SUNDAY ANNOUNCEMENTS: Calls for Submissions, Contests, and Other Information and News

“There are two motives for reading a book; one, that you enjoy it; the other, that you can boast about it.”  Bertrand Russel


Opportunity Knocks

ALT-MINDS LITERARY PRESS, creativity from alt-healthy minds has an open call for fiction, non-fiction/memoir and poetry related to mental health, which will close on July 1. Payment: $50 CDN for fiction and nonfiction and $20 CDN for poetry, Details HERE.

GULF COAST, A JOURNAL OF LITERATURE AND FINE ARTS publishes poetry and translations of poetry, stories, essays, interviews and reviews, art and critical art writing and online “exclusives.” (There’s also a guest blogger in residence program.) Reading fee: $2.50 Details HERE.

HCE REVIEW literary and art journal is a quarterly online literary journal of students in MA and MFA Creative Writing courses at the University College of Dublin. The journal publishes fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction and visual art from established and emerging and welcomes submissions from around the world. Currently they are only accepting submissions of art and the deadline is December 31, 2018. Watch for 2019 calls for writing submissions. Details HERE.

MASON JAR PRESS has an open call for submissions of novellas. $5 submissions fee or free with purchase of a Mason Jar Press book.  Submissions close on August 31. Details HERE.

NEWSTATESMAN welcome submissions from established and emerging poets. Details HERE.

NOURISH POETRY call for submissions for ballad, sonnet, couplet, tanka, tanka-sequence, villanelle, haiku and free verse closes on June 20. Details HEREChildren’s poetry is also of interest.

ONE STORY, Read Learn Connect a literary magazine, which publishes one story at a time. The next submission reading period begins on September 1st and runs through November 14th. Length: 3,000 – 8,000 words. Payment $500 and 25 contributor copies. One Story also publishes One Teen Story. Details HERE.

PLOUGHSHARES at Emerson College reads submissions of fiction, nonfiction and poetry from June 1 through January 15 each year. There is a $3 “service” fee for submissions. If you have a subscription, there is no service fee for submissions. Payment is $45 per printed page with a minimum of $90 per title and a max of $450 per author. Payment includes two contributor copies and a subscription. Details HERE.

THE REMEMBERED ARTS JOURNAL, Modern Life, Awakened Art has an open call for submissions of poetry and creative writing including poetry, short stories, and essays and performing arts, crafts and visual arts. The theme for the fall issue is: splendor.

“In the competitive, compartmentalized, modern world, it can be easy to neglect the creative impulses that make us human. We put aside our sketching and scribbling to pay our bills, raise our children, serve our communities, and pursue our ambitions. The Remembered Arts Journal is a forum for reviving almost forgotten artistry. Its purpose is to encourage readers and contributors rediscover the joy of creating and sharing works of art.”

The deadline for the fall issue is July 1. Details HERE.  This journal nominates for the Pushcart Prize.

SONORA REVIEW, a publication run by students in the MFA program at the University of Arizona. This review publishes poetry, fiction and nonfiction. $3 submission fee. Payment: two contributor copies. Details HERE.

SPRING SONG PRESS is currently open for submissions for it’s NobleBright Fantasy Anthologies: Oak and Iron/through July 1; Steam and Lace (steampunk)/opens August 1 and closes November 1. Details HERE.

STINGING FLY’s (reminder) latest reading period will close on July 12th. This journal publishes Irish and international writers of poetry and fiction. Details HERE.

TETHERED BY LETTERS (TBL), a nonprofit literary publisher and writer’s resource, describes itself as “passionate about educating budding authors and increasing literacy rates across the globe. We run several FREE programs to help cultivate the next generation of great literature: For more, visit our Education or Writing Resource Center.”  Open year-round for submissions of short fiction and creative nonfiction, poetry, and graphic stories or comics to f(r)online. Details HERE.

WILDNESS publishes poetry, fiction and nonfiction in its bimonthly online journal and reads submissions on a rolling basis. The editors nominate for Pushcart, Best of the Net, Best American and other prizes. Details HERE.

The BeZine

Call for submission for the September issue.

THE BeZINE, Be Inspired, Be Creative, Be Peace, Be. Submissions for the September issue – themed Social Justice – close on August 10 at 11:59 p.m. PDT .

Please send text in the body of the email not as an attachment. Send photographs or illustrations as attachments. No google docs or Dropbox or other such. No rich text. Send submissions to

Publication is September 15th. Poetry, essays, fiction and creative nonfiction, art and photography, music (videos or essays), and whatever lends itself to online presentation is welcome for consideration.

No demographic restrictions.

Please read at least one issue and the Intro/Mission Statement and Submission Guidelines. We DO NOT publish anything that promotes hate, divisiveness or violence or that is scornful or in any way dismissive of “other” peoples. 

  • September 2018 issue, Deadline August 10th, Theme: Human Rights/Social Justice
  • December 2018 issue, Deadline November 10th, Theme: A Life of the Spirit

The BeZine is an entirely volunteer effort, a mission. It is not a paying market but neither does it charge submission or subscription fees.

Previously published work may be submitted IF you hold the copyright. Submissions from beginning and emerging artists as well as pro are encouraged and we have a special interest in getting more submissions of short stores, feature articles, music videos and art for consideration. 

The Poet by Day



Response deadline is Monday, June 18th at 8 p.m. PDT. All poems shared on theme will be published on this site on Tuesday, the 19th. Details HERE.


Opportunity Knocks

AMBIT MAGAZINE 2018 POETRY COMPETITION is to be judged by Malika Booker. Entry deadline is July 15. Cash Awards. Publication. Details HERE.

BLUE MOUNTAIN ARTS will close this year’s first of two Poetry Card Contests on June 30/deadline. Cash awards. Online display. Details HERE.

CANTEBURY FESTIVAL POET OF THE YEAR COMPETITION 2018 closes on Monday, 18 June 2018. National and international entries are welcome. Entry fee. Cash award. Details HERETight deadline but you can submit by email.

THE McLELLAN POETRY PRIZE 2018 closes on Thursday, 21 June 2018. Entry Fee. Cash award. Details HERE.

THE MASTERS REVIEW, a platform for emerging writers is hosts a summer short story award, which will close or entries on July 31, 2018. The winning story will be awarded $3000, publication, and agent review. Second and third place stories will be awarded publication and $300 and $200 respectively. Further detail HERE.

NEW AMERICAN POETRY PRIZE will open for submissions on September 1 and close on January 15.  $25 entry fee. Award: $1,000. Details HEREAlso noted: “We’re accepting submissions for the 2018 New American Fiction Prize. Winner receives $1,000, publication, and book promotion. Final judge is novelist, story writer, teacher, and memoirist John McNally. Submit at our fast and easy online submission manager.”

6th Ó BHÉAL FIVE WORDS INTERNATIONAL POETRY COMPETITIONS is open for the current week through June 19. The five words are: terror, magpie, spot, incandescent, wall. How it works: “Every Tuesday around noon (UTC), from the 17th of April 2018 until the 29th of January 2019, five words will be posted on this competition page. Entrants have one week to compose and submit one or more poems which include all five words given for that week. The 2018/2019 (6th) competition runs for 41 weeks.”  Entry fee. Details HERE.

THE POETRY KIT SUMMER COMPETITION 2018 is open for entries through Monday, 27 August 2018. Entry fees. Cash award. Details HERE.

RUMINATE’S KALOS VISUAL ART PRIZE is open for entries. Entry fee. Cash award and publication. Deadline: September 18. Details HERE

WRITER’S DIGEST POETRY AWARDS – Deadline October 1. Entry fee. Cash awards. Details HERE.


Accessible anytime from anywhere in the world:

  • The Poet by Day always available online with poems, poets and writers, news and information.
  • The Poet by Day, Wednesday Writing Prompt, online every week (except for vacation) and all are invited to take part no matter the stage of career or status. Poems related to the challenge of the week (always theme based not form based) will be published here on the following Tuesday.
  • The Poet by Day, Sunday Announcements. Every week (except for vacation) opportunity knocks for poets and writers. Due to other Sunday commitments, this post will often go up late in the day.
  • THE BeZINE, Be Inspired, Be Creative, Be Peace, Be – always online HERE.  
  • Beguine Again, daily inspiration and spiritual practice  – always online HERE.  Beguine Again is the sister site to The BeZine.

YOUR SUNDAY ANNOUNCEMENTS may be emailed to Please do so at least a week in advance.

If you would like me to consider reviewing your book, chapbook, magazine or film, here are some general guidelines:

  • send PDF to (Note: I have a backlog of six or seven months, so at this writing I suggest you wait until June 2018 to forward anything.Thank you!)
  • nothing that foments hate or misunderstanding
  • nothing violent or encouraging of violence
  • English only, though Spanish is okay if accompanied by translation
  • your book or other product  should be easy for readers to find through your site or other venues.



PLEASE do not mix the communications between the two.

Often information is just thatinformation– and not necessarily recommendation. I haven’t worked with all the publications or other organizations featured in my regular Sunday Announcements or other announcements shared on this site. Awards and contests are often (generally) a means to generate income, publicity and marketing mailing lists for the host organizations, some of which are more reputable than others. I rarely attend events anymore. Caveat Emptor: Please be sure to verify information for yourself before submitting work, buying products, paying fees or attending events et al.



Cruel Legacy, Environmental Injustice, and the Growing Incidence of Interstitial Lung Disease


I have lived now for nineteen years past my medically predicted expiration date. Every year or so I feel compelled to get on my soap box – this site, though the topic is off-theme – about lung disease, its increasing prevalence, and its debilitating effects.

At the time in our history when we started to see nature as something apart from us, when we gave up our shamanic instincts and in our hubris separated them from our growing science, when we devolved from stewardship and one-with to ownership and power-over, we set ourselves up for a world of multifaceted pain and disruption. One result in modern times is environmentally induced disease caused by xenobiotic substances that result in cancers, autoimmune disorders and interstitial lung diseases (ILDs).

My concern here – as a powerful and noteworthy example of the impact of industrial pollutants and of wars and other violence to the earth and its inhabitants – is interstitial lung disease. I have hypersensitivity pneumonitis, an ILD that can be caused by smoking. I am a lifelong non-smoker. Everyone – EVERYONE – is at risk of ILD, smokers or not, and so are other animals. We know that in the United States and England, the numbers suffering from ILD are growing. No matter where  in the world we live and what we do for work, we all need to recognize and acknowledge this as part of the complicated package of environmental injustices.

Our lungs are the only organs that are exposed and immediately vulnerable to industrial pollutants and inhaled chemicals, dust and other particulate matter in the air. One study tells us, “Lung cancer is the number one cause of cancer-related deaths in humans worldwide. Environmental factors play an important role in the epidemiology of these cancers.”

Consider the two hundred ILDs: These are diseases that affect the tissue and space around the air sacs (alveoli) of the lungs resulting in scaring (fibrosis). We – and other animals – can’t breath through scar tissue, which is not permeable. Hence the exchange of carbon dioxide and oxygen is inhibited. The result is a slow, horrifying and painful death by suffocation. This is mitigated for people like me who have access to healthcare, supplemental oxygen and medications like prednisone and mycophenolate mofetil. People living in poverty, in war-torn areas or working at risky occupations in third-world countries, get no such relief and no palliative care is available to them in the final stages. This is unimaginably cruel.

While the most common interstitial lung diseases are considered idiopathic, they can result from exposure to certain chemicals– including medications – and from secondhand smoke and occupational exposure to agents such as asbestos, silica and coal dust. They may also evolve from an autoimmune reaction (hypersensitivity pneumonitis) to agents in the environment, some of which might be naturally occurring and benign for many people.

Forbes Magazine cites lung disease as one of the continuing legacies of 9/11, the result of “toxic collections of airplane fuel, asbestos, fiberglass, metal, plastic, garbage, waste materials, fecal material, human remains and who knows what else.” In reading this description, one can’t help but think also of the people of Syria and other regions of war and conflict. It is not uncommon for soldiers returning from war to report newly developed respiratory disorders.

Industry, war and conflict, greed and denial, all combine to put the very ground we live on at risk, the air we breath, and the precious functioning of our lungs … We rightly worry about and advocate for issues of deforestation, pollution, hunger, dislocation, destruction of property and other issues of environmental injustice. Not the least of our motivations, concerns and advocacy must be for the sake of our lungs. It’s a fight for the very breath that enlivens us.

Note: The photograph is of my portable oxygen tank. I put it in a backpack and that allows me to walk for about a mile or to be away from home for short periods of time, a little grocery shopping, a library visit, doctor appointments. This need for supplemental oxygen makes it impossible for me to participate in poetry and writing communities other than online.  So, thanks to all of you for being a part of my creative community.  

© 2016, words and illustration, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved; originally published in The BeZine.



Some Woman’s Child, a poem

“I have seen him climbing a tree while she stood beneath him in unutterable anguish; she had to let him climb, for boys must be brave, but I am sure that, as she watched him, she fell from every branch.”  J.M. Barrie, The Little White Bird

they say it was the year that changed a generation
the year they met at Nedick’s ordering orange drinks and hot dogs
fomenting righteous anger and rallying the women:
black, white, asian, and assorted berry-browns like me,
hetero and lesbian and some still trying to figure it out

Hey woman, they said to a worker clearing the counter
but they ignored the young man standing ready to serve,
mouths foaming, do you see, do you see one woman yelled,
but they didn’t, they didn’t see him, some woman’s child,
as he filled orders, poker-faced amid the cacophony

© 2018, Jamie Dedes


“The Dream of a Poet” … and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

“Whereas story is processed in the mind in a straightforward manner, poetry bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the limbic system and lights it up like a brushfire. It’s the crack cocaine of the literary world.” Jasper Fforde, First Among Sequels

Where does your poetry come from? How do you receive it?  That was the essential prompt for last Wednesday, The Witching Hour, May 23, 2018. What a fun and fine response. Clearly almost all of us think there is something rather magical or mystical happening.  So here today, I’m delighted to share the work of old and new friends with their old and new poems, sometimes connected to the theme by a slight silken thread and that’s okay. All good. I know you’ll enjoy yourselves as much as I have.

Thanks to poets John Anstie, Paul Brookes, Marta Pombo Sallés,  Frank McMahan and Anjum Wasim Dar and a warm welcome to Neeldip. Be sure to visit these poets and get to know them. Links to their sites are included. If they have no blog or website, you might catch up with them on Facebook. Congrats to our prolific Paul who keeps those chapbooks and collections coming at a breathless rate. Bravo!

Please do join us tomorrow for the next Wednesday Writing Prompt.

A Fairy in Disguise

Meadows turned to mist even the azure’s smiled,
lights were blinded till a distant mile,
when she walked down the morning aisle.

Fireflies were her companion when she sang along nightangles,
Moonlight was her curtain,
As she strolled through the shrouded forest,
Midst the starry fountain.

© 2018, Neeldip (Neeldip1998)


Neeldip has sent a bio yet, but when he does, I will post it.  Meanwhile he was invited in by Mart Pombo Salés. She said to him, “Beautifully written. Love how you recreate this mysterious atmosphere in the world of fairies and goblins. This is also the world of the Muse that whispers something in the poet’s ear. Is this why you say “A Fairy In Disguise”? Your poem carries something similar to a mystical experience. The ending is very powerful with the “starry fountain”. Isn’t that the fountain of life and inspiration? I think it would be perfect for the next Wednesday Prompt … ”

The Dream of a Poet

I woke up with a start some time ago;
A very familiar path;
from sleep infused, in semiconscious state,
with dreams of the unpleasant,
into a slow and rude awakening.

Was it a mystery magician or
con artist, the evil one,
who managed to deprive me of my freedom;
usurp my own free will;
transport me where I never want to go.

And then, somehow it dawned on me that I,
apropos my own illusion,
had written words that weren’t exactly true?
I’m not sure how this is…
But missive written. For poets. How to write!


The anti-hero in my fated dream
insisted I capitulate
and turn my trade to more constructive end
by which it sought the truth
of why I wish to make my dreams come true.

It asked me who I thought I was and then,
without so much as by
your leave, it pulled me back into oblivion.
It also didn’t hear me
when my stentorian protest made no sound.

It was a vision; a reverie that spoke
of fantasies; woolgathering.
It is, in truth, as truth is meant to be
none other than my conscience,
speaking of the will to write and dream.

If answer there is one, I do not know;
so often out of our control.
The only thing I have to say is this:
it’s always up to you.
Only you can judge what’s best… for you.

By your own best devices, you don’t need
to take advice from where
there is no guidance better than your own
…save rules, and even they
can be ignored once you have mastered them.

© 2012, John Anstie (My Poetry Library)

Ash And Paper

summer mornings my fire snuffed.

No flaming voice.

Only a word in your head.

Dream of spelt and salt cake I fire for you, and before you can seek future from way I burn clean my fireplace, clear your head.

Old ash and cinders block gust makes for poor-burning, makes for poor-thinking prepare my gob for my tongues my gob packed with ash piled ash in my grate piled ash in my head crumbles like walls from incendiaried homes

stop wandering off when I’m talking to you!

ash up against my fire-bars makes them overheat makes you overthink
so they sag and “burn through” make me virginal something to focus on something for focus recall collecting ears of spelt in reaper’s baskets

I said stop wandering!

rake remains of my last fire the last fire between my temples so ash falls through my grate train steam in your nostrils pick-off the cinders for re-use.

My lightweight dark lumps, not my powdery un-burnable pieces of roasted shale my exhausted voice.

Clear my fire-bars of small cinders, clear all my ash, clear all the dead, dry bones out of my head recall the crush, grind
then roast the ears of spelt, yeasty like a pint of beer

Concentrate! You are lighting me fill my gob

with dry, unfinished paper cheap-newsprint not glossy magazine-print.
screw sheets into rough balls packed into this brain space not too tight, but not too loose.

Keep the paper open & crinkly don’t pack paper into hard nuggets, make them roughly spherical.

Should cover my grate with plenty of space to allow gust to blow away, focus these eyes, only one layer, as my tongues lick paper down everything on top will drop, roof falling in around my ears leave it at a couple of inches. Recall salt prepared pound crystals from brine
from a salt pan in a mortar, pack and inhale seafret. Cut lump with an iron saw.

I’ll not tell you again!

paper is to ignite the wood (next)

the next thought only enough, too much will clog fire-bars cause stack-collapse as your paper doesn’t burn well, stuff a loose sheet under my grate under my thoughts light it let my little tongues loose stuff sheets underneath burn them recall forbidden reading, books in flame, memories of things not spoken discarded ideas

I can be dangerous!

break up my ash with a poker. Recall stir of salt and spelt into carried spring water pure never touched the ground into meal that must be rested my pulped treeflesh.

I will lick away a support for my woodflesh. I lick away a flicker of an idea, a first layer
of contemplation.

(From “The Headpoke And Firewedding”, (Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2017, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow, Inspiration, History, Imagination)


my thought needs substance crouched supplicant
to our hearthmind layer my gob can’t light my coal with paper my wood layer is for coal as my paper is for wood layer on my paper small pieces of wood (kindling) watch for splinters embed in your fingers for all day pain or a heated steel pin to remove. Carefully make a wooden pallet a raft of images on balled up paperwaves support my coal so imagination flares as I burn to speak.

Pray raft holds. Criss-cross wood, a cohesive structure.
You’re making my fireplace,
My head layered.

My gob layered.

Geology reversed.
Paper from trees. Dead trees made coal graduations of image, thought and idea.

When paper gone hold stays, mixture of thick and thin considerations.

Thin ideas burn easily, produce heat, thick sustains in depth delights my imaginations coal

(From “The Headpoke And Firewedding, Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2017, Paul Brookes  (Wombwell Rainbow, Inspiration, History, Imagination)


like wood is my imagination solidified sunblaze trapped voices, stories trapped build a pile of imagination on top of my wood-raft stuffed into my gob have a nice pile in middle.


Choose pieces too small air-flow round my head restrict visuals. I cannot breathe. Choose pieces too big don’t get enough licking heat from the wood. Ignite my images , ensure fire-front removed for maximum air-flow, ignite the paper from underneath, ignite heads images underneath.


in multiple places – get as much litlick quickly as possible, heat feeds between ignition points

if you will not put your mind on me I’ll burn your house down my water in the wood coal makes sulphuric acid lick surface off your brick funnel .
Images sear . Imagination needs time, fire blaze, cornfield stubble, while wood and paper left, this cellulosefuel heats imagination -fire to self-sustain your hard images buried deep, pressured become harder, blacker used in locomotives, steam ships, pitsweat, minehacked proppedimages your soft images nearer surface browner nostalgic soft focus biscuit tin tender.
Imagination produces smoke and tar when heated only,
when “dried out” get red-hot carbon fire makes imagination so hot. Recall tar melting on roads in sunblaze, sticks to soles coal tar soap photosynthesizes calls back its days as a plant.

I can be dangerous!

once my fire lit poke gently, release ash, break-up images stuck together by tar sticky mind coagulate.

Arrange cinders around the edge, add more images around fires periphery around

minds periphery. Don’t throw a bucket of imagination on my flametongue.

Always put a bit at edges or in middle. Images poked.
Poke my licking.
so ash falls through firebars so ash fall through the head.

Lift my burning images, ensure ash removed from under fire bars.

Imagination needs time to warm up.
Don’t smother with cold-images.
Kill lovely heat.
Longer to burn up. Pile it up around the edges, when it starts burning: poke and rake it into centre gradually.

When lit you give me a voice, a gob and tongues. Listen to my stories, record my voices, divine futures from decay of food thrown on me.

How virgin cakes of salt and spelt bake towards decay in heat tongueflicked wild jig of ideas before I ashreturn lose my tongues.

(From “The Headpoke And Firewedding, Alien Buddha Press, 2017)

© 2017, Paul Brookes (Wombwell Rainbow, Inspiration, History, Imagination)


Who knows where they have come from? No
summer rains to fill the limestone
caverns, no spring time residue
and yet the tongues of water spread
in new directions,loosestrife by
the water’s edge; and willow herb.

Across a once-ploughed field,
mineral insinuation
feeding the tangled hedgerows and
forcing the flush of hawthorn’s white.

Folded in dew, summer might bring berries;
fieldfare and redwing on winter’s winds.

(Seven Springs is a real place just north of us which feeds the River Churn that runs past my allotment and through the middle of town. So…)

© 2018, Frank McMahan

Tree 1

I Just Met a Turtle

I just met a turtle in the park.

It was on the way

Not where its mates

Usually are,

Near the lake


It was solitary.

I figured out it spoke

To me.

Told me to slow down.

And so I sat

As words began to dance

In flight

Carrying a smell of pine trees,

Rosemary and lavender.

Like butterfly wings

Fluttering in the wind

They intertwined

And slowly began

To land on my paper

One by one.

I pulled my thread,

Took the needle

And began to sow

One after the other.

A word weaver

Just like my friend


And all the others.

I just met a turtle.

© 2018, poem and illustration, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)

Fog in San Francisco2

Plurilingual (English and Catalan versions)


You throw the words up into the sky,

words are Wörter in German

and the sky is called der Himmel,

while du wirfst means you throw.

So this line in German says:

Du wirfst die Wörter in den Himmel.

Your words float up in the sky

like dancing pearls in the horizon,

which in the Catalan language reads:

Perles dansants en l’horitzó.

Or if you prefer it in Spanish:

Perlas danzantes en el horizonte.

And as the pearls are dancing

there is a new dawn of creation:

Kreation, creació and creación,

in German, Catalan and Spanish.

A new dawn of creation

offers you its magic infinity:

Magische Unendlichkeit.

Màgica infinitud.

Mágica infinitud.

Amid the sea and the wind

you feel the cadence of their swing:

Die Kadenz, la cadència and la cadencia.

Words light the flaming eyes

of your most wanted dreams:

The flaming eyes.

Die flammenden Augen.

Els ulls flamejants.

Los ojos flameantes.

Words fall upon you slowly

like little frozen rain drops

that swirl up in the air:

Die Luft, l’aire and el aire.

With the palms of your hands

you pick as many as needed.

Each word is a most precious pearl:

Perle, perla and perla,

that you gather in silence:

Stille, silenci and silencio.

Like quiet roses they blossom

once all the pearls conform

the puzzle of your necklace:

Halskette, collaret and collar.

From the darkness and shadows

your new poem comes into existence:

Existenz, existència and existencia.



Llences les paraules vers el cel,

les paraules són Wörter en alemany

i el cel es diu Der Himmel.

mentre Du wirfst vol dir tu llences.

Així aquesta línia en alemany diu:

Du wirfst die Wörter in den Himmel.

Les teves paraules floten en el cel

com perles dansants en l’horitzó

o si ho prefereixes en castellà:

perlas danzantes en el horizonte.

I a mesura que les perles van dansant

apareix una nova albada de creació:

creation, Kreation i creación,

en anglès, alemany i castellà.

Una nova albada de creació

t’ofereix la seva màgica infinitud:

Magic infinity.

Magische Unendlichkeit.

Mágica infinitud.

Enmig del mar i del vent

sents la cadència del seu moviment:

The cadence, die Kadenz, i la cadencia.

Les paraules il.luminen els ulls flamejants

dels teus somnis més desitjats:

Els ulls flamejants.

The flaming eyes.

Die flammenden Augen.

Los ojos flameantes.

Les paraules cauen damunt teu lentament

com petites gotes de pluja congelades

que s’arremolinen en l’aire:

The air, die Luft i el aire.

Amb els palmells de les teves mans

n’agafes tantes com en necessites.

Cada paraula és una perla preciosa:

Pearl, Perle i perla,

que reculls en el silenci:

Silence, Stille i silencio.

Com quietes roses floreixen

una vegada que totes composen

el trencaclosques del teu collaret:

Necklace, Halskette i collar.

Des de la foscor i les ombres

el teu nou poema comença una existència:

Existence, Existenz i existencia.

© 2018, poem and illustration, Marta Pombo Sallés (Moments)


It Comes from the Unseen Force

Words and thoughts  felt in transparency, unknown, unseen,
senses benumbed, as vision scans nature’s  changing vapors
against a canvas, bordered by shivering trembling green leaves
of stretching, bound, firmly rooted growth, shaping into one
strong trunk…strange is the form yet studded with beauty …

as feather like as water drops, soft, in feeling, a medium,
which passes through, touching the body soul and spirit
breaking the trance to discover, an idea ‘arranging deepening’
in the mind, revealing a song’ or a story’ or poetic drama’
so ‘poetry should be naturally expressed’ though along the way-

‘there are places that beckon us to stop or warn that these lines
are true,these thoughts good, let the words flow’, in early drafts
don’t try to control the poem’, feel free to alter the facts’,yes,it is
easy then, but it is work, hard work, the idea comes from the unseen
it is then from ‘me ‘ to something real outside ‘ in order, to craft’

sometimes it is Light’ spreading gold in the sky on hills and land
cutting darkness to glory divine’ when green goes dark looks grand
mind stirs wonders eyes gather images and thoughts seek words
to amalgamate colors, beauty serene, majestic mystical  hills of sand
who made them? how much more beauty must be in His Domain !

2014-03-06 17.23.11
a poem can be, just be, it comes in moments, in time, at night
sometimes nothing descends for days, nothing inspires, a lone
still, lifeless object, may strike the soul, yet it all is formed only
when the mind in its richness of  language receives the ‘order’
‘a divine gift ‘it is as poets have revealed in the past across ‘border’

Mirza Ghalib wrote’

Aate HaiN Ghaib Se Yeh MazameeN Khayal MeiN
Ghalib Sarir-e Khamah Nava-e Sarosh Hai

 When mysteriously topics or subjects come in ones thoughts,
Then the sound made by the pen, resonates like the voice or sound of angles.

and so it is for me…

© 2018, poem and illustrations, Anjum Wasim Dar (Poetic Oceans)