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this poem is untitled as there are no words

The strong one, she is gone The young one, she is gone The energetic dancer The music maker The flute player The mother The friend The sister Gone

So early it came So fast and hard So short-lived it turned out to be Suddenly, unbelievably, life quickly ebbed away Try as you may there was no stopping it Fighting to heal while fighting to save The most modern of sciences Couldn’t sustain That heart

So the tears and the candles and the prayers Serve to support the final act of the body As the spirit glides toward the ethereal light Easily forgetting the trials of the day We can only imagine Where How When What

Left with the memories Filling our mind and heart Unaccustomed to this empty space We now feel in our being We know we must sing and dance And remember the lessons she taught us The smile, the beauty Of our departed friend, Toshi.

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #helengosch

i love the endless roads

I love the endless roads I love the big gardens The roaring rivers I love all the movies in which the prisoners succeed in escaping I long to be freed I miss drinking the sun Kissing the soil Touching the water Inside me, a prisoner sentenced to life Curved and old With a magnifying glass in hand Is revising the escape plans

Rasool Yoonaan. Translation by Majid Rozei, 2022.

---------

جاده های بی پایان را دوست دارم دوست دارم باغ های بزرگ را رودخانه های خروشان را من تمام فیلم هایی را که در آنها زندانیان موفق به فرار می شوند دوست دارم! دلتنگ رهایی ام دلتنگ نوشیدن خورشید بوسیدن خاک لمس آب. درمن یک محکوم به حبس ابد پیر و خمیده با ذره بینی در دست نقشه های فرار را مرور می کند!

رسول یونان

‐--‐‐----

Jaadehaayeh bi paayaan raa doost daaram Doost daaram baaghhaayeh bozoorg raa Roodkhaanehayeh khorooshaan raa Man tamaame filmhaaii raa ke dar aan Zendaaniaan movafagh be faraar mishavand Doost daaram Deltangeh rahaaiiam Deltangeh nooshidaneh khorshid Boosidaneh khaak Lamseh aab Dar man yek mahkoom be habseh abad Pir o khamideh Baa zarehbini dar dast Naghsheyeh faraar raa moroor mikonad

Rasool Yoonaan

(Photo by shankar s. via Flickr, Creative Commons CC BY 2.0 licence.)

#poems #poetry #poets

full-time job

He asked, “Your job”? I said, “I am a poet” He laughed and stamped the palm of my hand

On the discharge form from the hospital The official in charge had put “free occupation” as my job

I laughed How could a prisoner have being free as a job?!

My love, I think of you... Of you, who know I am a poet And that loving you is my full-time job

Poem in Persian by Baktash Abtin, translation (c) Majid Rozei 2022.

ORIGINAL:

پرسید شغل؟ گفتم شاعرم خندید و کف دستم را مهر زد

روی برگه‌ی اعزام به بیمارستان افسر نگهبان شغل‌ام را «آزاد» نوشته بود خندیدم چگونه یک زندانی می تواند شغلش آزاد باشد؟! محبوبم به تو فکر می‌کنم به تو، که می‌دانی شاعرم و دوست داشتن تو شغل تمام وقت من است

بکتاش آبتین

(Photo: Public domain image from Pikrepo.com.)

#poems #poetry #iranianpoetry #persianpoetry

the darkest night

Laughing in the dark she smacks your skin alert Then throws her pearls out wide across the universe While in the spaces between rocks and pines she hides It is a game, and from the tops of waves she flies Then dives To free the nightbirds from their silver trap A dozen ghostly forms lift off against the black Quick to rise and quick to fade For the moon is lost on the other side And her breath now gathers dense as life Thick as a memory of her smile She knows you know It’s time for some to live and some to die In the beauty of her darkest night

Image: "Birds flying into the night" by Barb Henry, from Flickr, Creative Commons CC BY-SA 2.0 licence.

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #roberthale #darkness #darkestnight #wintersolstice

tears of darkness

From lands of green and plenty You travelled north to meet me I thought you would have loved me Your road was long and hard, and you did not give up But you came and saw, and love me you did not Your thoughts and prayers were only for your lover lost And for all that I am holy Your black-clad priests did only fear me

With your words I'm falsely named In sayings, proverbs, thoughts and songs In poems, myths and sagas I'm defamed Rejected, I am the cradle of the damned In hymns and prayers I shall be refused Because I hide the snarling thing unchained The thing reflected in your dreams But look well, it is only you

Few know how I am really blessed Few see in me what others missed I come in peace, I am Your softest bed of rest And the one for whom your eyes are made Was my lover first Who travelling through me Led you to the gleaming forest glade As I watched from the space between the trees Between the stars, where in the depths of mystery I stood and shed my tears

No, I am the cradle of all that lives And dies This nobody sees Your eyes For me are blind

Royalty-free photo from https://www.pikist.com/free-photo-sjpsd

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #roberthale #darkness

unreachable

Images that come and come again Like ghosts Never can they be held

A path weaves bleak across a shallow grassy rise Large boulders here and there about the land Then, a saddle wide across to the greater climb There the way goes up and round the mountain's pleated skirts On an outer bend a way station, a little tea shop stop Though high, we are but on a lower slope And up the trail, an unremembered wilderness I want so much once more to travel on To where I travelled on another day But always time runs out, the image fades Before I make the way

I know the river bend lies beyond the wood and over hill Descend the cliff and there, a spot of rarest beauty Wide and deep the river runs with rocky islands off the bend And then, downstream the shallows ripple in delight Warm is the sun in the dying afternoon Oh, to dive and swim under waters clear and sweet To hunt like an otter, breathe like the trout But always darkness falls, the air comes cold Before I make the river bank

By the sea there's a beach that stretches away beyond sight or thought A place I know so well and yet again know not at all The way there etched rough and deep into my bone So many times I've joined the waves in play Each time I sorely yearn to play again But summer quickly turns to chill and dark And as I run the sun's last rays are fading fast And as I run I lose the way so well I know And always winter's curtain falls Before I make the shore

Images that come and come again Like phantoms Never to be held

Image: Rogue River Bend by Rangerdavid, via Wikipedia, reproduced under Creative Commons licence CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #roberthale

the marble lady

Part 1 – The Garden

Rainbow sunshine beams Through the leaves Of bushes and trees A child of dreams It is all he sees The coloured fish and frogs Under the flowers in the pond And the beautiful marble lady That never speaks Behind the garden walls Sounds of the great beyond Where children weep themselves to sleep

Part 2 – The Paper Room

Through the window see, The cherry tree blossoms Casting petals in the wind Inside the paper room The sounds of strings The holy father sweetly dies Behind the screens And the accordion sings Of a love that is lost And yet.. born again No prayers, no sign of the cross The marble lady weeps by the train The guitar has fallen into tune My words to you are all the same Like the snow- capped mountain And the flaming moon Life knows not of any name

Part 3 – Broken Glass

The marble lady takes my hand And leads me through narrow streets The shining stones of the holy land

There is nothing but gold and sorrow Maybe only the dust remains There is no today only tomorrow

The straw has frozen into stone The shining star is broken glass The empty past is cold and gone

He who walks alone in the chill of night From the shadows hears a whispered lie Deep in sleep recalls the days of light

Across the wasteland, robes and gowns The spirit left long, long ago The candles bleed on faceless clowns

Artwork by the author.

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #perevergescoma

sleeping by the waterfall

Sleeping by the waterfall Darling little one The river singing for you softly Its forever song

You had hardly lived Before you had to go But the world showed you secrets Only made for you

Dreams floating by like jewels Sweet shadowed memories Do you see the flowers In those mystery hills of green?

Remember the mist after rain? The darting of the swifts? And Gecko on the ceiling Going chik-chik-chik-chik-chik?

Asleep by the waterfall You precious little one Butterflies dance above your brow A journey just begun

Can you hear the call of the doo-doo-doo bird? Insects whistling out of sight? The laughter of the evening frogs And the thousand sounds of night?

Sunlight patterns through the leaves A leaf floats to your chest Carried like you, our little one On fragrant air of East

You had hardly lived at all Before you had to go But the world showed you secrets Only made for you

You saw it all with priceless eyes Left magic dust on Earth Now carry your jewels with open hands Across the universe

Sleeping by the waterfall Darling little one The river singing for you softly Its forever song

(Image: Background photo of waterfall by the author. Superimposed photo of girl sleeping from Maxpixels.net, reproduced according to Creative Commons licence CC0 1.0.)

For Nora Quorin.

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #roberthale

up by heaven’s door

Up by heaven’s door The old man came down With plates of ćevapi We sat sipping beer The old partisan And we foreign three

And here he tells a tale of how They pulled his nails out in the war Their voices in his ear still now A hateful, hated sound And stroking the Aussie girl’s soft cheek Wistful is his smile As he digs his bullets in the ground And a glisten pricks his eye But no tear does he let fall

Up by heaven’s gate In the shadow of three peaks The day is getting late The ruffled water’s almost black The northern shore is wild and far Long black clouds are coming down Then ice balls hiss the churning lake And standing in an old hay barn You shiver like a new born ghost You must walk free, but now It’s getting dark, you cannot see

Back in town What’s fun, the American asks With walking in the rain You reply to you its all the same Then Jan takes up his old guitar He’s knocking on heaven’s door And you laugh as you begin to sing Jan, take these boots off of me ‘Coz I don’t need them any more And on the step three fates sit listening Up by heaven’s door

(Memories of Bled and Bohinj, Slovenia, c. 1981.)

Photo: Bohinj lake (Triglav National Park, Slovenia) in the morning, by Mihael Simonič, from Wikimedia Commons. Creative Commons licence CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.es).

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #roberthale #triglav #bohinj #bohinjskojezero #bled #slovenia

the lane we walk along

I can see just halfway down the lane we walk along There the curling mist obscures the further view I think it must be just as beautiful beyond As it is behind The going here is good, the map is true But who will know this way once the map is lost? Or when the lane itself is naught but gravel under forest roots?

We hear a cello playing through a window as we pass The gaslight seems to flicker with its pitch and strength The notes sound well but fade as distance reaches back Of beauty strangely heightened from afar Its loveliness follows on our steps Will any remain that tells, through the heavy silence of the mist? Who will move to her tune when the cellist lays down her bow?

I read from a book I found along the way A poem at once bewitching and bewitched That pulsed and breathed and took to wing Then as I read, flew and danced as real before my eyes But my eyes grew dim before I reached the end Leaving sore longing in my heart The book abandoned now is turned to dust That rises from the tread of travellers next How long can what flew forth bewitch? Or has the bewitching vanished with the book?

A photo flutters in the breeze, jumping on, one step away I see your smile again as it takes to air, too quick to catch A smile in your eyes to pump the heart and burst Will the smile remain when the photo pulps to mud in rain? Or parches yellow and cracks under the harshly biting sun?

My love, my friend, my father, mother, brother, cousin all My fellow seekers met, my fellow walkers arm-in-arm Who with us have shared a way upon the lane Through curling mist the cellist notes we loved The poet’s words like siren songs upon our ears Your countenance we loved as one of us and more Your footfall was of our life as much as of your own Will we hear it once our flesh is washed to earth? Will your time with us have sense once our bones and yours Are dust on the lane, or gravel under forest roots?

Purposes and purpose, awareness and awarenesses Meanings, meaning, feelings, feeling Connections and connection All of this and nothing In a flickered gaslight flame, refracted Through a cellist’s window pane On the lane we walk along Before the curling mist Obscures the view

(Photo by shrutikhanna, via Pixabay, CC0 Creative Commons licence.)

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #roberthale #lifejourney

and

And..

There was sound, it was There was form, it was There was joy, it was All moved with meaning Words came forth Clearly singing From the sea of thought

At first the unnamed were surprised with joy Poetry was pure with all There were no rules There were no falls

Words were as good as their form Harmony prevailed..for a time Time, set in motion by the moving storm One step ahead of silent rhyme

Silence followed every moving step As words multiplied endlessly Their true nature to forget Now written on the bark of trees

Inside the castle walls mayhem ensued Powered by flailing machines Sins fighting as they queued To enter the ball in the hall of screams Alone it lay outside the trembling walls A word so humble devoid of form Unnoticed yet the last on call Like silence still unborn

Unexpected beauty unfolding hope Smoothly uniting the unknown The endless coils of words of rope The imagined flight of sound alone

And..

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #perevergescoma #words

the wrong kind of death

Through the stark vastness of window glass To the void of a night-time February street There is nothing, but she does not look Just a mirror, but she dare not see – To examine it gets just too bleak There is nothing, there, any more She will not look and does not speak

A waiter, a glass of water on a tray For her, a beer for him, She looks about the room, looks to the street Looks to the awful window glass, the marks Of all dried up raindrops past He looks at his beer, at the door, at his feet He stares at his beer, he does not speak

Middle age passes like that lone white van On the street. Her face, once winning Bright smiling on a bright wedding day In May, now Is pickle-sour His is a greying piece of card, a menu Unchanging, with nothing to choose And the van goes on its way

An inch-thick dirty raindrop spotted pane Three yards tall Bisects the universe between them wall to wall Made of crystalline dumb despair And each with a cap of boredom screwed Each day so tightly round the skull It hurts it screeches dull dull dull

Escape is an unlikely thing now From a going-to-death neither foresaw Recognition, a slow-sliding worm And nothing ever was done to turn Away from that giant sucking leech The leech is filled, the spirit anaemic now Too weak To even to crawl Or reach For a better kind of death

Santa Eulària des Riu, Eivissa, February 2018.

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #roberthale

Haiku by Loraine Parsons. Royalty free photo from Pxfuel.com.

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #loraineparsons #haiku

Visit Original Link

Let’s warm up slowly Swing your arms high then lowly. Lean your head from side to side Raise up your arms high and wide. Move your body to the beat Start to feel the heat. Let’s speed up the tempo We know the way we go. Grapevine to the right Keep your tummy tight. Grapevine to the left Footwork clearly deft.

Shoulders up back and down Someone deserves a crown. Ballerinas tall and straight Yes, we can control our weight. Ready pick up your hoop Hold it straight don’t stoop. Twirl it round and round Place it on the ground.

Slowly, slowly bring it down Breath in deep and touch the ground. Tap your shoulders, wave and say Well done everyone. Enjoy your day!

Artwork: Ladies at the Gym by t-dawg, from Flickr.com, Creative Commons licence CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #loraineparsons

the speaking drum

The Speaking Drum is dead The silence that it brought at night Alive in the light of the sun it sang again Alas it spoke in its last plight And then the skin it stretched in flames A poem written in sound so bright No more a dream without a name The Speaking Drum lies in the dust Forgotten, lost and left to wane Forever free to be, as it must The time for words has fled The Speaking Drum is dead

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #perevergescoma

the apprentice’s introduction to fire

Two poems by the irrepressible Helen Gosch...

"The Apprentice's Introduction to Fire"

She stuck her hand With her phone Down the inside of the Stone cold barrel To make a video To see if the pots were touching The pyrometer that measures the heat.

Clever girl, thought I, To defy the elements, Playing God, Pulling up a perfect shape From earth and water, Throwing on some chemicals, Firing it up to red hot heat of 1000 degrees C., To maybe create an object Of exquisite beauty Or maybe a small galaxy On the side of the kiln.

Meanwhile...

"On the Side of the Kiln"

On the side of the kiln Maybe a small galaxy Of exquisite beauty Maybe create an object Firing it up to red hot heat of 1000 degrees C Throwing on some chemicals From Earth and water Pulling up a perfect shape Playing God Defying the elements Clever girl thought I

The pyrometer measures the heat See if the pots were touching Make a video Stone cold barrel Down the inside With her phone She stuck her hand

#poems #poetry #poets #ibizapoets #helengosch

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