Holiday Interlude by Ankh Spice from Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen

Every morning she’s down there
on the verge, barefoot and swaying her weight
like her holy soles are slow-burning

The light here is an old violin, cracked
varnish music
scratching bars through the watcher’s window
and her grey head bows angel time while she dances
if that’s what this is

By the eighth morning I’ve composed her life
from scraps, quilting her song
with real wild bright minors
I toast her with coffee
and sing her down ribbons

The day I leave she treadles the gutter
stormwater, kicks up sticks and feathers
cursing the rain
cursing the pigeons, the windows, the watcher
wearing a whole different heart
and the light is more hammer than strings

Photo by (c) Ankh Spice

@seagoatscreams on Twitter

2020 Pushcart Nominee

Ankh Spice is a poet from Aotearoa (New Zealand), who has an abiding love of the sea, and story-songs that include small mysteries. His poetry has been recently published in Black Bough Poetry, Burning House Press, and Pixel Heart Magazine, and has recently completed his first chapbook.  @SeaGoatWhoScreamsPoetry on Facebook.

 

 

 

Re-post:Poetry by Neel Trivedi from Fevers of the Mind Press Anthologies

Why the Hate?

I ask a stranger how s/he was born?

From a mother’s womb they say.

Just like I once was.

So why the hate?

I ask a baby what religion is.

To the best of my ability to decipher baby talk,

s/he appears not to know.

Just like when I was a baby,

blissfully unaware of grown-up talk.

So why the hate?

I ask a stranger how s/he communicates?

With a tongue just like mine, they say.

The birthplace of every language, I think.

So why the hate?

I once spilled paint on my arm.

A palette of various colors made habitats on my skin

before leaving during my next shower.

Yet my heart, personality & identity

remained the same throughout.

So why the hate?

I try to form a collective hypothesis of my conversations:

We’re all born the same way & die someday.

Skin color & religion prove to be highly incompetent

to help a heartbeat, lungs breathe & brain cells grow.

So why the hate?

Beauty: A New Definition

For generations the wise ones have said

That beauty is in the eye of the beholder

But time passes, generations evolve

Some simple, some a lot bolder

Some proverbs die

Some new are born

Left to all to choose

Which are progress, which are scorn

Perhaps a similar time has come

To give beauty a new definition

Leaving the beholder out & say

beauty is in the heart of the pious one!

Beyond the Obvious

How the naive think

What abuse means

Perhaps some blue bruises

And a shattered spleen

Such evidence & signs

Are no doubt a fear

But is there no value

Of an isolated tear?

Everyone sees the obvious

Without a look inside

Curse this bloody flesh that makes

The wounded heart hide!

The Invisible Aura

Step into the vortex of my soul

To decode the language

I often speak to myself

Every night when I peel off my mirage

That the sea of gazes around me

surmises to be nonchalance

This is my universe where:

Depression is not a mere mood swing

It’s an actual chemical imbalance

My facial expressions are not always

Gateways to the feelings of my heart

Sometimes they are merely decor

My silence is not a symbol

Of any kind of equanimity

Listen to the aura who’s decibels

Don’t roar like a lion

But squeal like a mouse

Observe the aura that’s the

shy one in the corner

Acknowledge the unfelt emotions

For you may not feel them

But just a moment of your cognizance

Could determine their fate for eons

Soul Whisperer

I come with no ostentation

No glory or cavalcade

For I creep upon this junction

Not to arouse a racket

But to dismember the status quo

I make no proclamations to be

Your knight in shining armor

Or to dry your tears

But to bequeath equity of them

To feast on the salt with thee

I come not to sheath your malformations

But to stand in their gallery

And be a zealot for ages

Of what my heart senses to be

Not wounds but victors of endurance

Think not of me as a paladin

In a quaint fable

But a commoner just to proclaim :

I once bore what you did

 

And hearken the language of your soul

That others have stained as an enigma!

 

The Midas Scratch

 

Lay your fingers on the canvas of my flesh

And scratch till what you carve

Becomes the cynosure attire of my body

Never to be removed

Till the mind in its entirety

Is severed from the bones

Take no heed of any provisional brood

Or waterfalls of blood

For the blemishes will eventually mitigate

But the fable your fingers nurture with love

Will give me an immortal prevalence

To any and all around me!

Playing Along 

After Leonard Cohen’s “Waiting for the Miracle”

When the heart drowns in total despair

I soothe it by telling tall tales

Of an intoxication known as hope

A miracle is coming, says the heart

The mind just plays along

I dance in the name off faith

Even when my feet are numb

Lest I reveal the inner abyss

A miracle is coming, says the soul

The body just plays along

Stay in the slaughterhouse

So, my wounds can blend in

Lie in the rain so tears seem small

A miracle is coming, say the tears

The eyes just play along

So far not a sign

Not even a mere shadow

Or the calm before the storm

A miracle is coming, I say

The miracle just plays along

Neel photo(c) Neel Trivedi

Neel Trivedi is a freelance journalist & in the advertising business in Dallas, TX. He writes poetry & fiction. His work has been featured in Rhythm & Bones Magazine, Drabblez Magazine, Paragraph Planet, Dodging The Rain, Mojave Heart Review, Elephants Never, Chronos Anthology, Rising From The Ashes Anthology and Purpose Magazine. As well as Dailywisdomwords.com  He can be reached on Twitter @Neelt2001   

Poetry by Arun Kapur

1)
Yo ♥
You know something.
It’s gonna be alright, ya know?
The crooks at the top, try to bring us down.
What they don’t realise is that we are power.
The richest who get everything they desire , even they can’t escape a dance with the reaper.
2)
Codebreaker like a enigma, but even this one will be tough to break.
Words they spew of support, a ”true” love, one they fake.
Darkest of times with their own true reveal.
Allow that love and light in, it will be the answer in our heal
3)
Calling. They are calling.
The system shutting me down.
My smile always there despite a frown.
Silent setting amongst crowded scenes.
Sometimes I’ll try anything survival by any means.
Setting sail swiftly, yearning just to be heard.
The world keeps you trapped like a caged bird.
Some vibes appear true, but shelter their fake, some of us seek attention for false sake.
A hand I put, out for one to reach.
Take me away from this land of poison and leech.
4)If the angels try to take me, I shall let them set me free.
If my time here is up, I will sip my last cup.
If echos tell me no just stay, I will hand you my love to stay protected each day.
Don’t cry for me when I leave this place, as I know gave my all to finish the race.
Art, Photos, Poetry (c)Arun Kapur
Twitter: @Arunkapur47
@lighthousemedia
Arun’s book available on Amazon (UK) The Blindside Memoirs by [Kapur, Arun]

Re-post Poetry: Fine by K Weber

Fine

I cringe with my
entire nervous
system at the spider’s
web then long
to place it
in my photograph.
There is almost
muscle where

the silks bind
together; opulent
curve and square.
I always step
into the prickly
glue of it, jump
back, attached, I
wield temporary

spinnerets; shudder
to shutter, I snap
back, snapshot mode,
as light hits
and the leftover
net turns tinsel. My
thigh as steady
as a dampened

noodle, I become
the spider’s toady,
cheering its best
angle. A battered
wing sighs, a fly;
tied to the web
as a damsel
on the railroad

track. Another picture
opportunity finds
me finding the right
cold-blood moment
before these
insects return
to respective exile.

AUTHOR BIO: K Weber lives and writes in southwestern Ohio. THIS ASSEMBLY is her 5th self-published online chapbook and audiobook project. Her writing has been included in issues of Memoir Mixtapes, Detritus Online, Black Bough Poetry, Writer’s Digest, Moonchild Magazine, Theta Wave and more! Her photography has appeared in such literary magazines as Barren Magazine and Nightingale & Sparrow. K earned her BA in Creative Writing from Miami University in 1999. More publishing credits and access to all of her online book projects at: http://kweberandherwords.wordpress.com Twitter: @KWandherwords

Photography by K Weber