(Painting by Tom Higgins, UK)
Slip silver along the length of my back,
see it gleam,
turn to black
as wave-water holds me,
dips me in silk.
Only a stretch of muscle,
curving in the night air,
to plunge deep
through the kelp I’ve moved.
There I can show you
the shoal of my dreams,
swirled through the green,
touched with the moonlight
I have trapped in my fins.
Carole Jacobs, 2016
-Credit : Cross-Cultural Communications Art & Poetry Series Broadsides # 78
CROSSES AND GRAVESTONES BREAK MY VIEW
Crosses and gravestones break my view.
To the left, I see you, bending
To arrange a jar of flowers;
The winter sky dulls your presence:
Charcoal figure, Van Gogh peasant.
Now kneeling, you recall a prayer.
My lack of Welsh locks out the sense;
But the grammar of sobs I know.
No priest, no poet, no actor
Could vinegar my wound like you.
You stand and gather up your things;
Then blackly walk the narrow path.
Your grief is deep – and so is mine;
Yet your strange prayer suggests that faith
Does visit your dark house of hurt.
I stare down at my child son’s grave;
I say no words to cross or stone,
As my clenched hands hold crumbs of dirt.
Published in VISITORS by Peter Thabit Jones, Seren Books (1986)
Lo Ch’ing, Taiwan
Credit: The Poem of the Week is – recently – also published on the website
of POINT Editions in English, Spanish and Dutch
I should not dwell
In cold mountains so high
I should not work in the scorching gorges so deep.
I should not hide
Secluded in my many different rooms
With my dead branches, fingers alike
Painting white clouds, dream fantasies
All over the floor, the walls.
But they don’t know
When darkness returns
From where I come.
Those many splendored clouds
Will silently float out
Hovering above the driest places
Transforming into sounds
Of intermittent showers.
Lo Ch’ing (Taiwan 1948- )
Translation: Nancy Ing
Some friends call her a ginger cat,
Others call her an orange cat,
But for me, she’s simply my favourite pet,
My cute and clever cat
proudly bearing the inspirational fruit’s name Apricot.
Apricot loves to drink cool cow’s milk,
A daily consumption of Canaillou and Whiskas pet food
makes her coat as soft as silk.
Apricot can catch a mouse at one go,
Like human beings she can open the windows,
She plays with the door keys and asks me to let her go
to meet her new friend, the neighbour’s cat Alexo.
Run, run, run in the garden Apricot and Alexo,
They chase the yellow butterflies and brown sparrows,
Fluffy, the grey puppy joins them too,
When the sunset says “Hello”,
Apricot whispers to her friends “Miaow, Miaow, tomorrow”;
She, then rushes home and rests on the cushion turquoise blue.
Sometimes when I feel weary and without zest,
Apricot sits by my feet and let an aura of hope manifest,
Her sweet purrs say softly “ Please, please don’t be upset.”
Vatsala Radhakeesoon was born in Mauritius in 1977.
She has had a keen interest in poetry writing and reading since a very young age. Highly encouraged by her mother, a Hindi teacher, she kept on writing. Her poem ‘Loneliness’ was first published in the widely read local newspaper, L’Express in October 1995. Vatsala has participated in poetry conventions and creative writing workshops in Mauritius and U.S.A.
Her first poetry book ‘When Solitude Speaks’ was published on recommendation of the Ministry of Arts and Culture, Mauritius in 2013. That book consists of poems written between the ages of 14 to 35. Her works emphasize on emotional, social, historical and spiritual issues.
Vatsala Radhakeesoon graduated with a MBA degree from Management College of Southern Africa. She is self-employed and continues to write poems in various languages: English , Kreol, French and Hindi. She is currently working on her second poetry book in English.
(Painting by Sandrina Piras c/o http://www.culturanostop.it/)
I CANI SENTIRANNO LA NOSTRA MANCANZA
Una poltrona vuota in un angolo di una stanza,
sotto la lampada; un tavolo accanto,
occhiali, libri, telefono,
alcuni giornali e un gioco di dama sopra.
Davanti alla poltrona, un cane è seduto.
Non vuole alzarsi
e sistemarsi comodamente, come i cani
di solito fanno. Guarda. Aspetta.
che questo è solo un nuovo gioco a “scomparsa”
un comportamento, infatti,
che è indegno di un uomo serio;
un altro scherzo, come lo era nel parco,
quando lui è salito su un albero e ha gettato le castagne.
Il cane aggrotta la fronte, inclina la testa,
annusa l’odore con il suo naso umido,
muovendo leggermente la coda. Si sdraia
sul tappeto, poggia la testa sulle zampe anteriori,
lotta con il peso delle palpebre, dopo un po’
si addormenta; abbaia,
corre dietro al suo padrone, è un piccolo cucciolo,
tira la stoffa, e quindi cade
in quella terribile pozzanghera vicino alla vecchia quercia.
E, naturalmente, insegue il gatto.
Dopo alcuni sogni del cane,
i bicchieri, i libri e la dama
scompaiono dal tavolo.
si perde nel buio. Poi arriva l’inverno.
E il cane è ancora seduto davanti poltrona
TOMASZ MAREK SOBIERAJ (Translation by Lidia Chiarelli)