still stuck between the gaps.” “and the momentary glistening is just the rain caught in a certain angle of light from the ever-moving sun, so blistering and she wondered… what would the sun sound like, aside from its dull sizzle of its daily drone drowned out by the moan of precipitation’s drizzle?” “hearts, palates of used watercolors playing mancala against one another. breath and skin, a canvas of Pollock-esque rivulets.” This book is a perfect fit to feel more varieties of vicarious experiences of different universes.
K.P. Delaney: K.P. DeLaney started writing words, lyrics, and poetry from the influence of music and philosophy at age fifteen. He is the author of two self-published novels, Half Empty Glass To The Rising Sun (2009) and Impossible Knots (2021). As well as two poetry books, Swill & Daffodils (2022) and Purity Gone Mad (2022). He is currently working on his third novel and poetry book. He is a father and a husband who resides and roams in the quiet neighbourhoods of upstate New York.
Spriha Kant is an English poetess & book reviewer.
Her first published poetry is “The Seashell” which was published online in “Imaginary Land Stories.”
The poetries of Spriha have been published in the following anthologies:
- Sing, Do The Birds of Spring
- A Whisper Of Your Love
- Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan
- Bare Bones Writing Issue 1: Fevers of the Mind
- Hidden in Childhood
- A Glitter of Miles
- The Empath Dies in the End
“Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan” & “Bare Bones Writing Issue 1: Fevers of the Mind” have been published in fourteen countries, namely:
- United States
- United Kingdom
“Hidden in Childhood” became the #1 bestselling book on Amazon. This book consists of poems from about 150 globally acclaimed poets and poetesses, out of which most have been featured on NPR (National Public Radio), BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation),andthe New York Times. The wonderful Japanese painter “Hikari” featured this book in her exhibition in Tokyo in Japan. This book will also be translated into the Spanish language.
All the proceeds of the anthology book “A Glitter of Miles” went to the “Senior Staffy Club” (UK), a charity that helps older Staffordshire Bull terriers.
Spriha’s collaboration on the poetry “The Doorsteps Series” with thewell-known Southern Indiana poet “David L O’ Nan” has been published in the anthology “The Empath Dies in the End.”
Reviews on the books of critically acclaimed as well as budding poets and poetesses by Spriha have been released that are as follows:
- The Keeper of Aeons by Matthew MC Smith (South Welsh poet)
- Nature Speaks of Love and Sorrow by Jeff Flesch (Oregonian poet)
- Washed Away: A Collection of Fragments by Shiksha Dheda (South African poetess of Indian descent)
- Spaces by Clive Gresswell
- Silence From the Shadows by Stuart Matthews
- Breathe by Helen Laycock (Former recipient of the David St. John Thomas Award and nominee for the Dai Fry Award)
- Woman: Splendor and Sorrow: Love Poems and Poetic Prose by Gabriela Marie Milton (#1 Amazon bestselling and award-winning poet, internationally published author, and 2022 Pushcart Prize nominee)
- These Random Acts of Wildness by Paul Brookes (Wombwell Poet)
- Turbulent Waves by Verde Mar (Californian Poet)
- Wilted: Poems of Modern Tragedy by Abel Johnson Thundil (Indian Poet)
- Othernesses by Paul Brookes (Wombwell Poet)
Spriha has been a part of the two events celebrating the launches of the books:
Nature Speaks of Love and Sorrow by Jeff Flesch
As FolkTaleTeller by Paul Brookes
Quotes of Spriha Kant published as epigraph and blurb:
- Her poetic quote “An orphic wind storm blew away a sand dune that heaped all our love memories upon one another.” has been published as the epigraph in the book Magkasintahan Volume VI By Poets and Writers from the Philippines under Ukiyoto Publishing (Philippines) in the year 2021.
- Her poetic quote “After falling for you, love became mere poetry for me which for an unusually long time was fascinating me with its utopian world.” has been published as a blurb in the book Swiped Right Volume IV By Poets and Writers from the Philippines under Ukiyoto Publishing (Philippines) in the year 2022.
Features of Spriha Kant (Interviews & Others):
- Quick-9 Interview on feversofthemind.com (Interview Feature)
- #BrokenAsides with Spriha Kant on the brokenspine.co.uk (Interview Feature)
- Creative Achievements in 2022 on thewombwellrainbow.com (Celebration for literary achievements in the year 2022)
Spriha Kant as a guest of honor in Bloomsbury Radio (London):
Spriha graced the award-winning show “Victoria in Verse” as a “guest of honor” in “Bloomsbury Radio, London,” hosted by Victoria Onofrei which broadcasted on January 29th, 2023 at 6 P.M. as per the time standard in London.
Encomiums received by Spriha Kant:
“There is a saying in Nepali, ‘Hune biruwako chillo paat’ (meaning a plant with
potential for growth has glossy leaves), and I feel it fits you perfectly, Spriha!
Sharing in the joy and pride of your achievement, poetic milestones”
—— Nepalese poetess “Mingmar Sadhana”
“Spriha Kant has a wondrous force of nature spirit that shines like the north star
and her poetry is revered by our fabulous writing community.”
—— Californian poet “Verde Mar”
Links to the features of Spriha Kant: