June poems and a Reminder, “Zoom” in Sunday to share your poetry with Angora Poets World Caffé

Photograph courtesy of Timothy Dykes, Unsplash

“Green was the silence, wet was the light,
the month of June trembled like a butterfly.”
Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets



A Memory of June

When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,
With scarlet roses tinting her green breast,
And mating thrushes ushering in her day,
And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,

I always see the evening when we met–
The first of June baptized in tender rain–
And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,
Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love’s pain.

I always see the cheerful little room,
And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed,
Sweet scented with a delicate perfume,
Wherein for one night only we were wed;

Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute,
And heard the whispering showers all night long,
And your brown burning body was a lute
Whereon my passion played his fevered song.

When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,
With scarlet roses staining her fair feet,
My soul takes leave of me to sing all day
A love so fugitive and so complete.

Claude McKay

Gloucester Moors

A mile behind is Gloucester town
Where the fishing fleets put in,
A mile ahead the land dips down
And the woods and farms begin.
Here, where the moors stretch free
In the high blue afternoon,
Are the marching sun and talking sea,
And the racing winds that wheel and flee
On the flying heels of June.

Jill-o’er-the-ground is purple blue,
Blue is the quaker-maid,
The wild geranium holds its dew
Long in the boulder’s shade.
Wax-red hangs the cup
From the huckleberry boughs,
In barberry bells the grey moths sup
Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up
Sweet bowls for their carouse.

Over the shelf of the sandy cove
Beach-peas blossom late.
By copse and cliff the swallows rove
Each calling to his mate.
Seaward the sea-gulls go,
And the land-birds all are here;
That green-gold flash was a vireo,
And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow
Was a scarlet tanager.

This earth is not the steadfast place
We landsmen build upon;
From deep to deep she varies pace,
And while she comes is gone.
Beneath my feet I feel
Her smooth bulk heave and dip;
With velvet plunge and soft upreel
She swings and steadies to her keel
Like a gallant, gallant ship.

These summer clouds she sets for sail,
The sun is her masthead light,
She tows the moon like a pinnace frail
Where her phosphor wake churns bright.
Now hid, now looming clear,
On the face of the dangerous blue
The star fleets tack and wheel and veer,
But on, but on does the old earth steer
As if her port she knew.

God, dear God! Does she know her port,
Though she goes so far about?
Or blind astray, does she make her sport
To brazen and chance it out?
I watched when her captains passed:
She were better captainless.
Men in the cabin, before the mast,
But some were reckless and some aghast,
And some sat gorged at mess.

By her battened hatch I leaned and caught
Sounds from the noisome hold, —
Cursing and sighing of souls distraught
And cries too sad to be told.
Then I strove to go down and see;
But they said, “Thou art not of us!”
I turned to those on the deck with me
And cried, “Give help!” But they said, “Let be:
Our ship sails faster thus.”

Jill-o’er-the-ground is purple blue,
Blue is the quaker-maid,
The alder-clump where the brook comes through
Breeds cresses in its shade.
To be out of the moiling street
With its swelter and its sin!
Who has given to me this sweet,
And given my brother dust to eat?
And when will his wage come in?

Scattering wide or blown in ranks,
Yellow and white and brown,
Boats and boats from the fishing banks
Come home to Gloucester town.
There is cash to purse and spend,
There are wives to be embraced,
Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend,
And hearts to take and keep to the end, —
O little sails, make haste!

But thou, vast outbound ship of souls,
What harbor town for thee?
What shapes, when thy arriving tolls,
Shall crowd the banks to see?
Shall all the happy shipmates then
Stand singing brotherly?
Or shall a haggard ruthless few
Warp her over and bring her to,
While the many broken souls of men
Fester down in the slaver’s pen,
And nothing to say or do?

– William Vaughn Moody


Copyright Angora Poets World Cafe, Designer Mohammed Tariq Anis

“Poetry empowers the simplest of lives to confront the most extreme sorrows with courage, and motivates the mightiest of offices to humbly heed lessons in compassion.Aberjhani, Splendid Literarium: A Treasury of Stories, Aphorisms, Poems, and Essays



Angora Poets World Caffé. Sundays at 8 p.m. Paris time. Our mission is to demonstrate a global fraternity of literary and musical artists of divers styles and backgrounds. Under the nearly worldwide confinement the caffé is attracting artists who are now traversing borders and cultures. The caffé attracts poets, prose writers, singers and musicians from the 4 corners of our planet. To date we have presented artists from France, USA, U.K., Canada, Berlin, Serbia,Tibet, Sri Lanka, Lesotho, Sudan, Egypt, Morocco, Algeria, Abu Dhabi, Russia and China Our artists present mostly in English, French and Arabic. We also listen to participants voicing in a number of other languages which is very well received by our listeners. We ask of our artists to be developed, young and old, published and unpublished, so we enjoy a high caliber of artisan quality.” Founder and Moderator, Moe Seager (Moe Seager- Paris Calling)

This poetry reading is facilitated over Zoom. Connect with Moe on Facebook for details.


Jamie Dedes:

Your donation HERE helps to fund the ongoing mission of The Poet by Day in support of poets and writers, freedom of artistic expression, and human rights.

Poetry rocks the world!



FEEL THE BERN

For Peace, Sustainability, Social Justice

Maintain the movement.

“Democracy is not a spectator sport.” Bernie Sanders



“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton

On the lockdown: Two by Moe Seager

Photograph courtesy of Annie Sprattm Unsplash

“Once, a long time ago,
Before Corona,
People sat together
Talking in soft voices
That only they could hear
Heads almost touching . . . “
Before Corona, Mike Stone



Perhaps

Morning gives to afternoon
Time to tuck away dreams, desire, inner being
Corporeal gravity of transparent routines, anemic rituals
Rain, Spring returns from exile
Sucks on Aprils nipples

Thunder claps, falling waters
Herd us against each other
Repelling most in hurried flight for home
Where we are absolutely safe
From nothing
Witness those drowning
In the empty vessels of themselves

Oh this day would be dull, boring
Were it not for the occasional flash
Of bright umbrellas
One, the color red
To remind us
We are

My umbrella is a tent
I a nomad
Wandering through this village
Not quite sure of how to conduct myself

By chance, design?
We come upon each other
Relief
The solitude of two

Too soon it is time
You must go
I shall wait
Beauty is stubborn

© 2020, Moe Seager

Dog Days

Paris calling. Week 4 or 5? Not sure. French president Macron announced the prolongation of the lock down to May 11. He says by that date we shall have test kits and an adequate supply of masks. Aping the U.S.,, France manufactures millions of bullets weekly but is at a loss to readily supply its citizens with protective gear. Yes, like the US., France can manufacture goods that end life but not so well that which will save lives. I’m a socially active guy so this lock down is quite challenging. I have a dog Bertha. I’m allowed to walk her twice a day. Like other cities the air here is now clear. Flowers and green things spring and bud pallets of colors more vividly than in past seasons. Flora blooms larger than usual. My life is smaller. The change in surroundings and social climate affect Bertha as well. She moves casually, in step with me in no need of prompting. We hear several species of birds as we’ve not heard before. Birds make music and speech, comforting. Put down the dictionary, wake up the ears. I have a g-o-d- Great Out Doors, manifest as atmosphere, stratosphere, ionosphere, beyond where I cannot ascend to reach. Truly beyond my comprehension, nonetheless marvelous to marvel at, outside and in. I’ve been commissioned to write two books, poetry and short stories just prior to the quarantine. The quarantine is writing me. There are moments, unsettling in the deep drifting night when this isolation seeds a solitude I’m barely prepared to wade in. My gallery of dreams resonate a consciousness, feelings ominous. I wake with urgent need to love; they whom I hold in my heart, to care for those I’ve callously dismissed for petite self serving motives. Wake up is a mercurial meditation. I’m a spectator of my inner self. Yes I latch onto social media, relieving my anxieties by viewing yours, heartened when expressing my sympathy for you and yours. Oftimes Facebook is Death book. Times I lapse into a list of those who must not perish, for their sake, for mine. I have witnessed parents, mothers, my own burying her own children. Then gladdened with news that someone, others have survived a dance with death. And I know we’re in this together. willfully or not. Fear of mortality invokes frenzied vitality. With all my impotent indignation and rage I indict those governors of politics and fortunes, the immune by privilege, for their indefensible manipulations and greed driven exploitation of us Us, we are everybody by virtue of our common humanity. You might expect that the poet I am would center me, magnetize my focus onto language. Truth be told it’s a song, a song from any number of periods and styles. A piece of music, be it of voice or instruments, both, that unearth the sadness, the joys, the will… against the odds we stay in the game. No one to witness me shed bitter sweet tears and laughter. I dance to the notice of my dog Bertha. She sits calmly, quizzically. Good for her. The day is made.

© 2020, Moe Seager

Moe Seager

MOE SEAGER (Moe Seager- Paris Calling) is a poet and jazz & blues vocalist who sings his poems on stages in Paris, New York and elsewhere and has recorded 2 jazz-poetry c.d.s. Seager founded and hosts Angora Poets (Paris) World Caffé, 100 Thousand Poets for Change, Paris and is one of the coordinators for le Fédération des Poètes paris. He has 5 collections of poetry and currently publishes published with Onslaught press, Oxford, U.K. Other poetry collections are issued from the French Ministry of Culture – Dream Bearers,1990. One World, Cairo Press – in Arabic translation, 2004. We Want Everything in French translation, les Temps des Cirises, Paris, 1994. Perhaps, La Maison de la Poesie, Grenoble, France, 2006. Fishermen and Pool Sharks Busking editions, London, 1992. Additionally Seager won a Golden Quill Award (USA) for investigative journalism, 1989 and received an International Human Rights award from the Zepp foundation, 1990. He teaches writing in Paris.


Jamie Dedes:

Your donation HERE helps to fund the ongoing mission of The Poet by Day in support of poets and writers, freedom of artistic expression, and human rights.

Poetry rocks the world!



FEEL THE BERN

For Peace, Sustainability, Social Justice

Maintain the movement.

“Democracy is not a spectator sport.” Bernie Sanders



“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton

Poetry Foundation (U.S.) on COVID-19 Relief; “Zoom” in on Angora Poets World Caffé, All Languages Welcome

Illustration courtesy of Trust “Tru” Katsande, Unsplash

“some moments are nice, some are
nicer, some are even worth
writing
about.”
Charles Bukowski, War All the Time



Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry, announced this week that its core mission, in direct support of poets, is to remain committed to its programs that serve as an important source of financial support for poets, writers, and artists through contributor fees, honoraria, award prizes, and commissions.

“The poetry and publishing communities are facing unprecedented challenges due to COVID-19, and while we are uniquely positioned, we are still no exception. The economic downturn is causing a significant immediate impact and unknown long-term impact to the value of our endowment, our primary source of revenue to support publishing Poetry magazine and the organization’s mission and programs into perpetuity.

“Despite the financial pressures, we are maintaining our programs, staff, and doing what we are able, which includes focusing our support close to home through the Arts for Illinois Relief Fund. While we are not able to make new commitments at this time, we will continue to assess the impact, and community needs on balance with our mission.”


Angora Poets World Caffé

Copyright Angora Poets World Caffé

Zoom (link HERE) at 8 p.m. Paris time. Angora world caffé meets via  Zoom, hosting participants from the four corners of the planet. Presentations in all languages including English, French, Arabic, Spanish – your language welcome.

According to Moe Seager, “Angora Poets has been meeting every Sunday for three years. Similar to The BeZine I include proven poets – young and old, published and not – who show a craftwork.” For more info and to connect with Moe, link HERE.


Jamie Dedes:

Your donation HERE helps to fund the ongoing mission of The Poet by Day in support of poets and writers, freedom of artistic expression, and human rights.

Poetry rocks the world!



FEEL THE BERN

For Peace, Sustainability, Social Justice

Maintain the movement.

“Democracy is not a spectator sport.” Bernie Sanders



“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton

Jazz Is, a poem by Moe Seager

Photograph courtesy of Jens Thekkeveettil, Unsplash

“Jazz, like left-wing politics and ‘the common man’, was a cause.” Martin T. Williams, King Oliver



Jazz is
A way in to a way out
Way up down deep inside
An audio odyssey
A jet stream blowing in from Ghana
Belted out in Congo square
Jazz is a round trip ticket
Round the world of Africa and Africa touched

Jazz is
New Orleans second line
Voodoo queen looking so fine
Jazz is a diva’s honey croon
Looking for love, spell of full moon
Jazz is a man down and out in Chicago
Jamming entranced beyond his sorrow
Jazz is a child with a sense complex
A feel for a world beyond that given
Jazz is Havana throwing off heat
Blaze of a trumpet, bodies in beat
Jazz is a Jew on a clarinet
No hold back, he lets it rip
Jazz is a gypsy heeding the call
To new found sounds in his finger tips
Jazz is in duo with Mozart and Bach
A spoon in tune with Cafe Vienna
Jazz is a niche on a back-street in Paris
Rendezvous lovers, loners and poets.

Jazz doesn’t know solitary confinement
Be big band, be bop, slow motion shuffle
Be ballad, be blue.
Lay back and be cool
Come in and go out
Each time unique
Like the last time

Jazz is
A cargo the trade winds sail
To the door of the depot of the lost be found
To ring your ears and throb your heart
Stormy Monday turning sunny
Feel the blues depart

Jazz is
A riff that walks me home
Is a bass line I climb to the top of the stairs
Is the hand holding mine when nobody cares
Jazz softly whispers – I know how you feel

Jazz is
Chump change and scratch
Is chewing through the gristle
To suck on the bone
Jazz is a holler, a cat call, a hymn
Dollar down, dollar a month
Why I’m so broke I can’t pay attention
Jazz is red wine, white wine, up in smoke
Raising caine, strung on dope
Jazz is singing Lush Life in the shower

Jazz is
An instrument of fingers and tongues
A vessel of muscle and breath
Body and mind in sync with itself
Jazz time tics free off the clock
A serpentine march out of formation
Jazz can leap to the end of the line
Makes every stop along the block
Jazz goes uptown to get down
Calls night time the right time
And the right time is now

Jazz is
A teller of history, a history maker
Jazz be love oh so tender
Off the chart form the heart
Jazz is memory come with forgiveness
Jazz is a bitch
She´s the mother load

Jazz is
Sweet smells of incense, of jasmine, of hormones
Deep note moans, high pitch groans, twists and turns
Sharps that burn, flats that howl
Guitar licks that sparkle
Drum beats driven off the four corner map
And the beat goes on and the beat goes on
Through the Rio night, the Harlem dawn

Jazz is
A gas, a liquid
A solid mass of substance
A floating island in the center
Of the infinite sea
So vast is jazz, so deep and wide
How the middle passage
Placed us side by side

Jazz is
A family, a family of man
Whose taproot is the music of the Af-ri-can
Poly-rhythmic pollination from the talking drum
Graced in gospel, rolls of rag time
Tears and laughter of the blues
The gifts of many makers
Freely given me, freely given you

Jazz is
A way in to a way out
Way up down deep inside
A way to, a path through
The mindless rubble,
The poison propaganda
Lies of the masters
The illusion castors
Now cross you over to another side
No papers, no passports, no human claims denied
No charges pressed, no back-seat guests
Welcome to a dynasty of open borders
Jazz is
A free country

© 2020, Moe Seager

Moe Seager

MOE SEAGER (Moe Seager- Paris Calling) is a poet and jazz & blues vocalist who sings his poems on stages in Paris, New York and elsewhere and has recorded 2 jazz-poetry c.d.s. Seager founded and hosts Angora Poets (Paris) World Caffé, 100 Thousand Poets for Change, Paris and is one of the coordinators for le Fédération des Poètes paris. He has 5 collections of poetry and currently publishes published with Onslaught press, Oxford, U.K. Other poetry collections are issued from the French Ministry of Culture – Dream Bearers,1990. One World, Cairo Press – in Arabic translation, 2004. We Want Everything in French translation, les Temps des Cirises, Paris, 1994. Perhaps, La Maison de la Poesie, Grenoble, France, 2006. Fishermen and Pool Sharks Busking editions, London, 1992. Additionally Seager won a Golden Quill Award (USA) for investigative journalism, 1989 and received an International Human Rights award from the Zepp foundation, 1990. He teaches writing in Paris.


Jamie Dedes:

Your donation HERE helps to fund the ongoing mission of The Poet by Day in support of poets and writers, freedom of artistic expression, and human rights.

Poetry rocks the world!



FEEL THE BERN

For Peace, Sustainability, Social Justice

Maintain the movement.

“Democracy is not a spectator sport.” Bernie Sanders



“Every pair of eyes facing you has probably experienced something you could not endure.”  Lucille Clifton