The singing of a blackbird stops me dead in my tracks. Enraptured by his music I stand wallowing in beauty.
The cloak of evening softly creeps over the land. His music continues and still I stand.
“Are you OK?” a voice, as from another world asks.
“Yes” I reply.
The magic broken I go on my way.
He, later to family perhaps,
“I saw a strange man today. He stood, head cocked, listening to I know not what”.
The wind gusting, mocking order, laughing at our pretentions. Our sterile lives shaken, purified by your mighty breath.
Like sand you slip through our fingers, beyond control. Certainties shaken. Life giver and destroyer. Bringer of freedom, turning the world upside down.
I posted on 17 September regarding my idea to raise money for the Guide Dogs For The Blind Association (GDBA) by producing an anthology of stories and poems, (http://newauthoronline.com/2014/09/17/possible-anthology-to-raise-money-for-guide-dogs/). Many thanks to everyone who reblogged and agreed to provide material. I have now received the first story from Sally Cronin, (http://smorgasbordinvitation.wordpress.com/), – Many thanks Sally! A big thank you also goes to Dave Higgins for his kindness in agreeing to edit the anthology free of charge.
The anthology is still in need of contributors. If you haven’t already agreed to contribute and would like to do so please contact me at newauthoronline (@) gmail . com (the address is rendered thus to try and defeat spammers).
Many thanks,
Kevin
Thank you to Laura A Lord for her guest post announcing the launch of a new poetry journal, The Reverie. Good luck to Laura with her project and do please check out her site.
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The Reverie is a poetic publication that features submitted original work in a biannual journal. A themed anthology is published once a year.
Which is a fancy way of saying, we are looking for your work! We will be hosting weekly prompts here to get the creative juices flowing, but during our reading periods you are welcome to submit work to us for potential publication.
Please check out our Prompts Page and our Submission Guidelines for information on both of these options.
Visit our anthology page for information on submitting for this year’s theme.
What are we looking for?
We are looking for poetry that is real, brutal, honest. We want the words you are afraid to speak out-loud. We want strong voices that cut through to the heart of the matter at hand. We want to step away from your poetry feeling a little raw. We want words that awaken emotion.
Check out our About page for more info!
Laura A. Lord
thereveriejournal.wordpress.com
I am extremely pleased that one of my poems, Dalliance has been accepted for publication by Calamities Press. Dalliance first appeared on Newauthoronline in August 2014. It can be found on Calamities Press, in slightly amended form by following this link, http://calamitiespress.com/2014/09/21/dalliance-poetry-by-kevin-morris/.
Thursday 2 October is National Poetry Day. I was reminded of this fact by an e-mail from the Poetry Society on 18 September. The Society plans a number of interesting events which you can access here, http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/content/info/npd/.
I have been a member of the Society for many years now but, to my shame have only attended one event at their headquarters in London’s Covent Garden. This time around I will be sure to attend at least one event!
In honour of the forthcoming National Poetry Day I have included below one of my favourite poems, Ernest Dowson’s April Love:
“We have walked in Love’s land a little way,
We have learnt his lesson a little while,
And shall we not part at the end of day,
With a sigh, a smile?
A little while in the shine of the sun,
We were twined together, joined lips, forgot
How the shadows fall when the day is done,
And when Love is not.
We have made no vows–there will none be broke,
Our love was free as the wind on the hill,
There was no word said we need wish unspoke,
We have wrought no ill.
So shall we not part at the end of day,
Who have loved and lingered a little while,
Join lips for the last time, go our way,
With a sigh, a smile?” (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/242548).
I lost the majority of my vision at around 18-months-old as a consequence of a blood clot on the brain. In my early 20’s I received my first guide dog, Nixon (no jokes about Watergate please)! And a world of enhanced mobility was opened up to me. Since Nixon I have had 3 other dogs: Zeff, Drew and now Trigger my current four legged friend!
The Guide Dogs For The Blind Association receives no money from the government (see http://www.guidedogs.org.uk/supportus/fundraising/donate#.VBnqcBZUFb0) and relies wholly on donations from individuals/organisations.
As an author and beneficiary of the work of Guide Dogs I thought it would be worthwhile to give something back by producing a book of short stories and poems with all proceeds going to GDBA. I would, of course contribute a story. I am, however lacking in editorial/proof reading expertise and (if the project turns out to be viable) would be looking for someone to donate their time free of charge as regards editorial services. I am also looking for people who would be happy to provide a story or poem, free of charge for inclusion in an anthology.
At present this is the germ of an idea which may or may not have traction. If you can help in any way please do contact me at newauthoronline (@) gmail . com (the address is rendered thus to try and defeat spammers)!
Please note that I have not contacted GDBA regarding this concept as it is, at present the mere germ of an idea.
Many thanks and kind regards,
Kevin
In this world where nothing really exists, I kiss your cold, dead lips. Meaningless dalliance in this world of the dead, no words spoken, there is nothing to be said. Emotions stifled, frozen in ice, held in death’s stoney gripe.
No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
The music of wind chimes intermitint and poignant speaks to me of far away lands where monks sit in silent meditation. Tibet, as yet unvisited but one day I will go and walk in the mountains, breathe the pure air.
A gentle breeze sings in the leaves, touches my sun kissed skin. Planes fly overhead but no birds sing.
A Liverpool garden on a late August day, ordinary yet extraordinary in it’s way.
K Morris - Poet 