I am Kritya. 
The intense word power,
which always moves along with the ultimate truth, which exists completely in accord with rightness.

A special issue for Poetry of Australia and New Zealand.
A special issue for Poetry of Australia and New Zealand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Editor of this issue:-

Gary Langford

 

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All poets I have selected have their own voices: a means to express, being the voice of the revealer or speaker, not others. I lectured to many poets, storytellers and song lyricists at a Sydney university, as well as being a guest at other venues in both Australia and New Zealand until I recently decided to return to my own writing, including one of the two most consistent areas I write in - poetry. The other one is fiction. Both can tell stories in different forms, as is also evidenced in much of the poetry I have selected. One of the great asserts is the variation in form, whereby you can also mix the two together as I do in a couple books of my poetry, while another five books of poetry use a cyclical structure like the chapters of novels where I use poetry such as the start of chapters or within the novels themselves.
Gary Langford

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Suddenly
It’s all there: the impossible
Sunlight
              You glimpse
An impression of
                     Your daughter

In her strawberry shortcake dress
Blond curls
And bare feet

Laughing

*
On opposite sides
of a flooded valley

men looking for a way
to cross the black water

watch each other
in the lightning;

against the bituminous clouds
the silhouette of a man

draped in flax
stands on a rock

he carries a stone
wet from the rain.

*

She is singing dirty songs,
Dancing to a sprightly samisen,
Drinking bowls of saki
That takes the skin off your tongue.

She is dancing all by herself,
Smiling the more people disapprove.
She sings for disapproval.

Why do you carry on like this?
I ask my vision.
>
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Writing rubbish is easy.
Writing well is not easy.

In most cases, you need to spend hours on your work to make it work. Do not try to write a great piece of writing the moment you have a go, giving up when it reads as flat as an uncooked curry or tandoori. A rarity is a poet who does not change a poem when it is reprinted from one book to another, or one magazine to another.
We are all great fiddlers, are we not where our orchestra is all that is around us?
dir="ltr">  
*
A poet is a writer who expresses imagination in intense language through imagery and form; who writes for others to read, understanding the importance of words, form and effect where they are used to move people, other than going to their car and driving away; who writes with emotion and intensity of expression where the fewer the words the greater the power of language must be to work. dir="ltr"> Gary Langford
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mud delivers him
her soft bleeding hands
her cross and her sword
by the bed

she sings him tales from
smyrna and missolonghi
byron’s greek war song
as she cuts the umbilicus
**
Gioryi returned after completing national service, he smokes with his mates behind the school, showing off the hand-grenade he stole. Lambros calls Kosta and Stelios, “Gioryi’s got a cheromovida, he’s going to throw it!” Gioryi pulls out the pin, base-balling it into bushes, nothing! Not even a fizz. “It’s diffused you meatball!

**
“How many meters apart?” Kosta whispers,
“when will I ever see my homeland again?
My hunger still burns for her”. Songs of the
Diasporas play over the ship’s speakers, as
The Patris sounds and pulls out. The tremble
of his grip as tears run free off Kosta’s chin,
Nicholas Grapsias
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*
The wintry hedge was black,
The green grass was not seen,
The birds did rest on the bare thorn’s breast,
Whose roots, beside the pathway track,
Had bound their folds o’er many a crack
Which the frost had made between.

*
Acas terrible in the extreme
the memory of the public is short
the ketch Crest, Captn Ellis master and part-owner

extreme
short
owner

ex-
owner
ketch
Crest

rest
shor
first published in Mate

*
there’s something that walks with the wind
it wears a weed in spring
and fades the edge of the net damp black
among the scales of fish

it sends the swell up under the sea
and sings upon the gravel
and when the light falls from our faces
it hides our fears in the darkness
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VOL - II / PART -VIII
(January-2007 )
 

Editor : Rati Saxena

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