A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Poetess Spriha Kant

Q1 When did you start writing and who influenced you the most now and currently?

I started writing at a very tender age. Writing poetries is in my genes.

I was highly influenced by “A Retrieved Reformation” by O. Henry, and “The Necklace” by Guy De Maupassant for the very first time.

Many beautiful poetic gems are influencing me currently, including, Helen Laycock, Jeff Flesch, PS Conway, Gabriela Marie Milton, Chris Papps, Charlie Bott, Ann Bagnall, Darryl Lovie, KP DeLaney, Sharon Toman, David L O’Nan, HilLesha O’Nan, Lily Maureen O’Nan, Strider Marcus Jones, Jamie Kovalsky, Tricia Sankey, Swarn Gill, Daniel Cummings,Bethany Samaddar, Virginia Mateias, Punam Saxena, Kushal Poddar, Stuart Matthews, Dawn Serbert, and the list still has many more left to name….

The way the beautiful poetess Camellia recites poetries as a nightingale influences me a lot. 
The frankness of J.D. Greyson that flows in her soft voice is too influential for me.

Online literary journals, blogs, and websites also influence me a lot, 
currently, Move Me Poetry, Spillwords, Fevers of Mind, Poetry, &Art, 
Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and Eunoia Review are on the list.

I love the way Move Me Poetry brings out many exciting things with it regularly, especially its “Teach Me Tuesday”, “Move Me Poetry Battles”and “Daily Drop”. It is a convivial community of poetic gems that influences me a lot.

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

Spriha: There’s no such pivotal moment as I have always seen myself in four different forms since the very beginning – an author, a musician, a painter, and an underwater diver, or if none of them then I wish to be born as a mermaid. I desire to be born as a mermaid. Whenever I become upset and/or stressed, then my heart
 writhes badly to live as a mermaid

Q3: Who has helped you most with your writing and career?

Spriha: I have inherited writing from my parents so obviously, there have been full-fledged support and guidance from my parents. My younger sister has always been supportive of me in each aspect.
However, the main twist occurred in my life when Mr. Prabhu Joshi appeared in my life. He had a master’s degree in English literature and had a special study on the Structural Grammar of English Poetry. He always used to insist me and my parents to never stop reading and writing poetries. He always used to praise me for my work. He used to give me suggestions whenever I used to share my poems with him and many extra pieces of advice too. He also used to tell me to start reviewing books with my free mind. After his untimely demise, Stuart Matthews gave me space in his book “Sing, Do the birds of Spring”. Then, the founder and editor of the Fevers of the Mind, Poetry, and Art featured me in his two consecutive books 
at a global level. The prestigious author Helen Laycock gives me suggestions with logic on my poetries posted on my Twitter handle. So, I think that these three authors have helped me in evolving as an author because one can not become confident enough till one is not published and the person starts evolving as an author at a serious level when he/she starts publishing, in my opinion.

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

Spriha: I grew up in Indore, India. Indore has no role in influencing me in any aspect as it is known for its foodie nature, Malvi language which is the local language of Indore, carefree nature, and many other traits from all which I have remained untouched and unaffected. 

Yes, my two travels have influenced my work. My first online published poetry “The Seashell”, published in Imaginary Land Stories on August 8th, 2020 by Sunmeet Singh, is influenced by Cross Bill Beach Resort in Havelock, Andaman Island, and by the Havana Beach in Kerala. While spending a few days with my family in Cross Bill Beach Resort, a romantic story whirled in my head which was 
influenced by the beach, the sand, the seashells, the foreign couples and lovers basking in the sun nearby the beach, and many other things over there. The metaphor “pearl” that I used in my poetry “The Seashell” came to my mind from one of my funny incidents at Havana Beach. I was chilling with my family there in my pearl beaded top and leggings. While dipping into the waves of the beach, one 
of the pearls from my top fell into the beach, and then when I took the second dip, I got that pearl. On getting that pearl, I suddenly went mad and kept on shouting in the excitement that I discovered a pearl from the waves of the beach, despite being insisted by everyone that the pearl was from my top that fell into the waves of the beach till my mother shouted at me in anger. One of my quotes, “A person with physical beauty lacking insight is like a seashell without a pearl” is influenced by this incident. 

Q5: What do you consider the most meaningful work you've done creatively so far?

Spriha: I have not become satisfied with my work in any aspect yet. I feel the need to learn and explore more about poetries. I still feel the need to delve deeper into poetries.

Q6: What are your favorite activities to relax?

Spriha: Cycling, Calligraphy, doodling, reading and writing poetries, and reviewing poetries.

Q7: What is a avorite line/stanza/lyric from your writing?

Spriha: The lines/stanzas/lyrics from my writings that are my favourites are:
1) The last line from my poetry “The Seashell” --- “Swim with me till those streamlines where there’s no trace of the sea shore and I will submerge and breathe in them with you as a mermaid till eternity.”
2) A few words from an untitled micro piece that I wrote in Move Me Poetry Battle on Twitter ---“Kaleidoscopic dreams float like amorphous clouds”
3)My quote “A person with physical beauty lacking insight is like a seashell without pearl.”
4) The words from an untitled piece that I wrote in Move Me Poetry Battle on Twitter:
             “No, she is not stubborn. 
              Rather, she is 
              as vulnerable as 
              a fire in the water 
              who can’t 
              dare to rebel 
              her heart’s voice."
5) The words from my poetry, “The Black Hole”, published in the anthology book, 
“Bare Bones Writings: Issue 1”, “Hair like a hanging vine naturally burnished in ebony wood texture” and the last few words of the poetry “she is in the black hole where poverty rules”

Q8: What kind of music inspires you the most? What is a song or songs that always come back to you as an inspiration?

Spriha: My bond with music is with my soul. 

A few songs that always come back to me as inspiration are:
1) “Fire Ever Living” and an album “Antithesis” composed by Alexandros Hahalis
2) “Raazi” composed by Shankar Ehsaan Loy and sung by Arijit Singh
3) A few songs composed by Amaal Mallik including “Besabriyaan”, sung by Armaan Malik, “Jeetne Ke Liye”, sung by Krishnakumar Kunnath, “Parwah Nahi”, sung by “Siddharth Basrur”, and “Zindagi Aa Raha Hoon Mein”, sung by Atif Aslam. His Bollywood album “Saina” inspires me the most and is closest to my heart.

Q9: Do you have any recent or upcoming projects that you'd like to promote?

Spriha: Two of my pieces have recently been selected for the upcoming anthology of Move Me Poetry and it is slated to release on October 2023. I am happy to know this.

Bonus Question: Any funny memory or strange occurrence you'd like to share during your creative journey?

Spriha: No, just hoping that a funny incident in my writing journey adds to my memory in the future. 

Spriha Kant is born in Indore, India, and resides there with her family. She developed an interest in reading and writing poetries at a very tender age. Her poetry "The Seashell" was first published online in the "Imaginary Land Stories" on August 8, 2020, by Sunmeet Singh. She has been a part of Stuart Matthew’s 
anthology “Sing, Do the birds of Spring” in the fourth series of books from #InstantEternal poetry prompts. She has been featured in the Bob Dylan-inspired anthology “Hard Rain Poetry: Forever Dylan” by the founder and editor of the website Fevers of the Mind 
“David L O’Nan”. Her poetries have been published 
in the anthology “Bare Bones Writing Issue 1: Fevers of the Mind”

 2 poems by Spriha Kant from Hard Rain Poetry Forever Dylan Anthology 

Poetry and stories inspired by the Red Tractor picture 

Poetry based on photography “The Lone Road to Moloka’I” from Maggs Vibo 

Bare Bones Writings Issue 1 is out on Paperback and Kindle 

Poetry based on photography Challenge from Ankh Spice pt. 1

2 poems by Spriha Kant from Hard Rain Poetry Forever Dylan Anthology

The Answer is blowing in the wind

Your promise to
paint the miserable night phase with a
jovial light phase in your
stump speech took all of us on a flight
and then we all in delight
cast our votes for you
We all are now fumbling in a squint and you
claim publicly that you shined our lives with lights.
We are all now sweating
Our mouths – now barren lands are
exhausted by the 
constant begs for water.
Then your beseeching voice again reached out
to all of us for casting our votes for you
on the pretext of bringing back the oasis into our deserted lives.

How many times will we all get a passionless scorching sun in 
return for our hope of getting our scintillating sun?
The answer is blowing in the wind.

Bob Dylan - the Glowing Avalanche till eternity 

When I thought to pen down a beautiful panegyric about Bob 
then all the words firstly became statues in surprise, then 
somehow quivered on my constant calling, poking and pinching,
and then flew away in flocks like prey escaping from a predator.
On searching for all of them,
I got none but just a note that read to me,
“We all the words are not enough to describe his
However, I dragged a few greatly magnificent words 
but then got a note that read to me,
“We all the inks are not that colorfully beautiful enough to 
 decorate his greatness by our letter strokes.”
I beseeched all of the inks to come out of their respective refills 
but none came out.
Then I repeatedly knocked all of the refills 
forcing all the inks to come out
and then I suddenly listened to the explosion and the howls of 
all the blank papers burnt severely by hot molten lava. “But how 
did this happen all of a sudden?”— whirled my head in the 
eddies of wondering till I did not get to see all the refills
emptied with many voids and crevices.

All blank papers burned though,
All refills emptied with many voids and crevices though,
But I saw and felt what Bob Dylan is —
“Bob Dylan” — the “Glowing Avalanche” till eternity…

Bio: Spriha Kant is born in Indore, India, and resides there with her family. She is pursuing M. Tech. in Structural Engineering. She developed an interest in reading and writing poetries at a very tender age. Apart from reading and writing poetries, she is also fond of calligraphy, embroidery, stitching, abstract paintings, acrylic paintings, and crochet. She is also an intense music lover. She has been a part of Stuart Matthew’s Anthology “Sing, Do the birds of Spring” in the fourth series of books from #InstantEternal Poetry prompts. 

Poetry: Black Jackets and Boneless by David L O’Nan

Black Jackets and Boneless

from Before the Bridges Fell and also in Hard Rain Poetry Anthology

Baby, we can keep running from this city. We can leave all the devils behind. We can watch as our denim leaves our black jackets and become boneless. Bareless, watching our shoes turn to rubber and dust.

We can drip the oil from our hands from broken cars. From hopes of stolen motorcycles that lay dead in the ditch. We can try to escape those devils behind. Once again, baby. Do you remember the words you said to me? You told me to jump from the bridges and just end it in a moment of anger, of sadness? Do you remember the way you felt when I said you were hopeless?

Do we remember the horrid things lovers say to each other when scared? When angry? When feeling like God isn't watching. Do you still want to run away with me? Do you want to throw our silver rings in the river and watch them float under?

Run with me, let's watch the light reflect off the rocks on a partly cloudy day. Find new life wherever that may be.

I know I can feel blind. And I can't hear your scream when they are whispers. I'm Van Gogh. I feel dead like him too. Maybe I can't see past the fields of flowers of imperfections. I need you to run with me. To find new angels that don't fail us and fall to feathers by our cold feet. The angels that failed me, failed you, but first failed God.

Let's run because we can't stay here. This is where the bridges will fall. This is where the witches cook up recipes in the cauldrons. This is where we will never see each other in the way we once saw each other. 

Black jackets full and run like a rogue, or boneless and bleached out like the skeletons giving up to be buried in shared dirt.

Hard Rain Poetry Anthology U.S. Link https://tinyurl.com/2p938cy8
International links on this page. 

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog. 

Available Now: Before I Turn Into Gold Inspired by Leonard Cohen Anthology by David L O’Nan & Contributors w/art by Geoffrey Wren 

Poetry from David L O’Nan in the Famous Poetry Outlaws are Painting Walls and Whispers


Inspired by Bob Dylan poems from Mark Andrew Heathcote

Lucifer’s wife

I’m waiting on my severance pay
And the gallows of the moon
When all you can say is I don’t care
Please, please go away 
What did you think I would do?
Did you think I would swoon?
Or drown in a lake 

Honey, I don’t care for all your cheap-talk
Darling takes a long walk all by your lonesome
Maybe the morning crickets will love you and cry
But-me I wish you would die

Please, please go away 
What did you think I would do?
Did you think I would whisper a fugitive’s-prayer?
Wish-you’d return a changed man 
No longer cruel or mean, please,
Please, please go away stop standing there
I’ve spider’s webs have better fair
With half-broken snare honey, what do I care?

I’m waiting, batting my blue soul-redeeming eyes.
But all my faults are my own faults that’s-no-surprise
And I am listening to all you say 
But have some heart for a yard dog’s bark 
Throw him a bone when he’s whimpering 
And he’s nowhere to steer, and the missed is closing in.

I’m waiting on my severance pay
And the gallows of the moon
But I’m stubborn I’m dogged 
I won’t throw in the towel
I’ll be happy with Lucifer’s wife
And darling evens you.

A thousand-different-ways

I’ll tread these hills a thousand-different-ways 
And catalogue every river and climb every mountain
I’ll turn every boulder and cross every crossroad
A little bit happier now I’m finding my way.

I’ll stop and talk to the gipsy woman and buy her heather
I won’t tread any more fearful than if you entered the room
And the whole of nature held its jealous breath
I’ll wash down my throat with water and bread
And thank the lord that I’m going to your bed.

I’ll burrow down with my beautiful 
My, how beautifully blessed are my eyes 
they’ve never-seen-better days
my, my cup is flowing overflowing 
because there’s an angel at my table 
and, she doesn’t-bark, 
she just-sings-like some heavenly skylark.

I’ll enter the dark because there’s an ember spark
and I’ll map every acre of god’s creation for you 
just to see those fireflies in your eyes looking back at me.

I’ll swim every river, lake and sea
I’ll cross every desert before I pass away
and know I’ve been saved, and I’m second-sighted 
and “prophetic thunder” he can only wonder
what I’ve done to deserve a woman like you.

The Lord of Catchers-Can

In the isles of a gutter
In the dim-lit graveyard of a church
A man must walk forever
With beggar's bowl in hand
And succumb to all the rough bad weather
A man can withhold, understand.

The Lord of Catchers-Can
Is both a shepherd and a man
From a palm of dust; father's the waters of the land.
And hails the wheat & barley to either fall or stand.

Into these storm drains of heaven
A dream is, washed away
Like the rains of yesterday.
A holy man sojourning for a little while came
And then was gone
Where no such earthly vanities belong
And blessed us in one name
In the light of the eternal flame
All sinners are likewise the same.

The Lord of Catchers-Can
Is both a shepherd and a man 
From a palm of dust; father's the waters of the land.
And hails the wheat & barley to either fall or stand.

It's here I've heard it said
We pay for the eyes of the dead
In the living hearts and souls left
To do, our living, to do, our living, when we're dead
So take my hand, 
The ways of the Lord are yours and mine to command, 
For every child, woman or a man.

The Lord of Catchers-Can
Is both a shepherd and a man
From a palm of dust; father's the waters of the land.
And hails the wheat & barley to fall, and stand.

Bio: Mark Andrew Heathcote is adult learning difficulties support worker, he has 200-plus poems published in journals, magazines, and anthologies both online and in print, he resides in the UK, from Manchester, Mark is the author of “In Perpetuity” and “Back on Earth” two books of poems published by Creative Talents Unleashed.

3 poems from Christian Garduno influenced by Bob Dylan

photo by Cory Polacek

Ghost Station

I’m a ghost standing at your station, mama
wondering if this train’s ever gonna show
sometimes I think you tickle my brain
and the whole scene is just for show

It’s pathological, mama
the way you wrap around my head
I find myself about to boil over
maybe I should just walk home instead

I should sit down and write you a letter
I’ve got your address memorized by heart
the only thing I’ve written is “THE END”
and I think it’s a pretty good start

It’s Reaganomic, mama
the way you trickle down my spine
the space between us is quite maddening
but I can’t unspend my time

One of these days, I’m gonna down take your picture
but your eyes are tattooed across my heart
you always take me to the end of the line
and I think that’s a pretty good place to start

Hiroshima Skyline Rag

Hot river of ashes
lava making its way down your throat
when your eyes start to cross
you know you’ve no thoughts to float

So look at what we have done to them
we will do it to ourselves by accident or fate
But it’s not for me to mention
if we’re on time or if we are late

The Mountain has been decimated
the shrine has been desecrated
They lean into me
telling me- this is victory

Their words are mausoleums
empty without sacrament
They only hear echoes
of their own vehement 

Hot river of ash
lava coating your throat
you’ve got eyes to get across
you know your soul will float

But it’s not for me to mention
if we’re on time or if we are too late

The Oracle

The Oracle of Delphi has spoken
with her drunken voice unbroken
She muttered now’s the time
to rip the wine from the vine

She couldn’t have known it was me
who was picking up scraps from her feet
She was tossing down diamond fillings
as I went sweeping up her street

Apollo was spaced out, he never heard a word
some say behind his back
He’s gonna burn up upon re-entry
well, I had to laugh at that

The Oracle of Delphi layed me down
though I realized it was only in jest
when I said I had no answer
She told me that I passed the test

Apollo, he was stargazing
wondering if it was odd
that the fellow in the mirror
was a sad young God

Bio: Christian Garduno’s work can be read in over 100 literary magazines. He’s the recipient of the 2019 national Willie Morris Award for Southern Poetry, a Finalist in the 2020-2021 Tennessee Williams & New Orleans Writing Contest, and a Finalist in the 2021 Julia Darling Memorial Poetry Prize. He lives and writes along the South Texas coast with his wonderful wife Nahemie and young son Dylan.

Poetry: That’s How You Put Faith in Me by Christian Garduno

A Poetry Showcase by Christian Garduno

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Christian Garduno