Poetry

Poets of the World, Jeton Kelmendi, Kosovo

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Under the shade of memory I told you something forgotten The things that you will not remember even tomorrow Forgiveness is always much more ancient When silence is traveling At the oak dried from the sun I am awaiting you…

Identities, it’s about what ties me

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Sabine Huynh’s poetry SILVIA PIO (edited by) A long list of places, at the world’s opposite ends: Saigon, Lyons, London, Boston, Jerusalem, Ottawa, Tel Aviv , just to name a few. These have been the stops of Sabine Huynh’s journey,…

The Wakefield Poets, Angie de Courcy Bower

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His Story II: The Last Act We talk at last: the last talk. Spooned, on borrowed bed, casting minds into time like fly fishers we share memories as catch on the line. Decades dissolve, and our bravely-primed hearts make old…

A Sort of Catharsis

Foto: Bruna Bonino

Maria A. Miraglia and poetry SHADOWS We meet people so many more than we can count May be when travelling, in pubs or schools black or white Christian or Muslims fair or nasty ones mean or compassionate Each with their…

Poets of the World, Igor Ursenco, Rumania

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(Giuliana Monfredi, edited by) Igor Ursenco (born 9 February 1971) is a Moldovan-born Romanian poet, culturologist, fiction writer, screenwriter, currency trader and polyglot translator. The matrilineal descendant from Northern Bessarabian dynasty of scholar Marcu Văluță, director of the interwar publication Moldovan thought (1932-37). In late October 2012 he…

Poets of the World, Sonnet Mondal, India

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Two Worlds A blue lake captures my soul in its unmeasured, unimaginable depths where a new world better than lands survive drinking immortality. Howling wolves pierce melancholy and the dropping leaves stuck with fever of spring bows down before the…

The Wakefield Poets, Sarah Leah Cobham

Wakefield 30.08.2014

Emley Walk Trouser mud splats track our epic walk. Ancient lines scar the landscape, invade our souls. We trudge. Size 5 Wellies and paw prints scatter field mice, voles, birds Into the bleach boned bamboo stalks; ghosts of fertile summers…