In knots

Moan Lisa and Jennifer Weigel, USA

IRMA BLANK

Mailed by Tim Gaze, Australia

ALICIA LARA and the bay of the Cobra goddess

De nieuwe roman van Liza Leyla Alicia Lara en de Baai van de Cobra-Godinis het derde deel van een serie fictieve verhalen rond de lotgevallen van Lilith, Diana en Alicia, die elkaar zullen ontmoeten in het Xiang Palace te Samamusa. De echtgenoot van Alicia, Antonio Martinez, directeur van het Elefènix Education Center, wordt ontvoerd door deGmoloç Gang. Een zoektocht doorheen het gebergte van het lichtparadijs mondt uit in de bevrijding van Antonio, die gevangen wordt gehouden in een tempel dicht bij de Baai van de Cobra-Godin. Liza Leyla werd van jongs af aan bekoord door de magie van het creatieve woord. Ze wijdde een thesis aan de esthetica en de erotiek in het oeuvre van Stendhal (Nl/Fr). In haar filosofisch onderzoek kent ze een bijzondere plaats toe aan de taal van de vrouwenziel. De auteur is meertalig vertaalster en verleent haar medewerking aan diverse tijdschriften en projecten. Ze is lid van Wereldpers. BESTEL NU! Alicia Lara en de Baai van de Cobra-Godin Verkoopprijs: € 13,95 (exclusief verzendkosten)

Alicia Lara en de Baai van de Cobra-Godin, Liza Leyla Aantal pagina's: 66 ISBN: 9789048434138 Verkoopprijs: € 13,95 Vermoedelijke verschijningsdatum: 22 mei 2014    Uitgeverij Free Musketeers B.V. Jacob Leendert van Rijweg 74 Zoetermeer, Zuid-Holland 2713 JA Netherlands +31 (0) 79 - 320 35 90 www.freemusketeers.nl Copyright © 2014 Uitgeverij Free Musketeers B.V. Alle rechten voorbehouden Deze promotiemailing wordt eenmalig verzonden. De auteur heeft alle betrokkenen hiervoor om toestemming gevraagd.

la lumbre del futuro paasado

Revolving door

Arrested schism

Peanuts

Give and give out

by courtesy of Marymark press, USA

Ungodly seeds

by courtesy of Marymark press, USA

4 poems

by courtesy of Marymark press, USA

Look

by courtesy of Marymark press, USA

How?

by courtesy of Marymark press, USA

To where?

by courtesy of Marymark press, USA

STIGMATA poem

STIGMATA

                absinthe the night I
            stabbed him in the hand

        the shrub wormwood
              that green essence men love
             almost as much as
               they love death

        the first time I drank it
               pink yolks drifting
             in a spongy haze

                droplets shaken
        from a drenched wall

            two years later his bullet
              tore through my palm

(c) ERIC BASSO, USA,     April 13, 2014 

What William said

From Roanoke, USA

scattered bodies

by courtesy of MaryMark Press

Televised revolution

by courtesy of MaryMark Press

Soi-disant

by courtesy of MaryMark Press

A sonnet

by courtesy of MaryMark Press

Heat Wave

by courtesy of MaryMark Press

Creasing Door

by courtesy of MaryMark Press

6 Poems

From Mark Sonnenfeld, MaryMark Press, USA

Your temple, your cyst

Black moons white moons

                        BLACK MOON


              black moons white moons
        long ago in a place far away
            I watched them chase one another
                through the skeletal trees

              the porthole of my cabin shatters
               planks quake beneath me

        a black moon floats in
          hovers above my eyes
            for hours

Eric BASSO

29 March 2014

Sligo Blues

SLIGO BLUES POEM by Guido Vermeulen, March 2014

This is the cave where Yeats slept

explained the Sligo guide to us.

Did he sleep in a cage?

someone from the tour group asked.

Maybe his house was one,

you decide that after our visit.

I smiled about the misunderstanding,

even small communication is difficult,

poems however are personal and universal

enigmas at the same time.

What are you thinking about?

The young son of the guide could read my old face.

What your father meant was that Yeats

slept and dreamed in these caves,

in the beauty of these mountains, in the green valleys,

in the nearby clouds, so near they touch our heads,

in the golden sunlight and the silvery moon one,

in the hearts of the people who have the privilege of living here,

in the soul of every one who reads him or has read him.

You really must love Mister Yeats?

Love dies naturally, I replied.

But the dreams of the dead are made of

spoken, written and abandoned poems.

Abandoned?

Mallarmé said that poets do not finish poems,

they only abandom them.

I add to that: it is a bit like the dead, they only abandon life.

Mister Yeats did that too, that’s why we are here today.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._B._Yeats

Spring is near

From Theo Nelson, Canada

The broken silence of the egg of the world

                                                                               Haiku

From Miche Art Universalis, Belgium

The weapon

by courtesy of Marymark Press, USA

RAP

by courtesy of Marymark Press, USA

A.

by courtesy of Marymark Press, USA

Strait 2

Opening lines from a new poem by David Stone
The Strait poems are the continuation of the Avenues cycle
Book edition in preparation

Down the wooded lane