An October 2022 Poetry Showcase Part 2 for Pasithea Chan

Masks Off

She stood there, huddled in the center
a sun stripped naked amidst clouds.
Her make up had melted like cares
that faded into a wound facing crowds.
Suddenly hurt was someone right there
with the loudest sounds and fastest hounds.

It chased her down the hills with quills
spilling bills like fair jills coming from mills.
And as all things began to settle,
reality cooled its kettle
like all the mettle
had left its warriors in a battle.

She was a knight in shining armor
a soul with great ardor
a feat for those who seek valor
and a treat for those who savor
love above all things one should favor.

To many she was just a player
with too many strings.
And so she drowned in lies
from loved ones who knew better.
Little did she knew they came for her
to make her pay for things
she’d done to put fear in those eyes
of hers for thinking she was someone.

And so she fell to her knees
muttering oh please but those bees
had nothing but honey on their minds.
No money no honey, no maybes.
First they took away her armor
then they stripped her of her dignity
And finally stabbed her heart
with her soul to remind her no one can be your all.

Loyalty is a sun for those who endeavor
to uphold love and trust, with fervor
Yet it dies when lies pull the trigger
in the name of gain, a bitter
grain sheathed in pride’s splendor
to crush souls with trust’s clamor
and kick gratitude like a meek vole
leaving those who stole
victorious and glorious.

There is no one who can be someone
when hurt is everyone and love is no one.
There is no one who can be your one
when loyalty is dead because of someone.
The masks are off but there’s no one
behind those masks just everyone else.

Author’s Notes:

In a world where betrayal and treachery are the banners of the winners while loyalty is the coat of arms of losers; the need to drop masks or unmask people is so urgent. We can live for years giving our backs to so called loved ones and friends, until the time comes and their interests no longer intersect with ours and that’s the time we see where we truly stand and who they truly are. This piece is a saga about loyalty’s sad martyrdom. Thank you for reading.

Extremes & Balance

From a distance, we hover over life’s water
zigzagging between dark & light lanes
traced in laughs & complaints.

We bathe in closeness’ lights
and play with no cares until time runs
out as our laughs do, so we switch lanes
and lurk in shadows where only our eyes
glisten with tears as our silhouettes
fumble the dark like tumbling dice.

Finding one’s path shows closeness’ fading light
but makes loneliness’ darkness a real fight.
Both paths’ blocks vary in gradation & grain
but ingrain choice like a viral strain
overcoming a body’s immune system.

In the end choice is a graduation
from light & darkness’ gradation
to forsake extremes for balance
to stream one’s path for a chance
in life across blues, hues, and cues.

inspired by: Theory of a Deadman’s Angel:

Tears of Sand

When you have nothing at hand
you have no home or land.
You lose your stand
in life to time’s sand.

Peace leaves you in pieces
worry gives you creases.
Your self worth decreases
as your sorrow increases.

When you have nothing at hand
loved ones disband
failing to understand
that you need their helping hand.

Destiny spits in your face
leaving you to wipe your disgrace.
Dignity rests its case
as chance looses its place.

When you have nothing at hand
dreams hang from hope’s strand
crushing everything grand
as trouble makes its first demand.

Happiness is a game of catch and release
where catch is a lease
that makes you please
and release is a pain that takes away peace.

When you have nothing at hand
you cry tears of sand as you are panned
with life’s brutal hand
to obey circumstances’ command.

Raging Bees

Right and wrong are two queens
dividing a hive upon a spring of lies.
They send swarms of raging bees
out of their hives to build new lives.

Filled with rage, these bees
sting in spite until each bee dies.
Rage is a wild flame that burns lives
with hurtful words to break hearts.

No smoke can ward these angry bees
for their rage burns with lies and maybes.
Instead of flying away from the flames
they fall into them burning with lies.

Pride makes them fall without cries
for presumed rights in wrong ways.
Alas now there are two beehives
but there are no bees just goodbyes.

Rage easily starts wars with maybes
but ends such wars in real tragedies.
Rage knows no age or sage
just blame’s mage taking the stage.

Moving Forward

You have two choices they said:
read one page at a time
or put the book down.
I tried both and found
each hurt differently.

Take a chance they said;
Give yourself time
Everyone is a clown
when they hit the ground.
So I waited patiently.

I waited to see what I read
fade away like every dime
I’ve spent and only found
fear roaming around
haunting me eternally.

I tried writing instead
of moping, a crime
that made my family a crowd
that was too loud;
I guess am used to being lonely.

Take the journey they said
it won’t buy you back the time
you’ve lost but you wont be bound
to the past but don’t stay down
cause only you understands you fully.

So I laid pages I’ve read
on my bed hoping to mine
hope from sorrow like a cloud
masking the sun like a shroud.
And so I roam aimlessly.

Hurt is a book that can’t be closed
in time because it’s just a dime
that hits the ground
so hard when you are down
that moving forward is costly.

When Daffodils Crash Lily Weddings

When daffodils act silly
defying a member of their family
living in the valley under the name lily;
nature shakes its belly with hybrids for glory!
That’s when lilies put on their scaly
bulby slippers to show off their dainty
stems for feet sporting twenty two jolly
skirts in colors fit for a spring baby
wedding his betrothed Lily beauty!

They rock designer brands like a galley
swerving over waters in a windy valley.
There you will see Reverend Lily of the Valley
lead the prayer in the valley as Tiger Lily
holds hands with stargazer lily and Backhouse Lily
walks down the aisle showing off Casablanca Lily
his lovely bride, followed by Tinybee Lily
and Lollipop Lily their flower girls and Easter Lily with Regal Lily
as ring bearers ushered by Acapulco Lily and Elodie Lily
as bride’s maids walking next to Robert Swanson Lily
and Luxor Lily as best men chosen by the Lily
couple while Tiny Double You Lily,
Matrix Lily, Candidum Lily, Madonna Lily Sunray Lily,
Dreamland Lily, sing in a choir lead by Turk Cap Lily
while Symphony Lily, Orange Pixie, Nellie White Lily,
dance for the young couple lead by Panther Lily.

All is well as every single Lily
takes a seat on one side of the valley.
Just then the daffodils clan arrives
with their big mama sporting her
singular stem bulb surrounded
by her twenty seven Narcissus sons
along with her Plumeria daughters in law
To crash her Lily cousin’s kids’ wedding

Jetfire walked in holding hands with Aztec Gold
followed by Sentinel smiling at Candy Stripe.
Thaleo was still kissing Celadine when
Narcissus Quail whistled at Pudica.
Hungry as always, Sorbet dripped some
ice cream on Singapore Obtusa who lost her cool
left his arm and stood next to Barret Browning
who was starry eyed with Dwarf Pink Obtusa.
Jack Snipe wore a smokey suit to impress
Vera Cruze Rose who had eyes for
Narcissus Tahiti who was with Vishanu Gold then.
Sovereign was head over heels for Intense
Rainbow who seemed to favor Narcissus Romance
over him who was sadly seeing Riviera Rainbow.
Canaliculatus felt proud walking illustrious Kaneohe Sunburst.
Petit Four found balance with Rubra Confetti
whose little sister Duvauchelle Special tiptoed
gracefully next to Cheerfulness who was right
behind Hawera & his partner Penang Peach.
Merlin on the other hand had an issue showing up
with Daisy Wilcox, he called her condescending
but that was because she wanted to make White
Lion jealous but the lad had eyes only for Thailand Red.
Meanwhile February Gold found warmth in the arms
of Toba’s Fire and Large cup found
his fill of wine with Lucky Star!
Trumpet was always loud and being deaf,
Stenopetala had no issues listening to him all day,
after all, she’s safe from the noise pollution!
Jonquilla saw in Mele Pa Bowman his world
and that’s why he got his younger brother Poeticus
to go out with her younger sister Barbados Showgirl!
Miniature on the other hand found his other half
with Dwarf Watermelon who was so grateful.
Narcissus Tazetta however was still not over B052
Rubra who accepted to give them a second chance.
Split Corona was calm and was at home with poise
Makaha Sunn just as Triandrus found
meaning with Elizabeth Thornton.
Cyclamineus thought Stenophylla
was phenomenal in her duet with her
sister Carcasana who was seeing Bulbocodium.

You could feel the tension rise in the winds
as the daffodil, Narcissus boys & Plumeria girls
waltzed into the valley, but luckily both families
had two wise boys and a generous hostess.
Within a split of a second, Narcissus Einstein
began to do an entertaining Futterwacken
followed by his male cousin Black Lily
who was serving the guests Rice Root pudding
while his generous hostess sister Grape Lily
poured the finest wine grown in that valley.

At last the wedding went on, Lily Bride & groom
were made to bloom in a kiss watched by both
daffodil and lily in colors brought down from shrubs
with Plumerian girls bearing hybrid babies
that will forever offer shade to their daffodil beaus
and Lily foes, and the story goes
that everyone is still on their toes!

Author’s Notes:
I love Lilies, Daffodils & Plumerias and not many people can tell the difference between both or have heard about Plumerias, so I thought to myself I will write a tale that will showcase their types and I hope I succeeded. thanks for reading!


Submerged in doubt one floats carefree
in aimless waters without hope of touching land.

Tethered with guilt and regrets one tows
his/her soul to a destiny of penance.

Overt or clandestine, pain is no one’s gain
if one can grasp what it means to be humane.

Nipped with the present’s pressing matters
leave one to drown in what one can’t take back.

Encroached with advances to redress damage
only to be rejected, leaves one distraught.

Wailing hearts are as silent as wailing babies in
the womb only heard with the right probe.

Amadou from souls yearning for forgiveness
is the best torch one ignites in tragedy’s darkness.

Leveling up in the hurt game for victims
or doers is the first step to total destruction.

Lauding indifference and isolation
instead of forgiveness is pure malice.

Ignoring a wailing heart happens when one
allocates blame in the name of being fair.

Neverland is a place where sorrow is the fairy dust
by which lost souls take a flight into oblivion.

Gone are the days when to err was humane
and to forgive is divine.. such is our sad world.

Author’s Note: Acrostic Couplet spelling Stonewalling.

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction. To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

Poetry Inspired by Art from Alexander Bolotov (Mo Schoenfeld, James Penha, Ivor Daniel, Pasithea Chan)

(c)Alexander Bolotov

art photo sent by Pasithea Chan for writing prompt

Untitled by Mo Schoenfeld

memory, dry, cracked.
silent shivering, slick streets,
puddles like mirage.

Twitter @MoSchoenfeld 
A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Mo Schoenfeld

Promenade by James Penha

The rain drizzles like paint on a canvas 
but I am safe under cover of night when
lamplit colors melt this great city I own
on my way.

Expat New Yorker James Penha  (he/him🌈) has lived for the past three decades in Indonesia. Nominated for Pushcart Prizes in fiction and poetry, his work is widely published in journals and anthologies. His newest chapbook of poems, American Daguerreotypes, is available for Kindle. His essays have appeared in The New York Daily News and The New York Times. Penha edits The New Verse News, an online journal of current-events poetry. Twitter: @JamesPenha

Light by Ivor Daniel

(And then the lighting of the lamps. T S Eliot - Prelude).
We shall overcome. (Pete Seeger et al)

And then the lighting of the lamps
And then the lighting of the
And then the lighting
And then the
And then

We shall
We shall overcome
We shall overcome, some
We shall overcome, some day

A Poetry Showcase for Ivor Daniel *Updated 9/23/22* with Plath haiku

A Painter's Umbrella by Pasithea Chan

I set my canvas in swirly wrinkles
hoping my brush makes ripples 
in my lover's heart for all onlookers
etching my pain in colorful grain
to relieve longing's strain & stay sane.

I'm neither a cane for her to lean on nor a window pane
to entertain an agonized soul sedating his pain.
I am an umbrella held for shelter from weather.
Never a stage for soulful blues under red hues.
To me you are both the same:
hiding your agony in a canvas colorfully
as she hides under me indifferently.

All I have is a love story that's now a memory
captured in a silhouette of her figure.
Blue is all the affection left behind love's rapture.
I am a picture hanging on by a fixture 
trying to mend my heart's fracture.

Like rain's pitter patter hearts often scatter 
taking apart lives that were once together.
Take it from me, there's no  warmth in being of use.
Sometimes the end can be your muse
even when your hues become forgotten clues.

Pain is my eye and hope my sky
Blue is my welcome made to qualm
A broken heart looking for a fresh start
Raindrops my fingertips turning colorful drips
into benches to sit through a goodbye.
Author's Notes: 
The piece is inspired by Alexander  Bolotov's  painting of a girl walking holding an umbrella under the rain fading into the blue evening sky and red street lamps. The poem is an imaginary conversation between a painter and an umbrella he painted. 

Pandemic Love & other Affinities from Icefloe press an anthology

Please check out this wonderful anthology from Ice Floe Press in Canada. Edited by Moira J. Saucer, Robert Frede Kenter, Anindita Sengupta & Jakky Bankong-Obi. Cover design by Robert Frede Kenter “Pandemic Night” is a mixed media painting of aquarelle pencil & watercolours by Moira J Saucer

This book has over 130 pages of pandemic-era based poetry & art from poets around the world who are at the top of their game.

This book is also dedicated to poets lost during that time including Ice Floe Press contributors Cathy Daley and Kari Ann Flickinger. It is dedicated to everyone who lost loved ones, family members & friends during this ongoing Covid-19 Pandemic.

Poetry from Ewoenam Akahoho: little esinam (she left the world her beautiful crayon sketches) “and now, I have become the man who lights his cigarettes with the sun”

Roseline Mgbodichinma Anya-Okorie: A Function of Spaces “When we laid on green…looking up to the fogginess of blue…between dusk & dawn – When we clasped our fingers together & whispered “It’s two of us against the world…”

poetry from Akesha Baron (Mr. Duarte Mr. Rubin), short story from Ronna Bloom (Fall, Falling) Poetry from Yasmine Bolden (May Your Blessing Be Your People) “The Answers, the ‘unity’. Outside the sky bled sorbet orange” Poetry from V.B. Borjen (The Kites) “…counting bell chimes off the cathedral tower and the uncovered mouths of passers-by sharing booze in plastic bottles and flasks” Poetry from Paul Brookes (Is It Love To Be Glad You’re Dead), photography/art from Barney Ashton-Bullock, story by Matthew Burnside (Ramshackle Heavens), poetry from Sue Chenette (Etienne Brule Park, Sunday October 18, 2020), poetry from Marian Christie (Rapunzel in the time of Covid) “She braids and unbraids her lengthening hair, combs out the knots to feel pin-sharp tugs of pain. To feel” poetry story from Defne Cizakca (I Woke Up One Morning and You Were Not There), poems by Geraldine Clarkson (Raoul, Raoul) “who’d nuzzle the padlock on my tongue try to glean corn thoughts from my blank blue eyes tickle the nape” (Mannequin, with the melancholy gaze -) “Though you never look at me directly, I always wake to your pale blue eyes, raking the air just above my head,“Pandemic Paintings by Cathy Daley, Poetry stories from Nabina Das (How to Undo a Love Story 1 & 2) Poetry from Shome Dasgupta (The Dance of the Wayfarer) “Under a fresh beam of moon, a broken root, severed and twisted – a frozen echo waiting screaming to be released” poetry by Satya Dash (Accrual) “always to be seen smeared like a sun with its back turned, blemish conspicuous even when the page is turned over” poetry from Martins Deep (as i lay forget-me-nots on your side of the bed) “to an orchid growing in a vase filled with the humus of decomposed dreams”

Poetry by Peach Delphine (within this thicket of scar) “Tongue of shovel, bone of splitting, this body a basket of spark and cinder, when you hold me smoke lingers in your hair your hands come away with ash...poetry by Steve Denehan (Someday) poetry by Olga Dermott-Bond (Skin hunger) “Standing down river, I flinch at the hours, days, weeks we have lost to this iced babble; the hush of us grazes my skin-“ poetry by Chelsea Dingman (Valence) “Again, I ran past the lake this morning, trying to figure out why I run the same route, expecting to find myself anywhere else” Poetry by Damien Donnelly (All the Other Things that were also Alone, On the List) Poetry by Birgit Lund Elston (Were There to be a Choice) “and the fox with her playful kits in the woods at the back, how could I ever leave” poetry by K. eltinae ( Poetry by M.S. Evans (Months as Worry Beads – A Suite of 3 poems), Poem by Sue Finch (A Peacock Butterfly Dries its Wings) “From the sink I have been watching them cast silhouettes like bats”

Poetry by Kari Flickinger (that’s why I came back to you) “after weeks of fearful quarantining in a hotel on the blazing outskirts of some California desert. You hear that mission bell?”Poem by Suchi Govindarajan (An old quarantine) poetry by Catherine Graham (I Ask, Can We Be Civil?) “Leathery wind pushes the mystery flowers my name; a stem when light opens a dress-carriage for my heart” (Parts of the Song Where the Dead Come From) & (Hold the Dark), poem by Roger Hare (Pandemonium), poem by Matthew E. Henry (split screen), Poems by Elisabeth Horan (Soft Ghost Sonnet) “may it bring more joy than I’ve become -myriad cut & stab of blood, wears it thin; surely becomes woven thread of skin…” and (Twentieth Anniversary) Poem by Rahma O. Jimoh (Pandemic Soulmates), Story by Silas Jones (Heading Out), Poem by Agunbiade Kehinde (Love Poem with Shakespearean end) “Who would have thought colours and cologne could change the images of a lover in your head – like a damning art”

Photo by Robert Frede Kenter (Lock Down #24) and poetry (Pandemic Moon: A Love Poem) “Sirens accidents red lights elevators of claustrophobia run through the skin of the city” photo/art (The last of it) Poetry by Rose Knapp (Daemonic Queer Club), Poetry by Laurie Koensgen (The Conjunction: December 21, 2020) “Let’s say they’re us, those silver pinholes in the sky becoming one blurred puncture” story by Henneh Kyereh Kwaku (There Was a pandemic & I wanted to be touched & you were about to be married-), Story from Emma Lee (Failing to learn life lessons from penguins) Photography by Robynne Limoges (Surrender), (Hospital Corridor #2 & #3), poetry by V.C. McCabe (Frostbitten & Faunal) “I miss you every breath. Aromatic snow, your skin & winter catapulting us under blankets, the choice to roast in your eyes…” story/poetry by Spangle McQueen (Perhaps Love: How to have your mother’s funeral in a pandemic), poetry by Jenny Mitchell (Mother of Pearl) “She is still in the coffin. I thought she would rise like a hymn, voice soaring up to the vaulted ceiling”

Poetry by Hasan Namir (2020 Was Before) (Growing up in 2020) (Wake: The: Fuck: UP) Poetry by Marcelle Newbold (Transient Comfort) “signifier of a storm, a gentle stroke to my skin each drop a universe, a meal to a whale” and (Dwelling), Poetry by Twila Newey (Common Light) and (Natural Selection), Story by Lizzie Olesker (Block), poetry by Charlotte Oliver (Pandemic Packing) “each colour sharpening the other, first Spring petals cried from blossom trees now shrivelled grey reminding me that all will pass and memories hold beauty safe...) poetry by Niall M. Oliver (Heart) Poetry by Bola Opaleke (Rind of a Pandemic) ” A mother feels the hurt of her baby’s flowering teeth on her breasts, but welcomes the pain as a penultimate symbol of motherhood” & (Before & After the Flood), poetry from Kunjana Parashar (To My Sister, Stuck in Another City), poem from Serena Piccoli (Foam) Poem by Maria S. Picone (We Should Not Forget) “should not discount the taste of slow times fabulized in romantic paintings-should not untie silence & sorrow

Poetry by Kushal Poddar (Ring,Ring, Round and Round) “It is not really a beast-a shapeshifting leaf bearing the unbearable isolation of the early spring and falling into the deserted lanes of pandemic…It is not a real leaf” (Comorbidity) “The Winter thaws. Streets squiggle in the mud”poem by Lee Potts (A Concise History of the Wind) “Countless threads crossed above and beneath us The same blue as oceans You’d find on antique atlas showing the ends of the earth” art by Whiskey Radish (A Sortie), Poetry by Khalisa Rae (This Sounds Like Leaving) “Searching for replicas of our past with subtle differences thinking the subtle will wake us up from this looping nightmare” poetry by Vismai Rao (After my death by staring too long at the sea, I rebirth as mango seed) “with the barest of things: sunshine, water, unlimited oxygen. A hit of warmth and my body cracks open to shatter & dissolve” poem by Larissa Reid (The Mythologies of home) “That day, hear heart felt like paper. It had lost its shape, its weight, its very structure. It drifted lightly against the inside of her ribs” poetry from Monty Reid (from The Lockdown Elegies) Poetry by Andres Rojas (Time) (One)

Art/poetry by Moira J. Saucer (Myra: The Bitterroot Suite), Poetry from Anna Saunders (All the Fallen Gold) “I will keep this precious leaf until the underworld gods call for alms” poem from Preston Smith (Quarantine Love Poem) “I’ve found that growing flowers is hard in the Anthropocene. There is Tinder and there is tyranny, and they are both tired-“poetry/story from Ankh Spice (Here is the toll) “Yes, the bail, yes the scoop, I was and am still, now scooping the soft from myself to caulk the blistered wood.” poem from Alina Stefanescu (Imbibet) “The constraint lies on the bed with one head hanging off the edge” Poem from Samuel Stathman (For Archie) poetry by Claire Trevien (Or another exit door), poetry by Bunkong Tuon (No One Asked but They Did it Anyway, Visual poetry from Margaret Viboolsittiseri (a love letter to me (b&white version), (intent)

An October 2022 Poetry Showcase Pt. 1 from Pasithea Chan

What’s What

When right is wrong’s end of the straw
it mixes interests like colors for show.
It doesn’t matter what you intend
because it’s so easy to contend
right isn’t right without a fight

wrong isn’t wrong if you go with the flow.

After all, they are one straw
but each on an opposite end
And so it will all depend
on which end you choose to contend.
No need to pretend it will all end
but the question is will you bend?

Will you bend

When right gets a blow
from wrong having a go
because easy is ego’s trend
humanity’s best friend
that lets us forgo
what we choose not to know.

Will you try to comprehend:

When what’s what is squat
because tragedy is a sour tart
baked by greed’s cunning thwart
thrown as good for pretend
and mastered in the art
of condescend to defend
those we choose to know.

Will you dare to offend:

When tragedy becomes a show
and injustice its common law;
because death is a premium blend
humanity chooses to recommend
when saving lives, is a default
we all learned to stow.

Will you choose to portend:

When why and why not
define a not from a nut;
When care becomes a bile spat
on truth’s vile scat
to comprehend lies and expend
lives of crowds that wend
victory from humanity’s new low.

Will you commend those who chose:

When care became a bow
and hurt its sharpest arrow;
because truth became a dividend
that shoved us to fend
insignificance and indignity by law.

My good friend,

How do we tell what’s what?
Why are why and why not
out of the question when we are in a rut?
Do we know when to stop using but
or do we have to wait for our butt
to be where all is lost?
I don’t know what’s next
or how to live on the pretext
of low is the new law.
But I do know am not okay with that
because I still want to know what’s what!

*Author’s Notes:

It’s hard to think when your mind is screaming what’s going on, what’s happening with humans, I don’t understand. On one end you see suffering, on the other you see people marketing this suffering as a demise of their own devise. So you stick around trying to know what’s what and think hard with your heart and mind but in the end you shove your opinion and your findings in a corner with a tight lid. It’s easy to think right and think you can say what’s right but thinking, saying and doing are three different stages in an age where sages are long gone mages because we are just pages in another’s agenda put on display in stages. What’s What is a shout out for those who dare to think, speak, and take a stand for humanity. Thank you for reading.

Into You

If profound were a pair of eyes
distance would be a guise
concealing your eyes.
If depth wore mellow
and allure were to tiptoe
your voice would make souls hollow.
If mystery were a pair of lips
yours would be a honey that drips
from a spoon twirling like pulsating hips.
If cahoot were a tribute
your nose would define cute
in astute wrinkles for a salute.
If gin were a sin
your chin would be a jinn
enticing with a grin.
If chocolate were a linen
your skin would be a bodkin
piercing red tones deeply within.
If wit were to wear a slit
your mind would fit
sexy like gloves on a bandit.
If souls were a cresol
yours would be a fireball
burning every eyeball.
If attraction were a hue
made in love to hew
a heart with a look at you
then I’m into you.

*Author's Note: Dedicated to E.E.

Rainbow Souls

I live under a golden sky
covering berry hills.
Though my shores are pale
I doll up in a palette of waves.

From a distance you can see
my smoky hood like a turban.
So tilt your head slightly to see
my curves swirling in azul blues.

I can be a calm sea on a stormy day;
a calamity for those who isolate me.
I am your shelter and shrine.
I am both divine and humane.

I am the rainbow that strikes you
with truth flowing and ebbing in you.
Never grey or laid in black & white.
I am you in colors beneath the horizon.

I am you in motion consecrated in devotion.
I bear your reflection and consideration.
I am your soul I dwell on imperfection
to carry you through changes with conviction.

Be the change but don’t try to change me
for a rainbow needs both the sun and rain
to shine & over-arch all that is above and beneath.
Treasure me, and life will be your prize.

Bream Lines

In the dark a pair of lips draw
a smoky line marking a dream
gone dark and no longer divine.
Love had broken its final straw
on hope’s back waiting for steam
to blow diverging stars to align.

There a pen drops lines from a
soul that pines to recall images
once sublime now tumbling in a
darkness like fallen leaves
stuck in a whirlwind dancing a
hurtful decline on open grounds.

Love is a light shining like a halo
beaming two souls upstream
like breams sporting lights that shine
beneath a stream as they grow.
Sadly circumstances always scheme
to fish them out and drown them in brine.

Hello and goodbye are a
straight line broken into ups
and downs that get caught in a
spiral of good and bad moments
building or breaking dreams in a
matter of seconds, losing lives to lines.

Snagged with hooks with nowhere to go
the breams fade to loss’s bleak theme.
Their lives drain on a line, blood for wine.
But the stream continues to flow.
There, reality stitches truth to tragedy’s seam
to fasten the breams to death’s neckline.

Author's Notes:
Bream: A kind of fish. Breams here are a metaphor of two lovers facing life's mishaps on circumstances' various lines.

Bio: Pasithea is an impressionist poet who dabbles in art and poetry. She enjoys writing about life and her experiences from different perspectives. She believes in art in poetry as in exploring art to emphasize its role in juicing creativity out of a quill. She enjoys writing poetry in symbolism laced with philosophy and psychology.  Combined with varied styles and topics, her motto will always be: poetry is a passionate expression kindled by an impression unlimited by public conviction.   To catch more of her work follow her on Instagram @pasitheachan or twitter @pasitheachan and on Ello where you can find more of her historical fiction and mythological or cultural short stories.

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Chuck Harp

Q1. When did you start writing and whom influenced you the most?

     Chuck:  I’ve been writing since I was a kid. I was always scribbling stuff down and drawing comic books.

Q2. Any pivotal moment when you knew you wanted to be a writer?

      Chuck:  I don’t think it was ever some conscious decision. I just was always creating something and writing was the one thing that crossed over into all mediums I enjoyed.

Q3. Who has helped you most with writing and career?

       Chuck:   Obviously I had a massive amount of support from my family and friends. And my friend and fellow writer Benjamin DeVos convinced me to start submitting my poetry, so shouts to him for that.

Q4. Where did you grow up and how did that influence you? Have any travels influenced your work?

     Chuck:   I grew up in the shadow of Philadelphia, which is a large influence on me creatively. There has always been a great amount of artistic talent surrounding the Philly area. Everything from murals, to music, to graffiti.

               If anyone has read my work they can easily see that traveling and interacting with people is a huge part of my writing. Road stories and the bizarre communities we infiltrate can be the most powerful inspiration.

Q5. What do you consider your most meaningful work creatively to you?

               My poetry is probably my most meaningful creative work, as it is completely freeing during its process. However, I still get excited like a kid when I see my comic book scripts come to life.

Q6. What are your favorite activities to relax?

           Chuck:   I frequent the movies and go to as many concerts as my wallet will allow.

Q7. What is a favorite piece of writing you have done so far? Any meaning behind why?

        Chuck:   This changes every so often. As of today I am going with my poetry collection, Working Title, that was released in 2020 with Unsolicited Press. There’s a lot of myself, my friends, and family in those poems.

Q8. What kind of music inspires you the most? What is a song or songs that always come back to you as an inspiration?  Or what is a writer or book you always come back to when you’re needing that extra inspiration?

               Chuck: I hate to say it, but I tend to listen to a little of everything. Artists range from Bob Dylan to the Wu-Tang Clan. I grew up surrounded by skateboarding and hip hop so obviously rap is a main inspiration for me.

               While I write however, I tend to have on jazz. Some that have been recently helpful are Chet Baker, Charles Mingus, Irreversible Entanglements, and Yesterday’s New Quintet.

                As for writing, I always come back to Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the comics of Dave McKean and Howard Mackie.

Q9. Do you have any recent or upcoming books, music, events, projects that you would like to promote?

               Chuck: I recently released my newest poetry collection, People Watching, with Alien Buddha Press. I’m extremely proud of this work and is easily what I think to be one of my best as it highly focuses on my more observational style of poetry, used to deal with internal demons and concerns.

               Plus that cover is just too sick.

Q10. Bonus Question: Any funny or strange stories you’d like to share during your creative journey?

                Many, but none that should probably be printed.

Bio: Chuck is a writer and winner of the Mad Cave Studios 2020 Talent Hunt. In 2021 he participated in Grimm Tales from the Cave anthology from Mad Cave Studios. Chuck released two works of fiction and his fourth poetry collection, People Watching, was released by Alien Buddha Press.

A Poetry Showcase from Chuck Harp