Poetry inspired by Leonard Cohen from Ivor Daniel

(c) Geoffrey Wren

Memory Flames 
(after Chelsea Hotel #2, and other songs by Leonard Cohen)

If you remember the Sixties
you were not there, some bore said
later, at a clever dinner.

The Sixties, yeah.
We were there
and we remember it well.
I went down on you
while the limousines still waited
and the afternoon light
fell, slatted gold
on our emboldened bodies.

Now that we are both
I think of you more often.
And you, Suzanne.
And Marianne.

You are all hot flames to me still.
And your light still gets in.

And not one of us is mentally aching now.
Or ill.

Bio: Ivor Daniel lives in Gloucestershire, UK. His poems have appeared in A Spray of Hope, wildfire words, Steel Jackdaw, Writeresque, iamb~wave seven, Fevers of the Mind, The
Trawler, Roi Fainéant, Ice Floe Press and The Dawntreader,
After..., Re-Side, Alien Buddha, The Orchard Lea Anthology (Cancer) and The Crump’s Barn
Anthology (Halloween). .


A Poetry Showcase from Lindsay Soberano-Wilson

Utopia I Have Seen

Utopia I have seen
in a glimmer, in a dream 
in a moment of pure bliss
from a lover’s kiss 
a baby’s suckle 

Utopia I have seen 
in a glimmer, in a dream 
in a moment in between 
the setting of the sun 
the fresh drip of honeydew

Utopia I have seen 
in a glimmer, in a dream 
in a moment where I am free 
inside a marriage vow
witnessing first steps

Utopia I have seen
in a glimmer, in a dream 
in that moment I’m serene 
beneath her dress 
hoisted upon his chest.

Previously published in Sensual; An Erotic Life 

Purple Rain 

When purple rain 
is falling, falling, 
dropping, fast, 
furious, and then 
maybe even a bit
from the open sky…

Letting it all out
just you, 
the little old world, 
and I. 

That’s when we find
it’s okay to say
let’s go crazy
despite the tsunami 
elevator we ride
up and down
side to side 
but that doesn’t mean 
we have to slide. 

As Prince says:
“I’m not gonna let de-elevator
Bring us down
Oh, no let’s go.”

Previously published in Put It To Rest 

Blood Orange Heart

I’m so tired of playing
Playing with this bow and arrow
Gonna give my heart away
Leave it to the other girls to play
For I’ve been a temptress too long
Just…Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be a woman
I just wanna be a woman ~ Portishead 

She’s so tired, 
tired of being a temptress 
tired of playing, 
playing with the slingt 
of what it used to be 
as she slips on an orange peel
before locking it in the glory box 

“Leaving it 
to the other girls 
to play”

Oh, it didn’t have to be this way, she laments
as she eats the blood orange 
by the light of the full moon in full bloom.

Previously published in iPoetry 


Like Suzanne

I always wanted to be like Suzanne 
feeding men tea and oranges 
by the river like a siren 
or one of Cohen’s lovers
shacked up in Hydra
like the Paris ex-pats buzzing around 
abstract words and images.

But then that would somehow mean 
that I would also be in love 
with a man who struggled to love
because he struggled to love himself. 

But does that matter?

Does it matter 
that he didn’t love in their way 
in the right way
but in his way
and was it not better than no way. 

Is it not 
better to have loved and lost 
than never to have loved at all?

I still want to be Suzanne
free to love 
how and whomever 
she wants
because she’s tameless
and irresistible…
“you touched her perfect body 
with your mind.”

Previously published in Marlene in a Pub

Like A Muse In A Cage

Like a muse in a cage
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

Like a ballerina teetering on a music box 
like a skunk stuck in an hour
I have tried in my way to be free.

Like an aloof armadillo in an explosion 
like a translucent paper nautilus exposed 
I have tried in my way to be free.

But even when my heart spills 
like black squid ink upon a page 
my essence remains chained. 

But you swore on that song
and all you had done wrong
that you would make it up to me.

You said that together we would be free. 
But the world’s handprints are still on me. 

Previously published in Marlene in a Pub 

This Body is Electric

He sang her body|
e -l-e-c-t-r-i-c
and the soul
Taking only what is granted
never plundering 
or mining for blood diamonds
rubies, emeralds, or gold
The female form is
e -l-e-c-t-r-i-c
he sang it 
felt it
spoke it 
to cherish 
the gateway to life
in all of its wonder
curves and delight
soft and succulent
ripe and opulent
in the reflection
of ascension
Your body is
e -l-e-c-t-r-i-c
wired to be admired
and hardwired to 
sing siren’s reveries
wrapped in longing 
and moving in ways
that reveal shades of 
art and 
perfectionism in 

Mother and 
babe as one: 
babe becomes girl
girl becomes woman
all interconnected 
in the seeds sown
from inside the womb

The giving force 
of mother and woman
are one and the same:
you cannot honour and 
feed on the one who nurtures you
while you mare the one
you take from

She is waiting 
somewhere in between 
sound waves and heat waves
of heart waves crashing 
all she tends to

She is the vessel
She is the song
~my body is electric

*Previously published 



Debut Chapbook

With life moving at a slower pace and travel coming to a halt due to the pandemic, Lindsay Soberano-Wilson crafted a hybrid journal of poetry and memoir about how her sense of community, identity, and home was shaped by her past travels. Casa de mi Corazón: A Travel Journal of Poetry and Memoir (Poetica Publishing) is the story of a Canadian woman on an inner and outer journey to find a home. 

Lindsay Soberano-Wilson is a poet, teacher, and freelance writer who lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her husband and three sons. She is a member of the Canadian League of Poets. Her poems and articles have appeared in publications such as FreshVoices22, Quills Canadian Poetry Magazine, Canadian Woman Studies Journal, The Canadian Jewish News, Scary Mommy, Travel Thru History, and Poetica Magazine. In addition to addressing self-identity and travel, her writing explores motherhood, feminism, sex-positivity, education, relationships, mental health, and literature. She holds a MA (English Literature) and a BEd from the University of Toronto, and a BA (Creative Writing and English Literature) from Concordia University. 

Another poem by Clive Gresswell inspired by Leonard Cohen

another glory poem or untitled by Clive Gresswell

another glory poem 
along the glory road
the golden sun is rising
the golden tongue explodes.

& in your rising daydreams
the dreaming of your past
the golden gate of conscience
where golden memories pass

i see your twinkling presence
in the holy time of spirit
i hear your uplifting songs
in the presence of the minute.

& long may you glimpse over
this bejewelled landscape of green
the highlands & the byways
the golden beauties theme.

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Clive Gresswell  

More Poetry Inspired by Leonard Cohen from R.G. Evans & Clive Gresswell 

Poetry Showcase: Poems DNA by Clive Gresswell

More Poetry Inspired by Leonard Cohen from R.G. Evans & Clive Gresswell

Touch Wood by R.G. Evans  
The poem/lyrics below were inspired by an interview about songwriting with Leonard Cohen. The first line and refrain or both quotes from that interview

Raise an altar of unhewn stone
One gate of horn one gate of bone
Touch wood
Come on touch wood

Black ball white ball juggle them both
Look to the one that you drop most
Touch wood
Come on touch wood

Say a prayer cast a spell
One goes to heaven one goes to hell
No way of telling what’s bad from good
Only thing a soul can do and that’s touch wood
Come on touch wood

Black cat howling on a gravestone stump
Watch where you step and how high you jump
Touch wood
Come on touch wood

Midnight crossroads meet your man
John the conqueroo and glory’s hand
Touch wood
Come on touch wood

One thief on your left and one to your right
Only thing to do is hold on tight
And touch wood
Come on touch wood 

Bio: R. G. Evans is a poet, fiction writer, and songwriter from Southern New Jersey. He teaches creative writing at Rowan University. Website: www.rgevanswriter.com

Lookout by Clive Gresswell
dedicated to Leonard Cohen

the holy war metaphors are in
wages of the pentecostal sin
harbingers of every thin reprieve
soldierless fortunes armies on their knees
recalling from fixtures the broken cry of hymns
the rattle of the mounting mourning violins
& stretchers from across the chimes of winds
the solitary burgeoning of terrestrial times
the tinkling emergence of solitary rhymes
beside the lakes & the burial of mimes
we seek the hope & glory of appeal
the work towards the journey of it all
& where the men stood motionless on the hill
gathering up the writing on the wall.

Bio: Clive Gresswell is a 64-year-old innovative writer and poet who has appeared in many mags from BlazeVOX to Poetry Wars and Tears in the Fence. He is the author of five poetry books the last two being ‘Strings’ and ‘Atoms’ from erbacce-press (see their website for more details).

Inspired by Leonard Cohen lyric visual piece from Maggs Vibo

(c)Maggs Vibo

Maggs Vibo (aka Margaret Viboolsittiseri) a visual poet/artist who has had several art & poetry pieces included in Fevers of the Mind online & in print anthologies. Maggs also designed the Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview series logo, and the photo which is the cover art to my book “The Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers” is from a photo that Maggs photographed.

Congrats! To Fevers of the Mind contributor Maggs Vibo

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Margaret Viboolsittiseri aka Maggs Vibo

Photography from Maggs Vibo : Lone Road on Island of Moloka’i

I Don’t Need Anesthesia: Photo Art & Poetry by Maggs Vibo

Visual Poetry by Maggs Vibo : the Year of the Ox

I Don’t Need Anesthesia: Photo Art & Poetry by Maggs Vibo