Our Guests
29/05/2013 MM. Lots of this poetry was written about 10 years ago. We will be publishing just a very limited volume as the other writing is too personal. M is quite a multi-talented girl: she studied music, art (visual art), philosophy, languages (French and German) and accounting at Melbourne Uni, she draws and writes prose as well.
Silence
You can not write silence onto a page. You can not send a blank letter. I wish you were here so I could be quiet with you. Prehistoric poets You use words like crude tools, their legato stifled, stuck in the back of your throat: the guttural warble of a broken spade sunk into rich and fruitful soil or a hand-fashioned sandstone axe flung wildly at sleek metaphors. Fishin' Methinks the fisherman has caught himself a shark - A fish his nets can't keep and boat cannot support. Yet he he maintains the line. Hooked firmly to his bark, The beast is tethered tightly and the line is taut. What use has he for her? A stew, a steak, a dish With spice and wonder or is she but testament To skill and courage of his crew, meant to distinguish Men from boys as women brim with wonderment? A shark! The whispers gather on the deck like smoke, A haze of fear and pride, they savour their reward While their night's catch fights vainly 'gainst unyielding yoke - The sun picks out staccato splashes overboard. Beneath a full white sail, the plunderers of the sea Debate their options: cut it loose or keep it snared? Under their captain's caustic eye, they all agree: The line cannot be hewed, it holds a catch too rare. So they return to port, the wearied beast in tow, Dragged by determined boat t'ward hungry waiting lips, Ready to feast and praise and drink and sing 'bravo,' A crowd collects to watch and greet the ship... But wait awhile - the story isn't done just yet, For all but one had yielded to the captain's wish. One conscience compromised, one heart filled with regret Had waited until backs were turned and loosed the fish. And thus, she lives today, indebted to his name, His tender mercy greater than his lust for fame. |
Intellect in iambic pentameter
For countless thinkers in this mortal plane, Both great and small, remembered or forgot, Though some may fear their minds have toiled in vain, I craft this verse, assuring you they've not. With ignorance our foremost foe, we sought Great truths as nourishment for hungry minds, And yet our hunger grew with each fresh thought. "O, unjust paradox!" wept humankind. And some, disheartened thus, forsook the quest, And turned to simple and immediate joys: Once hungry minds now lay in idle rest, Once powerful wits now withered, unemployed. I hail brave scholars, who, in times of doubt Turned not on knowledge frightened backs. Instead, Armed with a step determined and devout, Sought knowledge out and ne'er from darkness fled. In gratitude extends this modest rhyme To those whom I give audience and ear, And those forever lost in folds of time And distance - those, whose work I'll never hear. Like me, you lent your audience to great, Now timeless, bards, philosophers and men Of science - those, whose talent was innate. To you they owe that they are read again. So hearken, agile minds and fearless hearts: Unless, of course, your motives selfish prove, Take comfort in that you have played your part In keeping living that which I now love. *** Frustration lent my mortal loins, this song. I fear I've left it short - or far too long. |
24/05/2013. Jaye. Our beautiful guest today is Jaye. Jaye is a nickname of a girl and a wonderful poetess who would like to remain incognito. Please enjoy her poetry.
We started having fun
But when all is said and done We know it won’t last and it will end soon, These fleeting games we play And all our wicked ways Blame temptation for triggering this journey. A boost for my esteem I’m a pawn in your little scheme Just a secret shared between us and the moon, Enjoy it while it lasts ‘Cos soon the time will pass Look back and smile at these fond memories. ________________________________________ Emerging from affliction, The torment she suffered long, Now she’s feeling more upbeat She wants to carry on. Temptation sways her actions And she finds herself in bed With someone who’s forbidden Who’s now stuck inside her head. She knows that it is wrong But she keeps playing the game, She hopes to have some fun and He can help her with her aim: To overcome the history, The pain she knows too well, Increase her self-esteem and build A stronger outer-shell. He holds her at arm’s length, Never lets her get too close, To ease inevitability, To make me easy to dispose. She understands his mindset She doesn’t want to intrude, Intrigued by his mystique, Attraction puts her in the mood. She knows it won’t last long She’s just having a bit of fun, She’ll look back on this smiling When it’s all said and done. _______________________________ “Fight” – Oct 2012 After all I’ve been through All the hurt, all the sadness… On the other side of misery I have discovered gladness. Having forgotten my identity Obliterated my inspiration, The door has opened to find Rapture in rejuvenation. Before I opened my eyes Before I learned I’m right I was clouded by your guise And I didn’t want to fight Hope will keep me motivated While the door is still ajar, I don’t see the full picture Yet the discovery cannot be far. But now I’ve opened my eyes And now I’ve learned I’m right I will not compromise So until I die, I’ll fight! Now I’ve found my inspiration The spark that lights my flame, I’ll continue building motivation You are what I overcame… And now I’ve opened my eyes Now I’ve learned how I am right I will not give in to you And I won’t give up the fight. |
27/12/2012
If I turned back the years I’d keep most of it the same My child is my world, its his father who’s to blame For the sadness and the stresses that became unbearable But now I’ve left, I look back knowing its all repairable. Time caters for healing, for righting all those wrongs To replenish what’s been missing and put things where they belong I’m well on my way to achieving this, but there’s still a gaping hole A gap for a loving partner who can share with me their soul. “Lessons Learned” – 01/11/2012. She is all alone now Trying her best be strong But all the love she had And the hope she had is gone. She cries alone at night Hoping someday he will see Just what he did to hurt her Why all she could do was flee. He’s selfish, so he cannot see How fast it went downhill He’s stubborn, so he can’t agree And just what did it fulfil? Too proud to just admit that He created his own fate By treating her so badly Consequence held such a weight. But at long last she is free again She can hold her head up high For in the end she was the one Strong enough to say goodbye. She knows the road is long now And full of twists and turns But she will start to live again And take her lessons learned “Thank you”– 01/11/2012. Thank you, I cannot feel secure anymore Thank you for your careless disregard Thank you, all of my plans have gone out the door Thank you for making it so hard For now I can be the way I want to be And now I know just what I have to do For now I’ll see life how I prefer to see And I will ensure I’ll never be like you Thank you, vast waves are crashing on my shore Thank you for proving you weren’t the one for me Thank you, I have no satisfaction anymore Thank you for making me fight to become free For now I can be the way I want to be And now I know just what I have to do For now I’ll see life how I prefer to see And I will ensure I’ll never be like you Now I can live a better life And now I can learn to be strong Now I can start to breathe again Because now I know you’re gone Thank you for letting me see the light Thanks for forcing me to make the break Thanks, I couldn’t go on like that Thanks, now my life won’t be so fake For now I can be the way I want to be And now I know just what I have to do For now I’ll see life how I prefer to see And I will ensure I’ll never be like you |
20/12/2012. Lee Kofman is an Israeli-Australian author of three fiction books (in Hebrew). Her English publications (in Australia, UK, Scotland and US) include short fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry in Best Australian Stories, Griffith Review, Island and more. She is a recipient of the Australian Council grant, Varuna Flagship Fellowship, various writing residencies, Varuna Award Masterclass and ASA mentorship and holds MA in Creative Writing (University of Melbourne). Lee also mentors writers and teaches creative writing classes.
LOVERS IN MELBOURNE
-1-
I think sometimes
we are angels.
We are black.
He wears a long dark coat,
I - a leather jacket.
His steps are wide, sharp slicing –
like in a slaughterhouse.
My steps are sharpening
with the femininity of heels.
Their stiletto tips are sketching
our filthy path.
Angels, who love filth.
An attempt at an oxymoron.
-2-
Sometimes we are angels.
Abstract untouching entities
one beside the other.
Heaven’s creatures.
They learn about us in the holy books
behind closed doors.
Never for women, nor for seculars.
Angels from the kabbalah - of those who had fallen.
-3-
He cuts. Cuts-Cuts-Cuts
into the road.
And I’m behind him,
our maps’ sketcher.
Different styles,
but our steps are matched.
They call us ‘Lovers’,
and like in Chagall’s paintings,
we are not really from the village,
always floating above, cut off.
-4-
We are lovers.
He buys me champagne and fills my glass.
He adds strawberries
which will sink under the bubbles,
and winks wetly
at the beautiful boy behind the bar.
He says you can always get
a good champagne in Melbourne.
He buys me dresses printed with roses
that others will caress.
-5-
We are lovers.
Lovers in Melbourne.
In front of small cafes
that serve decorated cakes, he points at the shop windows
crammed with chocolate cascades
and pastries filled with red tired fruit.
Look, he says, how many temptations.
Lee Kofman December 2003
-1-
I think sometimes
we are angels.
We are black.
He wears a long dark coat,
I - a leather jacket.
His steps are wide, sharp slicing –
like in a slaughterhouse.
My steps are sharpening
with the femininity of heels.
Their stiletto tips are sketching
our filthy path.
Angels, who love filth.
An attempt at an oxymoron.
-2-
Sometimes we are angels.
Abstract untouching entities
one beside the other.
Heaven’s creatures.
They learn about us in the holy books
behind closed doors.
Never for women, nor for seculars.
Angels from the kabbalah - of those who had fallen.
-3-
He cuts. Cuts-Cuts-Cuts
into the road.
And I’m behind him,
our maps’ sketcher.
Different styles,
but our steps are matched.
They call us ‘Lovers’,
and like in Chagall’s paintings,
we are not really from the village,
always floating above, cut off.
-4-
We are lovers.
He buys me champagne and fills my glass.
He adds strawberries
which will sink under the bubbles,
and winks wetly
at the beautiful boy behind the bar.
He says you can always get
a good champagne in Melbourne.
He buys me dresses printed with roses
that others will caress.
-5-
We are lovers.
Lovers in Melbourne.
In front of small cafes
that serve decorated cakes, he points at the shop windows
crammed with chocolate cascades
and pastries filled with red tired fruit.
Look, he says, how many temptations.
Lee Kofman December 2003
Mithrandir is an amazing poetry writer from States. We have been blessed to become good friends and have remained since for the last 6 years. Mithrandir is a nickname taken after a famous high fantasy epic Lord the Rings Trilogy wizard Mithrandir (or Gandalf the Grey). His poetry of great beauty and grace inspired many wandered spirits. Mithrandir does not like talking about himself. His poetry talks for him. His life credo in his own words can be shaped into four lines:
My Path.
Oh, greatness I shall not desire!
My only wish is to inspire
Bright mind and heart of worth,
To seek the truth and go forth!
Please enjoy your reading brought to you from the far shores of America...
My Path.
Oh, greatness I shall not desire!
My only wish is to inspire
Bright mind and heart of worth,
To seek the truth and go forth!
Please enjoy your reading brought to you from the far shores of America...
Tween now and ever...
‘Tween now and ever, light and the twilight Upon shores of the Ocean of Stars, Slumbers enchantress dipping her tresses In the froth of the shimmering waters… Nigh do I sit mingling her hairs With dreams, weaving wondrous legends… On the edge of nowhere and everywhere I am the boundless beyond, within and without, Bereaved and rewarded, the Song and the Silence… The gest of the Maid of Orleans Of Lady valiant this gest, Shall never from our sprites depart… She was but maiden raven-tressed With angel’s vision in her heart. *** No tunic gaudy had she wore, No crown was upon her brow, Yet when the English came ashore, She left her home, her folk and plow And to her France grave duty swore! *** She spake her words to future king Amid the mighty lords assembled. The light of spirit she did bring The radiant star of hope resembled. *** Arrayed in helm with lilies gold, In stout hauberk and sword of might, She led the host in venture bold, Through waylaid city pawed with fright To field of battle grim and cold! *** Lo! ”St. Denis!" The trumpets cried! The forest wrought of steel and ash, As tempest fierce forth did stride, And found a mark on foe’s flesh. The Marble Path My life’s unscripted by duress Of selfish, circuitous emotions, Desires to enchant, impress Or love-inducing secret potions… I do not play by written rules Of gentle and polite engagements, Harsh whip, sweet carrot – aren’t my tools, I shun connections and arrangements. Where seas meet everlasting sky, Where runes write their own story Of wondrous deeds and days gone-by Of ancient, though long-faded glory… There lies my path with marble set, Wrought by the craft of mighty hands, That leads to yet unknown lands, Beyond all thoughts, beyond regret… There spirit my abides in peace In kinship with the sundering seas... My heart is quiet... My heart is quiet, not because it’s sad, Immersed in darkness of a vain self-pity… Nor is it filled with laughter, being glad Of sweet embrace or kisses giddy… No fear troubles each and every beat That counts seconds of eternal clock, For time’s irrelevant when stars are lit, And spirit yours is fortunate to walk In their gardens boundless and fair, Were no shadow haunts under the trees, But slumbers on like child without a care Enchanted by the rustling leaves… Yet there’s a longing for The Heart of Hearts That’s wisdom’s everlasting spring. It is the Whole of many living parts… My…part is quiet, for it learned to sing! The Portrait in time The ancient frame by ages' worn. Yet on the canvas still endure, Of tenderness and gleam not shorn, Thy likeness filled with feminine lure. Upon the neck the string of pearls, With gleaming stars is set thy brow. What lord beheld those golden curls, This slender grace with many a bow? Who took that hand, as a wing of swan And plighted troth in love with thee? Who saw the rays of westering sun That mirrored in a foaming sea And brightly shone in maiden's eyes, Veiled by the longing's gentle guise? None may recount, none may guess... And only portrait shall remain Of the fair lady in a dress... Her beauty time can never stain! The Dawn of Visions When legends take their shape at dawn, Once hidden doors to me reveal The visions that of old were sown. Before them in a praise I kneel. For naught may their awe surpass, Nor match indeed their sigaldry. Like dews that settle on a grass Do they descend...and warily Enchantments pass into my sprite, So I may scribe on parchment true And wake the minished fairy-light, To sail amidst stars anew! |
The Path to Beauty
A fragile flame’s caress hath faded in the night, My heart’s a ravaged nest - no blood in it, no light. How might I quest for dame, a beauty unattained, That many sought in vain and lucky few have claimed? The bronze and marble cold are doomed to waste away, Ere likeness is bestowed that ages may not slay! The likeness of her eyes’ akin to starlit veil, Exceeding any prize, her face – enchanted tale… Men seek for many dreams, yet apparitions find, In sooth, few ever claim that beauty deep inside. That beauty’s hope and faith, love of immortal kind. Few know its proper place, few Path to Beauty find… *** Above them Oriflamme did wave, A golden disc on crimson tide, Upon the tip of deadly glaive, That none of Angles could abide... 'twas wielded by the maiden brave! *** Bright sun hath cloven shrouds gray, As sons of Charlemagne rejoiced, For Light of Hope held its sway. They sung Her praises many-voiced, Contrived into an ceaseless lay... *** Alas! Betrayed by faithless king, The Maid of Orleans did fall, Undaunted by the flame did sing Last prayer, ere immortal soul Her essence to the Lord did bring... ----- Sing folk of deeds of Maiden bold, Be ever blithe! Weep not ye heart! Her memory shall not grow cold And from our sprites shall not depart! p.s.: (1)“St. Denis!" - the battle cry of French Army. St. Denis is considered the guardian saint of France. (2) Oriflamme - the name of the standard of French kings. The flag depicted a golden sun on a red field. Cogito ergo sum All-knowing, wondrous and unfettered, Dream-walker, wraith of ancient sprite, My essence never shall be netted, Nor bested by the mortal might… Upon thy heart my runes are sown To seek its path to parchment plain… Thus only presence mine is known, I'm Thought that only Light may claim… *Cogito ergo sum - I think therefore I am.*(Lat.) Thou art wine Thou art wine sumptuous as a spring rain, Potent as the dream of a longing heart, Shining of divine light enshrined within… Whoso partakes of thee, may wax in wisdom, May sing with voices of sun-filled grapes Aye, in the valleys of Earth, under eternal sky… Yet a wine needs a vessel… For it shall spill its essence but for the cup, Be it wrought of crystal, metals costly, Or clay unadorned, wood uncarved… Let me be a vessel for thy wine… For cup of mine longs for thy essence, As sprite - for Heaven's glory... The Water of Life Gentle as touch of a child Upon bosom of mother, Mighty tempest of hammers In the smithies of clouds, Swifter than eagles on wing, Whiteness of snows of wisdom ageless Upon the brow of mountains lofty, Dews of hope upon fields Heaving with fullness of harvest, tears of redemption in eyes of the faithful, Speaking in tongue of the Keeper of Depths, Harping on hearts of the waves and the mews, The Mirror of Heavens and The Mistress of stars, The Chessboard of Fate... I am...the Water of Life In the Cauldron of Love that endureth... |
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