Poetry Books
By
Kritya publication
See the link
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KRITYA2008
An International
poetry Festival
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The popular
journals produced in big countries under big banners are
dominated by powerful personalities. Getting published in these
journals is not easy even for a good writer sometimes. On the
other hand, if an upcoming writer gets published in such a
journal, he/she might become overconfident, and his/her growth
might thereby be hindered. It is not easy to reach these
journals from small cities either. But web journals are open to
everyone; anyone can make one’s own blog, publish one’s own
writings and write without fear. There will be no discrimination
among creative writers here. Some poets might have a fear that
web journals spoil the standard of literature. But this is not
true, as writing about a variety of topics and giving a chance
to good writers can only enrich literature. Moreover, literature
itself decides its own path. Good literature will grow like
trees and bad literature will get converted into manure.
Rati Saxena
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I am still alive: warm twigs
shoot out of my palms :
the roots penetrate softly my stomach
even my toes submissively
give themselves to ants' caresses: so
thee sky takes me slowly
and I was thinking: what could be more tender
than your mouth?
Zofia Beszczynska
I am
Among the stars... I am
tempered by storms... I am
in the smoldering memories of fires long gone... I am
enveloped by passion... I am
face to face with loneliness... I am
The universe and I are one
one more step, ever one more step
towards the great eternity...
I am
Ekiwah Adler
Bamboo flutes
That my father had played once
The leather-jacketed book
That had always been a prop on my table
The Borgeets from the Namghar
In sticky caramel noons
Nabina Das
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Here she sits,
paper in hand,
citizen of this strange land.
*
Its rosy outcroppings,
smooth cliffs soft as cushions,
where baby hands used to rappel
down to the lips
to receive her kisses.
*
that is her face,
with its random bumps and splotches, this pink escarpment.
*
this place of blue pools,
surrounded by tiny black fences,
this tickle of eyelash,
tease of memory,
*
With its little cave
full of chipped teeth
and moist heat: her breath
that came in waves and waves
during labor.
*
At times she turns the kaleidoscope. Her face is Aunt Lou’s
face,
her mother’s face.
She sees both grandmothers at once, and the father she never
really wanted to look like.
*
She comes to the mirror often;
has these moments
that feel like sleepless nights,
Eileen Moeller
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search the stars outside at night
i didn't even cry
a blank inside
for all who die
a ready smile for
those who live
it’s useless to pretend
the dead still live
the stairs and behind him
he heard her absence
so vivid
presence
unmistakable the sages said it
the radio blares it out
as does the dryer
the ironing board
the radio
the t.v.
the cell phone
everything lit faces a metal door
calling for help
from the inside toward the outside
cold cellar steps
unshaven chin
Love Song
torn mist
shoulders gleam
we are the robe's disappearance
alig the rapture of undressing
bewildered
not knowing our birth
and you:
the country I was born in
Bobbi Lurie
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Oe no Masafusa
On that far mountain
On the slope below the peak
Cherries are in flower.
Oh, let the mountain mists
Not arise to hide the scene.
**
Minamoto no Toshiyori
It was not for this
I prayed at the holy shrine:
That she would become
As pitiless and as cold
As the storms on Hase's hills.
Fujiwara no Mototoshi
As dew promises <
New life to the thirsty plant,
So did your vow to me.
Yet the year has passed away,
and autumn has come again.
Attendant to Empress Koka
After one brief night -
Short as a piece of the reeds
Growing in Naniwa bay
Must I forever long for him
With my whole heart, till life ends?
****
Princess Shokushi
Like a string of gems
Grown weak, my life will break now;
For if I live on,
All I do to hide my love
May at last grow weak and fail.
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