Spring Came...

Spring came. With clothes of winter still
wrapped round me, I walk to the bus.
Growing craftier everyday
To a world on its hinges.
The noise and wind work at the nerve,
I only have to look at my jacket
And I became melancholy.
I only have to speak of shoes and
I weep. The misunderstood nature
of conflict swallows the world's truth
With a dogs decorum for concern.
Working everyday wears away the
Immunity like a pair of
Shoes. You can repair the laces,
The heels but when your soul gives out-
It's over.

Tom Harding
www.tomarianne.net
tom.harding@talk21.com

The Voice of Despair

Triangles of half-open doors
Reveal all the truth that is hidden:
Just condoms and cans on the floor,
Black papers with verses, forbidden -
Unfinished remakes of the song,
Deprived of the right to speak loud
Of wicked intentions gone wrong -
Erasers have muffled the shout.

The only illusion-proof mind -
A poet, the voice of despair,
Sincere, the one of this kind
Throws verses far into the air
Right there, in a dirty old flat
Among once great talents, now rotten.
They all have deserved more than that,
But even their names are forgotten.

April A.
St. Petersburg, Russia
beautiful-disaster-90@hotmail.com

You Never Know

Tomorrow I shall be new
Wake up glowing
Wake up knowing

When the morning hits the window pane
I’ll wake up sane

Sleeping madly, sleeping badly
I toss and turn
Burning the midnight oil
No reward for this toil

Promises are never kept
No matter what dreams are dreamt
I say tomorrow but I know
The day is lost
I’ve lost it now

Natalie Williams
Liverpool,
United Kingdom

www.natalie-williams.com
nataliewilliams.gypsybutterfly@googlemail.com

Untitled

When the paper arrives,
the news is rumors mixed with fact
strangely sprinkled in seasoned sections,

-scientist stare into atoms face
electrons report

news and evenings
fantasy,

Where the paper caught
the bridge fall,
the tower topple
and that strange
virus renamed
to killer status-

Oh yeah,
the cop,
who could forget them,
strolling streets with the tough voice
looking for vagrants-

names and addresses
and papers,
more paper-

I feel guilty thinking
I missed it.


Dave Barber
Albuquerque, New Mexico
United States

Poetic Loss

The following poem is a tribute to Ancient Heart Magazine, its editor, Richard James van der Draay, and to the fellow poets, its contributors.

There was once a time

when poets wrote poetry

for the sake of poetry itself

no slashing of paper

in painful red

no squirmings of self-pity

in whining blue

no rantings against the world

in merciless black

no railings against fate

in envious green

there was once a time

when readers read poetry

for the sake of poetry itself

not to escape from

drudgery or grinding chores

not to run away from

concrete steel chains

not to blank away

depressing truths

not to find solace

in virtual reality

there was once a time

when bards let poetry

flow through their pens

to blow out new creations

catch metaphorical pearls,

set sensations to music

dance, fly, whirl

spiral through

rhyming similes

twirling idioms

build scented paths

to sublime spheres

there was once a time

when poetry lovers

floated languorously

between unfathomable lines

to roll around, chew upon,

absorb, fully savour

the unforgettable flavour

of each melodious rhyme

pulsing with subtle spices

to sublimate their emotions

through the perfume of

incandescent verses.

Sultana Raza © 2009

Luxembourg

Leaving

Spirits drag
wool to her eyes
the silence inside
the telephone dies
the lion paces
the old crow flies
by the way
of missed goodbyes
lightning screams
thunder cries
the dogma star
must ostrasize
the trilogy
of quasi lies
to the moon
it's no surprise
the little star
pokes green eyes
the pulsing sun
burns out and dies
the lion paces
the old crow flies

Carrie O'Neil
Pizwat23@yahoo.com
You can also find me on MySpace Mama Freak

Review: Theodore in November - Natalie Williams

Theodore in November is the second poetry offering by the wonderful poet Natalie Williams. This poet made a convincing impression on this editor with her first poetry volume and now, once again, has produced something very special. Theodore in November (ISBN 978-1-906600-10-5) was published by Jeremy Mills Publishing Limited (www.jeremymillspublishing.co.uk) www.natalie-williams.com

The poems in this book seem to illustrate an allegorical journey with as its main characters Theodore/love and November/Eden; a journey of self-discovery and the realisation of true love, that ephemeral and elusive fabled beast.

There are some truly stunning and haunting poems in this collection and, as I am coming to expect with Natalie Williams, the author often strikes just the right poetic tone, hits home to the reader’s heart and makes her point in a direct and wondrous manner.

In ‘Cover me in Latin’ I am fixed by the lines ‘Easy lover/I’m skinned by you/And gift wrapped in joy/Present me to your finest woes/And I shall curl my toes’. Sheer beauty and so incredibly evocative. Williams is the mistress of setting the mood. In ‘Words of Wine’, I am treated to ‘And I am liquid in your hands/Liquid to fulfil your demands/Flow to meet your commands/You drink me up yet I am drunk with you/. Who can resist a poetic flow like this?

Theodore in November seems to be an exploration of precisely those feelings that make human beings feel human, and, at times, immortal. These are themes that resonate throughout the ages; love and loss, longing and desire, the quenching and the hurt, the pain and the bliss involved in the mere act of living and loving. This, all said, is a beautiful book of poetry.

I will leave you with a few more lines that inspired this editor. What joy is poetry when it comes in the form of sublime craft. From ‘Take me back to November’: ‘Take me back to November/Make me remember/The steps I took to December/../Develop me/Envelop me/Play with me/Today with me/Stay with me’. And also: ‘Blow me into a Rainbow/Fly me like a kite/Let me be the moonlight/On a November night’.