December 2011 ::: Nollaig 2011

Artwork by Luana Stebulė
Anthony Sullivan (Ireland) , L. Summerton Morgan (USA), Tomás Ó Cárthaigh (Ireland), Spiros Kitsinelis (Greece / France), Hal O Leary(USA), Matthew Walz (USA), Tatjana Debeljacki (Serbia), Lizzie Corsi (USA) Bernard Lorimer (Northern Ireland), Randall Aittaniemi (USA),
Sabahudin Hadžialic (Bosnia and Herzegovina), Deepak Chaswal (India), Erica (USA). Kathy Coman (USA), Kim Wilson (USA), Gonzalo
Salesky (Agentina), Rishan Singh (South Africa), Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (USA), Irena Jovanovic (Serbia),Dan Castle (USA), Greg Gunn
(Canada), Lisa McCraw, (USA), Matthew Bell (Australia), Laura Cleary (Ireland), Niall O Conner (Ireland) Evin Okçuoglu (Turkey), Simon
Rhee (USA), Elizabeth A. Fontaine (USA), Luana Stebule (Lithuania), Barbara Wühr (Germany / France), Frank C. Praeger (USA)

Cartys Poetry Journal
www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Foreword
As 2011 draws to a close, we have again
another great year on which to look back,where we brought the best of poetry from
Ireland and around the world to a readershipin Ireland and around the world.
We have seen and partaken in the 100,000
Poets for Change event, and look forward topartaking in the 2012 event, we will becharting the participation in the 10 Years andCounting Project, we have seen the launch of
the book locally by Ken Hume in Tullamore“Snowstorm of Doubt and Grace”, andreported on the poetic events around Ireland.
In the year to come, we hope to have a print
edition going (a short lived ambition realisedin earlier issues!!!) that is carried in shops,
etc. For now, we will be online only.
Formatting of the Magazine
The magazine is now in a formatting stage,rhyming poems come in the first section, nonrhyming after. Other features are scatteredthroughout. Let us know how you find this touse.

Activism and the Poet
Activism is on the rise, look around, no
mistake can be made about it. No more arepeople standing on the sidelines, they are
getting out there to make their voices heard.
What effect that they are having is totally
another story, but they are getting out there
anyway.
From the Occupy! Movement – the Irish
activism which is largely ignored here in thelocal press – to the 100,000 Poets for Change
event, started on Facebook by Michael
Rothenberg, to the 10 Years and Counting
event against the wars in the middle east andelsewhere, its not just street marches, but acultural movement which is orgainising anduprising.
As we face into 2012, let us remember thepoets and bloggers in jail in Burma and China
in particular, and elsewhere unknown aroundthe world. Anther poetic spirit and artist in jail
we remember is Leonard Peltier, jailed by the
USA for a crime he did not commit. In a recent
letter published by Whisper n Thunder hethanks his supporters and outlines some of
the blank issues heretofor kept out of thelimelight in the case.

In this coming year... let us continue to be active.
The pen can be as mighty as the sword.
Swords may fight wars...
but it takes a pen to sign the peace!

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Contents
Rhyming Poetry

Non Rhyming Poets

Anthony Sullivan (Ireland)

Tatjana Debeljacki (Serbia)

Our Moonlight SerenadeI Think I Just Felt My Heart BreakWhite Flag From My HeartA Prisoner Of This Love
Our Spirit From The Soil

Are There
There IsI Will Never Forget That NightL. Summerton Morgan (USA)CaptivatedGran'mas’ Molasses
BlindedDusty Roads
Freeman's MillWhitecaps on the Sea
A Pocket Full of Marbles
A Moment of SilenceNews Item - "108 Breaths"

Tomás Ó Cárthaigh (Ireland)

Randall Aittaniemi (USA)A Month of Mondays
If Poets Had Consequence
Writer Forgetting their Readers
Words Written in Anger and Anguish (Anne Sexton)
Turbulent Seas
Where Snow is But a Dream (Haiku)
Morning After the Night Before
Walking by Trees at the Grand Canal, Tullamore" "Anonymous" by Anonymous (me!!!) "Contrite Remarks
ErosionThe Nomad that would be Hero
Heading West
Unconscious Wonder

Spiros Kitsinelis (Greece / France)
I Drink to You
For You Dont Know
Hal O Leary (USA)Homecoming
I’m Not Sure How
The Innocent
War Is HellMy Life
Dear Friend
Matthew Walz (USA)Maiden of the NightMy Enemy
Tragedy in the Fall

Lizzie Corsi (USA)Bernard Lorimer (Northern Ireland)
The Waves
Atom +
Better Off in the Bog End of Nowhere

Sabahudin Hadžialic (Bosnia and Herzegovina)
Reality Filmed
Vice Versa
Living In ‘The Dreams’ Street
Repeticio Est Mater Studiorum
Life
Copy Paste
States, Pardon Me, Cities
Ananas And Banana
Blues For My Ex-Country/Homeland
Country Song
If Only I Were Younger
Deepak Chaswal (India)“Man”"Freedom"“Death by Water”"Angels/Demons""Meeting with Christ"“Superman”
Erica (USA)

NEWS: "Arise & Go Now" Release
Three Years Down
NEWS: Offaly Writers Set to Join the Million Club

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Kathy Coman (USA)Matthew Bell (Australia)

Rain

Silent WorldMr Mockingbird
Cleansing Rain
Dark Moon Rising

Kim Wilson (USA)
Bold Statements
Days
Gifts
Gonzalo Salesky (Argentina)

Laura Cleary (Ireland)
Possibilities
Runaway

You Will Be
Harlequins
Omen

Niall O Conner (Ireland)

Rishan Singh (South Africa)

Evin Okçuoglu (Turkey)

My Friend

We Had Known
We could not understandIn Search of Roots

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (USA)
Simon Rhee (USA)The Vision
Fossor’s Lament
Animal TimeThe Times

Haiku
Elizabeth A. Fontaine (USA)

Irena Jovanovic (Serbia)

Scars That Run Deep

One Raindrop
My Dear Soul
Honey Like Sweetness
My Radiant Lotus Garden
United In Love
Sweet Fragrance Of Your Soul
How Can IThis Is A Wonderful Day
Nothing Compares To You, Lord
Like A Queen
Energy Of Colours Of Life
Golden Dawn
Radha & Krishna

Luana Stebule (Lithuania)

Dan Castle
Once More Into the Breach..
Greg Gunn (Canada)
SHEEP SEARCH SKYWARD
THIS ATHENIAN SITELEAVENED APHRODITEREPETITIOUS REAPINGBEDRIDDEN

Farce
Twist
Only
Other Way
LabelsAnike (name)
Satori
Barbara Wühr (Germany / France)
I - Sunbeams
II - Revealing Truth
III - Cosmic Cords
IV - Day of St.Barbara
V - Pégase l'ami de mon âme
V – Pegasus, the friend of my soul… (Translation)
VI – I love you so much…
Frank C. Praeger (USA)

Lisa McCraw, (USA)A Fretted Patience
How to Say It
A Topping Off
Fixated Maneuvers
Exuberant

She Fell Like a Raindrop

News Item: "Whisper n Thunder Cookbook"www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Anthony Sullivan ::: Ireland
Anthony Sullivan needs no introduction to long time readers of this magazine, having had his work featured on these pages in practicallyevery issue since its launch some two or so years ago now. Further work can be read on his website www.anthonysullivan.biz
OUR MOONLIGHT SERENADE

I THINK I JUST FELT MY HEART BREAK

Beneath a starlight symphony
Playing our moonlight serenade
The sky belongs to you and me
Tonight our dreams are on parade
Each secret wish at last revealed
While whispers of passion cascade
Beneath a starlight symphony
Playing our moonlight serenadeI think I just felt my heart breakIf pain can feel like an earthache
Cos' there you are again with him
In one more photo you're both in
And he has his arm around you
And your smile says you want him to
And it hurts more than I can takeI think I just felt my heart break{ CHORUS }Ev'ry breath lost is worth the cost
To all lovers on their crusade
And you bring breathlessness to me
When love is shown and love is madeDuring our moonlight serenadeI think I just felt my heart breakAnd now I'm left just waitin' on
Those tears I know are sure to come ( CHORUS )As sure as now, I know you're gone
And you're gone now, there's no mistakeI think I just felt my heart break

The stars sparkle like our hearts beat
Dancing our moonlight serenadeWe move in time 'til time's no more
Oh how your lips softly persuade
That all the world my arms could want
I hold in you, our promise madeWhile stars sparkle like our hearts beat
Dancing our moonlight serenadeI think I just felt my heart breakIf pain can feel like an earthquake
And leave your world the lonesome view
Of four damn horsemen stormin' throughIt's last night's news in today's light
The tale of how a dream took flight
And it hurts more than I can takeI think I just felt my heart break{ REPEAT CHORUS X 2 }REPEAT CHORUS

Beneath a starlight symphony
We dance our moonlight serenade

And I don't want to know about
Moments the camera did not see
The one it caught was bad enoughTo leave me in this agony{ REPEAT CHORUS }How you bring breathlessness to me
During our moonlight serenade.

REPEAT CHORUS X 2
Oh he has his arm around you
And your smile says you want him toI think I just felt my heart breakwww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

WHITE FLAG FROM MY HEART
Oh Kellie
Why do you smile like that
Straight at me
Cos' now I'm smilin' backAnd I can't seem to stop myself
And I don't want to turn away
Kellie, what have you gone and done
To this poor boy's heart today
Oh Kellie I wonder would you
Keep on smilin' still if you knew
What your smile's been doin' to me ( CHORUS )And doin' to me from the startCos' Kellie, what your sweet smile does
Is get a white flag from my heart

Wear those signs that say we're closin' down
And my heart might well soon wear one too
Cos' i think I'm good as gone to you, but
REPEAT CHORUS
And yet i know should freedom somehow
Be offered on this or any day
Still a prisoner of this hopeless love
Would my weak heart choose freely to stay, oh
REPEAT CHORUS X 2
REPEAT VERSE 1
As a prisoner of this love.
OUR SPIRIT FROM THE SOIL

Oh Kellie
Can you tone down your glow
Then maybe
Well maybe I might go
From week's beginning to it's end
Without searchin' the late-night sky
For sign of somethin' bright as you
But you shine brightest to my eye
REPEAT CHORUS
So Kellie
Where do I go from here
You got me
Always wishin' you're near
And near as I can get to you
Ain't close enough to satisfy
Thoughts tangled up here in my heart
That my head's tryin' to deny

Oh Mother Earth, all glorious
And cradle of humanity
Beneath your skies, beyond all ties
All souls once soared in harmony
But Mother Earth, so wonderous
We have suffered such cruelty
Our fellow man, claiming your land
As their birth-right of prophecy, but
There is no force under heaven
Can steal our spirit from the soil
No barrier can break the bond
Of all the blood, and tears and toil
From a centuries deep belonging ( Chorus )That grows a love forever loyal
Hands can take, just what they can reach
But nothing can steal our spirit
Can steal our spirit from the soil

REPEAT CHORUS X 2
Oh Kellie
Why do you smile like that
Straight at me
Cos' now I'm smilin' backOh, now I'm smilin' backYeah, you got me smilin' back

Oh Brother Sun, your light has shone
On darker ground where life bled thru'
For stolen homes and broken bones
And history hidden out of viewOh Sister Moon, you've seen our tears
For how the way of life we knew
Blazed the trail to a promised land
Where honored promises were few, but

A PRISONER OF THIS LOVEREPEAT CHORUS
Darlin' i could wait a whole day throughIn the hope of just a word from you
But when such luck don't break the silence
I just go on servin' my sentence, andI'm still a prisoner of this love
Love that i never can reveal
Always bound by those emotions ( CHORUS )That i know not, how not to feelI stay, a prisoner of this love
Always a prisoner of this love
And all the streets all around this town

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Oh Brother Sun and Sister Moon
And Mother Earth, mother of all
Through your world we are but trav'llers
Short is the time before we fall
And we know all we truly own
We leave for those who follow on
In ways some who would deny us
Will never know we're never gone, cos'
REPEAT CHORUS
REPEAT VERSE 1

L. Summerton Morgan (USA)
Gran'mas’ Molasses

Dusty Roads

Gran'ma made the biscuits
gran'pa tended fields
as children chased the chickens
gathered feathers for their quills.

The dusty road i grew up on
is all but vanished, all but gone
replaced by asphalt, barren, cold
The homestead lost, despairing, sold.

A ragged dog named Hobothat never had much sense
spent hours chasing rabbitsthat ventured out the fence.

Grandpa's plow lies rotting where
he left it lie, last he was there
the open well is safely sealed
replaced by monthly water bills.

A kitty cat named Punkin’
we discovered in the ditch
by Maple Tree where Gran'pa’d shade‘n supplied my Gran’ma’s switch.

The ditch that made my grandpa gripe
the city folk replaced with pipe
the fish are gone, the crawdads went
their muddied home now cold cement.

A place where time seemed endless
dirt roads and iced tea glasses
where time ne’r grew any older
soppin' biscuits in Gran’s Molasses.

Carlisle's wood-planked gen'ral store
where old men gathered, lie, and swore
soda pop and sweet Moonpies
was torn asunder, Carlisle died.

BlindedShooting marbles, circles drawn
upon dirt roads un-traveled onwhere children played from dawn to eve
in fancied worlds of make-believe.

Blinded by the night where demons oft come out to play
Sightless, the enlightened, there, among wheremonsters lay
Hidden neath the shadows lurking, waiting for the child
Who never sought to see beyond, the haunted andreviled.
There among the oft allied, sighted others play
Tread upon the maddened, who defy the light of day
Who never looked upon the shadowed placid or thecalm
Forever cast in darkness, where the torment met
aplomb.
Where upon we walk alongside each and every day
The walking interrupted seeking shelter from malaise
Who ask for naught ‘side reasoning of those replete with
norm
Blinded in the darken, lighted sheltered from the storm.

i wonder where the kids have gone(locked inside with TV's on)
who never have, who never know’dthe simpler times on Dusty Road…
Freeman's MillThe old mill long had closed its doors
the rotting wheel would turn no more
no grain to grind, no country stores
where old men sat, told stories, swore...
And rocks that formed the waterfall
became the playground for us allon summer days, it beckoned, called
beneath the old mill's rotting walls....
The chill of water, mountain-fed
awakened spirits, long since deadwhere millers’ children once were fed
on banks upon which lovers wed.
And yet i hear the echoes still
where laughter of the children filled
those rotting walls upon the hill‘twas once the home to Freeman's Mill....

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Whitecaps on the Sea
Dancing on the waves
are wing-ed angels by the sea
whose fathers sailed and perishedwhile they waited patiently
Lost unto the graveyard of
Atlantic's Cape Fear coast
fortunes lost forevermore
and haunted by the ghosts.
Who frequent estuaries
seeking freedom from the grave
where currents buried treasures
the angels dance on waves
And daughters of the fathers
who waited patiently
sail forevermore and dance
as whitecaps on the sea....

Time would take those marbles
He had gathered ‘long the way
And render them asunder
On the playgrounds where he play…
Until such time as age definedThose marbles he had lost
Would redefine his memories
And spent at such a cost…
He’s long since lost the shooter
Daddy’s gift to eldest son
He recollects with sadness
All the tasks he’s left undone…
Among his daily duties
Ever seeking, yet to findThat precious tiny marble
Represents his state of mind….

A Pocket Full of Marbles
A Moment of Silence
A child just half past six
Drawing circles in the sandWaging tiny marbles
Firmly gripped within his hand.
His favorite, a shooter
Daddy’s gift, he never bet
Lest he not remember
Lest forever, he forget….
He waged those tiny marbles‘gainst the best that came his way
On dirt-lined streets and playgrounds
Where he ventured everyday…
And there along life’s highway
Tiny marbles represent
Lessons learned from winning
And the losses he had spent…

A moment of silence is called for today
As we take a moment toand to pray
For our fallen brethren who’ve fallen in war
Far from their homeland and welcoming shore.
For all of our sons and daughters who serve
Protecting our freedom, it’s time to observe
A moment of silence, for those underway
Fighting our battles, as heroes are they.
Who give of themselves, that we who remain
At home, do not falter, or fail,wane
For this is our mission, it’s their sacrifice
All of our heroes are paying the price.
Pray for our heroes, for those left behind
Pray for the comfort and loss of affined.
For those altruistic, unselfishly pay
A moment of silence is called for today.

Matters of the Heart is being re-released in limited quantities. The 2011 Edition will include
240 Poems and 4 Short Stories/Tales. Each copy will be autographed personally by theauthor to the individual purchaser.
Leon continues to write and share his poetry online. You may find him at the following links:
Send a friend request to: http://www.facebook.com/LSummertonMorgan“i welcome new friends and readers and will direct you to my poetry pages. Moreinformation will be provided when the 2011 Edition is completed. Thank You ALL for yourcontinued support and kindness!”- Leonwww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Poetry – Tomás Ó CárthaighWriter Forgetting their Readers

Where Snow is But a Dream

Words written in worry
Chart the horrors of the mind
Don't make pleasant reading
For the reader who may findToo much raw emotion
From a writer seeking a shoulder to cry
Forgetting the reader may have problems
For whom a way out is not to die.

Elsewhere snow falls
Child is dreaming of snowmen
Summer sun beats down.

Words Written in Anger and Anguish (Anne Sexton)
As Sexton slowly slid out of control, a feature of her
writing was to go to free verse from rhyme.
With words written in anger and anguish
From rhyme to free verse she veered
The former written when demons under control
The latter when they were freed, unsteered
She careered across the page with words
Her therapy became our literature, we readWithout guilt, as if her medical notes, which werereleased
When they should not have been, psychiatry meets
poetry: instead
A new genre, and old story, and neither the therapy
helped the poetry
Or the poetry enhanced the therapy
And like reading all medical notes
The reader is none the wiser for reading, and can be
Little the better afterwards.
Turbulent Seas
"as easily as an old woman reads a palm"
Crossing the Atlantic - Anne Sexton
Journey set upon with an illusion of a boat
By one who could not swim, but read a tale
Of a man who walked on water in Gallilee
And thought she too could not fail
So to walk on the waters of her emotions
But it was not to be, faster than she could think
With a glass of vodka in hand, she took on the waves
And found the only way was down... she did sink.
The old woman of her writings if she were to read
Would she have seen that garage in her palm
Would she have foretold her, or told a fairy tale
Her worries and her agitation to calm?
Each person - each of us has a destiny
Hers charted as if her words were each a medical note
How many were written with watered eyes
Read to hear their sound, each caught in her throat?

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Morning After the Night Before
Last night, they walked and talked
And fought and kissed and whatever else as wellThis morning the hangover strikes
Too many stories not to tell
And live and hope that nothing happened
That will show in time a night of the past
Love is great to share when at the time we share it
But such fleeting lust will rarely last
Too many look at each other with guilty eyes
After the nights dalliances of the heart
In awkward silences and words - whichever worse
They manage in mumbles to greet and part
The morning after, sometimes they think
The lesser part of the hangover is caused by the drink!
Walking by Trees at the Grand Canal, Tullamore
Arms to sky, they wave good morning
As I walk by, maybe a warning
Watch where you fly, the sky adorning
Birds that cry, they may leave their markBelieved good luck to be by some
Who never, from work walking have comeHad a bird shit upon their clothes
Could be worse - going to work Id suppose...
I nod good morning to the bare leafed trees
Who stand arms to the sky at ease...
" "Anonymous" by Anonymous (me!!!) "Someone wrote this poem, without a name
From rage and anger, with pen they came
Better to spill ink, I think, than blood
Though to spill the latter they wish they could
But we have seen enough of war and killing
And it will all pass in time God willing
So we will take the beatings and the tear gas
Voice our anger ignored, bear the load as the crises
slowly pass...

A Month of Mondays

They Slept in Peace

It seems as if with all thats on- And its not only somedays Everything than can has gone wrong
As if a month of Mondays
But yet I try to soldier on
And make it work my way
And that things get done at all
It never fails to amaze me everyday!

War and slaughter disturbed them not
For over thousands of years
As nation after nation invaded
With guns, and swords and spears
Through famines they were not disturbed
When they were it was not from need
Or conflict, or natural disasterNo, but from mankind's selfish greed.

If Poets Had Consequence
If poets had consequence in these modern times
All corruption would not be
But they don't, so it is and flourishes
And laugh in the face of those like me
Who wave mere words, not wrote the paper written
Or th breath in which poems and slogans are said
Those times when poets words to reputations mattered
Like the times of decency, they are dead.
If moral had consequences in these modern times
All corruption would not be
There would be no need for protest and satire
For campaigners and those like me
Who wave mere words, at times when in other times it
would be guns
And blood flowing on the streets instead
Of a world weary of fighting after two world wars
And has buried too many of its dead.
Freedoms Western Writers For Granted Take
We in the West, we take for granted
Words that we write like theseWe criticize all around - and rightly so But we can do so at ease
Being able to do so it is easy
As a writer you cannot failNo fear of police in the middle of the nightYour home to come being an overcrowded jail.
You kill a man, you do timeYes, but it is set in law
Write an opinion, a crime...
Justice writers never saw.
Just the cold hard bars and guards
Daily instil fear and flog
Critics, journalists and bards:
Student who writes a blog
They sleep tonight, remember
As you too to sleep you go
Writers for freedoms ember
That one day a blaze it'll show.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Now ask debris, they'll be swept away
As are swept to one side wishes of the living
But there will come a Judgement on a Day
It will be unforgiving
God as we know him will declareThat those who desecrated
Shall punished be for their folly
Destroying what he created!

Spiros Kitsinelis(Greece / France)

For You Don’t Know

I Drink To You

You ever slept in beds of rooms,
that felt they were my freedom's tombs.
You ever smelled the scent of skins,of girls that filled my nights with sins.
You ever walked the lands I've been,or ever had the dreams I've seen.
You know the images my eyes can see
and whether inside I feel free.
Well if you don't, don't speak a word,that paints an image and a world,
where you would place my heart and soul,for you don't know what makes me whole.
For you don't hear my laugh or sigh,so save your words and don’t ask why,for what you think is just a lie

To you my girl I drink tonight.
To you that spent with me a night.
To you that have so many names.
To you that played with me some games.
I think of heaven each time we meet.
A star you are, so bright, unique.
But one of many my heart has craved
and with all others my heaven's made.
To you I also drink tonight,that never spent with me a night.
To you whose name I never learned.
To you whose love I never earned.
I think of hell each time we meet.
Each time a nightmare, so dark, unique.
But you're no devil that lies would tell.
My lust for you takes me to hell.

Hal O’ Leary (USA)Hal O'Leary, an eighty-six-year-old Secular Humanist who
believes that it is only through the arts that one is afforded
an occasional glimpse into the otherwise
incomprehensible.

A DAY TO REMEMBER, first published by Original
Writer.
MY LIFE, first published in Crannog Magazine.

Homecoming
My son, he's coming home, we've missed him so...
Yes Mam, that's why we're here, about your son...
So smart. He's going to go to school you know....
Yes Mam...This is the silver star he won.
Yes Mam, that's why we're here. About your son...
He has this very lovely fiance'.
Yes Mam, this is the silver star he won.
She's lovely. We expect him any day.

HOMECOMING, first published by Copaiba
I'M NOT SURE HOW, first published by Thoughtsmith
THE INNOCENT, first published by Ink Blot.
DEAR FRIEND, has not been published.

He has this very lovely fiance'.
Dear Mam...He won't be coming home I fear.
She's lovely, we expect him any day.
Your son was killed, and that is why we're here.
Dear Mam, he won't be coming home I fear.
Of course he'll come. We've waited oh so long.
Your son was killed, and that is why we're here.
I thank you sir, but certainly you're wrong.
Of course he'll come...We've waited oh so long.
So smart...He's going to go to school you know.
.I thank you sir...But certainly you're wrong.
My son?,,,He's coming home!......We've...missed
him so.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

I’M NOT SURE HOW
We’ll get through this, I’m not sure how.
We’ve suffered things like this before.
The world’s too much with us now.
It’s hard to say what lies in store.
We’ve suffered things like this before,
When we were young, but now I fear
It’s hard say what lies in store.
We might not make it through the year.
When we were young, but now I fear
Our time is slipping fast away.
We might not make it through the year.
We might not make it through the day.
Our time is slipping fast away.
I fear, my dear, it may be true,
We may not make it through the day.
There must be something we can do.
I fear, my dear, it may be true.
The world’s too much with us now.
There must be something we can do.
We’ll get through this…I’m not sure how.
THE INNOCENT
I’m in my grave unsure of why I died.
For liberty and freedom it was not.
I didn’t know the leadership had lied.
I trusted, never knowing why we fought.
For liberty and freedom it was not.
I didn’t know they profited the most.
I trusted, never knowing why we fought.
That’s why, for now and ever, I’m a ghost.
I didn’t know they profited the most,The psychopaths, that lied us into war.
That’s why, for now and ever, I’m a ghost.
Our sacred land’s not sacred anymore.
The psychopaths,that lied us into war.
They sold my life to satisfy their greed?
Our sacred land’s not sacred anymore.
Could I have died for such an evil deed?
They sold my life to satisfy their greed?
I didn’t know the leadership had lied.
Could I have died for such an evil deed?
I’m in my grave not knowing why I died.
www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

WAR IS HELL
Yes, War Is Hell, that’s what they say,But when it comes, it’s all HOORAY!
The flag, of course, is on display,
As patriots all kneel and pray.
“The enemy must die today”.
But who is this foe anyway,
We send our brave boys out to slay?
‘Thou shalt not kill’ commandments say,
But they’re not human, it’s OK.
Beside they come from far away
And worship God another day.
But who am I to question theyWho do what I did yesterday?
For very much to my dismay,
Back then I hid my feet of clay,
And off to Nam, I joined the fray,To fight for, Good Old USA.
But now, for ignorance I pay,
And here in Arlington they lay
A wreath and rue the day
We bought the lie of Tonkin Bay

A DAY TO REMEMBER
A summer morn, a sun beyond compare,A stroll to bask and take the summer air,A life reborn, a day extremely rare,
No soul could ask for anything more fair,So, off I set, not really caring where.
It was as though I’d never had a care,
At ease and yet alive, for unaware,
I longed to know what waited for me there.
On such a day, I felt that I could swear
That nothing dire could possibly impair
My golden ray of hope. I do declare
It lit a fire I felt a need to share.
But, not to be, for down the sidewalk, there,
Appeared a sight that gave me quite a scare,
For I could see, and much to my despair,
Someone, at night, had scrawled a message
there.
I knew, of course, it wouldn’t be a prayer,
Or children’s play, and so I’d best prepare
Myself for coarse and yes, the foulest fare
To turn my day into a sad affair.
But as I neared, I had to stop and stare,
For on the walk, I saw and do declare
Not what I feared, for there, without a flare…
In yellow chalk, it simply said “HI THERE”.

MY LIFE
It’s true, that in my youth, I was beset
With fear that I might lose my life, and yet,
I must say that the fear was quite off-set
By treating life just as I did roulette.
I’d go all out and never hedge a bet
The fear of loss was one I’d never met.
I’d raise the stakes and never break a sweat.
My life became an appetite whet,
A banquet that I never will forget.
And now, a member of the Senior Set,
I may be past my prime, but I don’t fretI’ve used life well, and now I’m pleased to let
The ones that follow get their tootsies wet.
And true to form, I hope that they can net
A life like mine, for now that I’m a vet,
There’s nothing more I’d really like to get.
And as the end draws near, with no regret,
Old Death becomes a promise, not a threat.

DEAR FRIEND
At times like these,
the world will seem indifferent and cold.
There must be something one could do.
The sentiment of sympathy
Seems not enough.
It merely says,
I’m sorry fate has dealt you such a blow.
That doesn’t touch the depth of what I feel,
And so, it doesn’t let you know
How much I care.
At times like these,
The cold indifference will dissipate
In knowing there is one who shares
The loving warmth true empathy can give,
A warmth we share.
It truly says,
I feel not simply for, I feel with you.
It says to you, you’re not alone.
It lets you know your deepest grief
Is also mine.
But also know
That very empathy will mean we share
The beauty and the joy as well.
Whatever our two fates decree,
We share as one.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Matthew Walz ::: (USA)A graduate from the University of Minnesota where he studied sociology and history and iscurrently residing in Minneapolis. His poetry and fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in
the following literary magazines: Grey Sparrow Journal, Blinking Cursor, The Sheepshead
Review, A Prairie Journal, Burning Word, and Calliope. He can be reached by email at
matthew.walz.writing@gmail.com.
Maiden of the Night
Farewell fair maiden, of the night,
We kissed forever, or at least till daylight,
But I will never forget the restless play,Though we may be apart, forever, far away.
I’ll lean in, softly, and with a smile,
And happily, joyously, think all the while;
The time we spent can never go to waste,
Even if this is, the first, and final taste.
My Enemy
I see him—a passerby,
Grinding teeth and narrow eye,And hope that he won’t catch
My war torn mind in such a wretch.
Divert my covered thoughts,
Cleverly trenched just like a fox,
But no sooner does he see,
The decrepit, impoverished likes of me.

Tragedy in the Fall
Leave us to the fall;
She left and didn’t come back.
I tremor and tremor,
But she didn’t come back.
Leave us to the fall.
Leave us to the fall;
I traveled the world but was a fake.
I quiver and quiver,
But it’s all for her sake.
Leave us to the fall.
Leave us to the fall;
She left and didn’t come back.
I shiver and shake,
But her eyes have turned black.
Leave us, once, and for all.

My scowl turns into a smile;
He steps towards me and all the while
I raise my hand and say:
“It’s so great to see you on this fine day.”Poetry Video –Stephen James Smith and Enda Reilly“So it gives me great pleasure to share with you a stunning video for a poem byW.B. Yeats (September 1913), it was produced by some of Ireland's finest.
Those being award winning director Myles O'Reilly, Stephen Mogerley andphotographer Bob Dixon.
Here is the link: www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4PPnwVef4k if you like it please beso kind as to share it with friends and leave a comment.
This is to celebrate the debut album titled 'Arise & Go!' by Smith & Reilly, aka
Stephen James Smith (me) and Enda Reilly.
To get some info on us just go here: www.facebook.com/SmithandReilly and 'like'us.”-

Stephen James Smith

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Offaly Writers Set to Join the Million Club
The most obvious link between the Irish and the Native
American people, at least as far as most of us might beaware, is still that supremely noble of charitable gestures
expressed by the Choctaw Indians in collecting andsending money to Ireland during the famine, simply
because they had heard of the suffering of the Irish
people during that dark hour in our history.
However, a new link is in the process of being forged,
and it's one which, thankfully, has it's roots in thesomewhat happier creative world of the arts. Writers
Tomas Carty ( from Banagher ) and Anthony Sullivan (from Lusmagh ), both of whom are based in Tullamore,
have been regular contributors to the Native American
web-zine ' Whisper N' Thunder ' since it's inception justless than two years ago. And now, with the two year
anniversary just around the corner on January 1st, bothmen look likely to be celebrating more than just thewebzine's birthday, but also their being part of the 'Whisper N' Thunder ' team that breaks through the one
million page-requests marker!
With the page-request figure having climbed to over 940,000 by the start of December, the January edition is
expected to take the web-zine beyond the history making

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

one million mark. And this very special milestone edition
will include among it's contents new pieces by both Carty
and Sullivan. Carty, who has seen his work publishedand even translated as far afield as China, as well as
himself being the founder and editor of the online 'Carty's Poetry Journal ', has contributed three short
poems; ' The Crooked Mouths ', ' Columbia River
Creation ', and ' Old Crow Brings Daylight '. Sullivan, who
is currently working on his third collection of lyrics andpoetry, following on from the publication of his second, 'Pilgrim In The Heartland ' in 2009, has contributed his
lyric, ' Ballad of the Red Bird ( Spirit of Love ).
' Whisper N' Thunder ' is a non-profit charitableorganisation founded by Billie Kyle Fidlin in Arizona in
2009, with the web-zine's first edition going ' live ' atmidnight on January 1st 2010. The organisation's
mission statement is to empower Native Americans
through education, awareness and opportunity. It
achieves this aim by sharing the stories, history, traditionand culture of the indigenous people of America, as wellas highlighting current and on-going events anddevelopments.
-

Anthony Sullivan

Tatjana Debeljački (Serbia)
Tatjana Debeljački, was born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku.
Member of Association of Writers of Serbia -UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia - HDS Serbia, HUSCG –Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, HKD Croatia since 2009 anda member of Poetry Society "Antun Ivanošić" Osijek since 2011. Deputy of the main editor (cooperation with magazines &interviews).
http://diogen.weebly.com/redakcijaeditorial-board.html
Editor of the magazine "Poeta", published by Writers’ Association "Poeta"
http://www.poetabg.com/
Union of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin – Belgrade.
Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996;
collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”,
published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-EN
with music, AH-EH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008.
Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages.
Blogs - http://debeljacki.mojblog.rs/
Poetic Interests poetry
Other interests Editor
www.poetabg.com/
Other http://twitter.com/debeljacki

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

ARE THERE

I Will Never Forget That Night

Someone is breaking the branches?!
From midnight to the dawn.
The forest is trembling inside me.
My trees are innocent,Thirsty of milk,
Firm hands and
The scent of effervesce.
I'm drinking my mint tea.
I'm bringing tranquility without the aim
And the flowers for the vase.
When I look at it is never the same.
I'm starting to believe in fertility of miracles.
Is there the flame, which could turn theheavens
Into the ashes?
Are there any hands to pick up my ripe
apples?!

I will never forget that night when you cameto me lying on the couch out of the darkness.

THERE IS
Someone is cracking the branch?!
Hang on till morning.
Here it is inside of me,
Innocent, thirsty
Still waiting for the bread and milk,
Sipping the mint tea.
Bring the peace without the aim
And the flowers for the vase.
Doesn’t know that her soul is freezing, so shetakes her time.
Every now and then she sees her but neveranything happens.
Starting to believe in miracles.
Is there the heavenly love andSuch a flame
That it never turns into ashes?
Always ripe like an apple!
Eh, my quest for the fire...
I’m intoxicated by the poem, not wine!
Your words are the wind
Blowing my love
Away!!!

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

On my parents couchby the window with the stars
you don’t recall?
There’s so much, volumes I want to ask you,
Do you remember the way we would lie in thesweetest of animation,
Suspended,
Resting where even time itself could nottouch usEven for a moment,
How we seemed to pour into each other,
Filling each other to the brim
With excitement, passion, and love,
Do you remember?
On my parent’s couch, that window with amillion stars,
Hearing the odd sleepless cow,
Hearing you,
It was like a million candles lit your way down
the hall to me,
Waiting for our romantic subterfuge
I lay awake preparing a masterpiece ofcushions and covers,
Everyone in the house slept soundly
While your hand gracefully covered yourmouth,
You, gasping,
Trying so hard
Not to scream;
Soft gentle touch of my hands rubbing you,
I miss you so I can hardly breathe...
That was by far the most passionate night of
my free young life,
The way our milky bodies intertwined,
Flowed rhythmically together with the tide of
the night,
Crests rising and falling to the pace of ourbreathing,
A nightingale’s midnight melody fills my ear,and
I fill you up
all the way
past the brimwith my unbridled passion.

-”Captivated” - Lizzie Corsi, (USA)“I am an undergraduate Florida student attending Palm Beach State College”

5

10

15

20

25

30

35

36

40

I've become tangled,
Wrapped and wrangled.
Constricted and confused;
Feelings of obscurity: Compelling and suffused.
This heart’s pulsing, this mind’s racing,
These feelings, though unsecure, continue a tighter enlacing.
Reasons for this captivation remain uncertain, the fact burdens me so.
How do these connections become more twisted as we grow?
Yes, it is you; I have seen you before,
Why is it now my eyes see you in a different light: someone to adore?
Irrevocably, irresistibly, unintentionally magnetized,
Words of expression are captured and imprisoned, unable to be vocalized.
Object of my affection, how good you truly are.
Why must your heart live a distance so far?
Filled to the brim with life so vibrant:
You are kind and gentle, so wonderfully lucent!
But you are also blind and I am helpless.
You can not see what I so desire to confess!
The secret is damaging, my wounds are deep.
It’s too heavy and exhausting to further keep.
Its power knocked me down, so quick you didn’t see.
I flew up, then came down, crashing to the ground so clumsily.
Open those eyes! See the devastation and sense the urgency!
Come to me hastily! This is an emergency!
No… I have fallen hard, with no one to hear.
To remain stranded and alone I do heavily fear.
Trapped like a bird, overcome by emotion.
Why must you be oblivious to all this commotion?
These feelings are squeezing tighter; thick vines too huge!
I can’t do this alone, come give me refuge!
Save me from myself, and end this ruthless tie.
Cut my constraints; unravel my entanglement, just free me to fly!
Follow me please, as I so wish and desire.
Help to simmer the flames, or ignite the fire.
Offer me bandages, heal my heart.
Mend what’s been broken, and never depart.

Kiss the bruises, embrace my soul,
Make me feel good, make me feel whole.
Uncoil the metal of this battered wire,
And give me the light I desperately require.
For this unrequited love has brought about such misery,
So break the curse, open those arms, and simply love me.
Because when I look at you, I see the future I want.
One that without you, my world could become empty and gaunt.
Please my darling, won’t you smile for me?
Smile a smile that can calm the sea?
Someday won’t you look at me sweetly, with eyes so crystal and true,

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

And promise me wrong you will never do?

45

50

55

What I ask of you, my beautiful dear:
Someday look to me, let it be my voice you will hear.
Hear my thoughts, my feelings, my desires for you,
And return them all, giving yourself, and treasuring my virtue.
And let me warm your soul, keep your heart, and settle your spirit.
Giving in to each other, our feelings we will forfeit.
Unknowing to my weakness, I know you are innocent.
Oh how I wish my longing, to you, could be so salient!
Someday I hope I’ll catch your eye,
So you can end my struggle, and with it the pain will die.
For now, I can only hope you’ll come so my love can be aided.
Silent and incomplete, I by you am captivated.

News ItemMark Wallacott publishes online a journal and also books of his writings, one of which we are delighted to feature here

108 Breaths features 108 haiku poems and 4 haibun.
They are a deeply personal collection that will make you
laugh, reflect and wonder about Mark Wollacott’s five
years in Japan. The book has been described asproviding an “intimate view into Japanese culture andhow different it seems to an outsider” by writer Rebecca
Mayglothling.
The book comes with a foreword by poet Kiersty Boonas well as an introduction to haiku, an afterword by theauthor and an appendix of notes giving the reader
background information on Japan and Mark’s time
there.
This is a must for “every type of poetry reader, from thestudent in the classroom to the seasoned poetry reader.”The Hardback edition currently costs £14.99 (plus £2.50 for p&p) if you order fromwww.markwollacott.com via PayPal:

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BERNARD LORIMER

Better Off in the Bog End of Nowhere

Northern Ireland

to turn and take this freight train home
to soil and blood in harmony sungas bards they bade the publics sakefrom turn spun steel city awake
and disperse into woodland lungclear breath, clear stream
moonlight and song

“A student who just moved to Galway from
Belfast, here's some pieces I've been workingon.”
The Waves
Where calm waters that flow in the mooring waters of
Dusk having faned to steady night
Soft and lulling to the great white bright light
Above forever round and passing roundSpinning oceans her anchors boundWhish will ya now
Whish will ya!
Whish!
The waves of all us
All the hush now be hush waves of us
Of all of us
Come flowing or flowed themselves amongst
Gnashing and crashing
The smash of rocks
Whish
Whish
Whish
Those torrents over trenches at the Somme
Spilt across and dripping to deathly done
Tumbling down
Aft rising up
Ships of soldiers drowned
The oceans secret soundA wishA wishA soft trembling wish for leave or some vinegar in thissalty funkAtom +
night before she arrived my living tree
upon a rib and just for meate she the fruit sumptuously
while river ran unto the sea
life was bliss and all was calm
pear sweet melon banana
I feel her perfectly all placethrough her sing and on her face
beauty that is lain aroundshapely flowers from giftly groundgentle sunlight raining below withheavenly water makes all things growall glorious things that he confides
sublimely reigns and inside hides
a single atom of her being
conceals the image of everythingwww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

bountiful mire for my tall amber fire
the salivate grass knows the morning passfrom its alter white to pale crimson lightamid the shadowy reeds
safe and soundbed blanket boundno thought of stony street
pot bellied stove
my boggy coveall brimming full of heatgaels hark this callby an oak tree tallwhilst they speak once too oft and hold seatin the same dáil direfull of oak fed fires
where the corncrakes caw never reachedRandall Aittaniemi(USA)“Im 22, graduated form UMASS Amherst, a new writer so
I am previously unpublished.”
It gives pleasure to us at Cartys Poetry Journal to bringthis new writer to the printed page.
Contrite Remarks
I’ve been thinking, living breathingthat I need something new to believe in,but it keeps on swinging back round to you.
I need a new direction away from this obsession,a cognitive correction for this infection.
A left hand turn at the four way stop, mental roadblock would
do.
Every different school of thought
paired with these contrite remarks,
I say I’m doing good when I’m feeling blue.
With all these emotions flowing,
passion gushing, feelings growing.
Don’t treat me like some sort of lifeless prop.
You told me that I should go away
and yet I feel compelled to stayeven though this subject I should drop.
To forget I made my mission,of me and you the same old visionbut my beating heart, it just won’t stop.
ErosionThis world seems a little less green.
It seems obscene but the sun’s receding east.
At least the stars are still bright,
empathetic of our plight. Knowing that we’re trying too late toreacha soft coated beach where we can watch them shine on
through thick mocking fog that veils our intentions.
Our cryptic confessions of earths’ burning.
A charred warning taken too late.
Maybe it’s fate as winds swirl and blow,
telling us what we already know about tar that’s impeding
and concrete that’s completing our spaces limitation,
both physical and imagination. Steel replaces trees
and nullifies the breeze that refreshes our minds
and the ties that bind us all together. Natures’ epoch erodes
into times unknown unless we solve
our need to “evolve” and embrace times of the past,times of foliage times of grass.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

The Nomad that would be Hero
A wasteland is on edge,
waiting for a hero that arrives too late.
Call it fate, you can call it hopeless.
They will be avenged, this much I promise.
They say he’s a tragic hero.
Endlessly yearns to help but it’s an abated work.
He always hurts whoever he’s closest to
so he never stays, ever blowing through.
Learned he can’t let himself care too much.
Many times expectations rise, hopes filled.
Tries to build, has to rewind and restart.
Burdened by a big heart.
Knows he’s destined to carry the curse.
So he drifts as an apparition,
wandering prison. Lives under no one’s’ command,
always the stranger in a foreign land.
Heading West
Stare into the winters’ night.
The coming morn my only fright.
I wish it could stay like this again.
I wish you could stay with me my friend,
but we’re going separate ways.
Soon we’ll be divided by the days.
You head into the night and I’ll head west.
I needed this new start I must confess.
Between grass and sea is where I’ll be,
in case many years from now you look for me.
I see the coming of the rising starsignaling that the beginning can’t be far.
Unconscious WonderGirl with the hidden braid hair.
Girl that doesn’t wear underwear.
I love the shells on your feet,collected as you skimmed upon the beach.
Sun burst eyes glow as they glisten.
Smile so perfect, can’t help but listen.
I love the way that you move.
PJ bottoms and undershirt, your best grove.
You seem to dance to the music in my head.
You look so beautiful sleeping in my bed
even if you take all the covers.
You talk in your sleep, unconscious wonder.

Sabahudin Hadžialić
Bosnia and Herzegovina
Born in 23.9.1960.g. in Mostar, Bosnia and Herzegovina,
Europe.
Today he is a member of the Bosnia and Herzegovina
Association of Writers (Sarajevo, BiH), Croatian writers
association Herzeg Bosnia (Mostar, BiH) and Associationof writers Serbia (Belgrad, Serbia) , Academy “Ivo
Andrić” (Belgrade, Serbia) and Journalists Association of
Bosnia and Herzegovina and Ambassador of POETAS
del MUNDO in Bosnia and Herzegovina.
He is Editor in chief of the electronic and print magazine"DIOGEN" pro culture: http://diogen.weebly.com andEditor in chief of E –magazine MaxMinus:
http://maxminus.weebly.com from Sarajevo, Bosnia andHerzegovina.
He has the status of the independent and self-sustained
artist in the Canton of Sarajevo. He writes poetry andprose with the editing and reviewing books of otherauthors.
He is freelance editor in the publishing house Dhira,Küsnacht, Switzerland. He published poems, articles,
essays, aphorisms, plays and short stories in almost all
major newspapers & magazines in Bosnia-Herzegovina,
Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Macedonia. His poems, shortstories and aphorisms have been published in journals in
England, Ireland, Spain, Italy and USA.
His poetry and prose were translated into English,
French, German, Spanish, Italian, Albanian andRomanian.
He was the co- owner is the first private newspaper in
SR BiH "POTEZ", Bugojno, Bosnia and Herzegovina 1990.
So far he has published ten books of poetry and prose.
He published four books internationally: Book of poetry
in France 1998 (French language), Book of aphorisms in
Italy (Italian language), Book of poetry “Beggars of mind”(published in BiH back in 2003.) in Switzerland (German
language) and “Selected poems” book of poetry (inEnglsih, German, Italian, Albanian, Spanish and Frenchlanguage). His art work has been included in anthologies
of poetry in France, Canada and Bosnia andHerzegovina, and in the Anthology of satire of Bosnia
and Herzegovina and of Balkans. He has won several
awards among which are the best: "May pen" for thebest young poet of former Yugoslavia in 1987
(Svetozarevo) and Award of Academy "Ivo Andric"(Belgrade) for 2011. He lives in Sarajevo, Bosnia andHerzegovina.
Prepared and edited:www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

2011. - Co-editor of the “Poets for World peace” Vol. 3(Anthology of poems – poets from 25 countries from allaround the World together with Dr. Ram Sharma from
India)
2011. – Editor of the FIRST Anthology of ex-Yu
aphorisms with 73 satirics/aphoristics from ex-Yu
republics.
2012: Within the preparation are…
The novel (trilogy "CROSSROADS OF THE WORLDS").
Official WWW: http://sabihadzi.weebly.com

REALITY FILMED
Dismal imageof my own imprint in time
that’s real
inside the vision that- isn’t,
is desperately in search for
Her !
…
Queen Elizabeth,
Chatherine, Nikolajevna,
Princess Diana,
FatimaDisappear in front of the eyesof wild hordes.
…
I remain alone
trembling with trepidation
trying to figure out
what is it that they want.
…
Virtual reality of a surreal film-worldis nothing more thana treacherous impersonation of a real worldthat deceives me
a Servile Servant !
..
She’s gone !
Will she ever come back ?
The question is swept by the wind.
…
I’ll wait for the storm to calm
and try to catch the mistral wind to find a cove,and search for the place where I met her.
Barefoot and naked.
Back in the day.
On the stage !

Don’t turn intoa shadowy street.
You can easily get lost.
There areone way and two way
streets
Like people
sometimes spotlesssometimes grubby
andsometimes just a dead end.
REPETICIO EST MATER STUDIORUM
Warmthof time and space
is nothing else
but unforgettable lightnessof bizarre rhymes
that reverberate
among twisted corridors of my soul.
…
Chilliness of déjà vu
and spaceis nothing elsebutbizarre formof odd expectations
that sway embarrassingly
to the rhythm of her tambourine.
…
They dance.
Without us.

VICE VERSA…
Cosy darkness
Resonates chilly.
Chillinesslightgravitate towards
warmth.
And everything
Would be just fine…
Like withered flowers of faith….
If only
I knewthat
I am able to express the truth.
And not lie
To me
and You !
LIVING IN ‘THE DREAMS’ STREET

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Long time ago
the two of us
got lost in insanity.
My insanity.
Hoping that
she will say NO to this madness.
….
That was it.
…
Encircled by a wall, in hope
LIFE
There are times
when I don’t feel like breathing.

She takes in breathfor me.
COPY PASTE
I am not guilty !
I only obeyed my party line !
Andthis goes on
and onfor centuries.
STATES, PARDON ME, CITIESIn the little town
across the seven seas
lived a small nation.
This nation could fit into one city.
and nowhere else.
At least that’s what little nation’s Emperor thought.
Pardon, Duke.
And one day some people left the city.
they were the first to leave.
Followed by the second.
And the third.
Emperor, pardon, Duke
was left alone.
…
The name of the city ?
Look around,perhaps this is a storyof your.. city.
ANANAS AND BANANA
Through this poem
I’d like to tell youthat I know
how much I love you.
…
Through this poem
I’d like to tell youthat I want
you to be mine.
…
Through this poem
I’d like to tell youthat I can carry you.
…
I’d like all of thishowever I can’t manage
How can I have you, love you and carry you.
How, when I can’t afford
to keep up with keeping you.
BLUES FOR MY EX-COUNTRY/HOMELAND
I had a country.
They took it away.

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They did not ask for permission.
The very same people who
now
want to establish
customs zones,
introduce joint parliament sitting
and start to exchange war criminals.
The very sameTHEY
who caused the trouble in the first place.
…
I can only say
one word
COUNTRY/HOMELAND
One day you will realisethat
PEOPLE lived there for generations
and not… NO, DON’T SHOOT !!
COUNTRY SONG
Speculation
revivesreminiscenceof the moments of destiny
in my dreams.
I really don’t know
why this title ?
When I wantto say something completely opposite
aiming to speak ofunspoken,unheard of,andunthinkable
At least today,
now and here.
Elite culture
is nothing else but
the wish of marginalised people
to establish the rule of impossible
in this corner of the world.
Let them live with it.
Off I go the soul-brothel
I’m off to the pub !
IF ONLY I WERE YOUNGER
I readPoetrywritten by the young poets…
I
don’t know
if I should
call itRegressive or Progressive ?
I better shut up
and continue reading
The poetry written by young writers.

Deepak Chaswal(India)He is a poet from the soil of India. Also Prof. of English
and critic. His poetry exhibits his perception of theuniverse from the perspective of an insider. Published ininternational poetry journals: Pacific Review, Sam Smith
The Journal, Pamona Valley Review, The Tower, Forge,
Enchanting Verses,Earthborne Poetry Magazine, KrityaA Journal of Poetry, Indian Ruminations, Bicycle Review,
Electronic Monsoon Magazine to name a few.
“Man”
A bundle of lies
Born in criesWith blood
And sighs
Tears the womb
And ends in tomb
And still claims
He is innocent.
"Freedom"
The Lady with thegolden rings
clipped theparrot'ssilken wings
Was surprised
when it again
picked thesame cardof "Freedom"she most despised.
“Death by Water”
They diluted
Him in the water
Like aspirin
To get relief
From headache"Angels/Demons"
They may comefrom sea, air or groundlike the wind, water or soundand crack your ribs
as if you are pigs.
Their counting starts fromnine and ends at eleven
They live on earth
but come from heaven
They will SEAL your fate
Can't say about the datewww.cartyspoetryjournal.com"Meeting with Christ"
Sometimes ago I visited
Jerusalem to meet theSoul of Christ
Which was wandering here
And there with some other
Noble souls
As soon as I observed
Their serenity, tranquillity
And contentment
I could not resist
Myself from putting
Questions to them
Because without
Interrogation we cannot
Trust even God
I while adjusting my tie
Asked a question
With an artificial sigh
O! Lord,People say
You areAbove sword
Do you think the society in which you lived
Was without discord?
Christ just smiled
As if in the hearts of his heart
He cried without voice
Because he had no choice
I asked the second question
Which was my firm presumption
Do you think crucification is the
Only way through which
One can be driven to death?
Christ tried to think
He replied with a mild winkHe was literally dumb
As if his heart was numb
Without giving any reply
Christ was looking shy
I still asked the third question
Which was in the form of inspection
What are your views about morality?
Do you think that it exists in the world in totality?
Christ turned his backAs if he was defending himself from media attack
Christ started walking towards East
I think he realized
That I was not a priest
Rather a twenty first century Beast.

“Superman”
Darwin showed
The progress of man
I will tell you about
The superman
I saw the superman
He was busy in preparing
A planMay beTo conquer the world
I saw superman
Who was totally
Different from monkey and man

Three Years Down
Believe in something
Without base
Safe distanceFar-wide-across
Mental messages
Hugging through bars
Kissing through songs
Breathing in dreams
Feeling in words
Knowing in senses
Having through promise
I miss you

I saw superman
Who was bending backwards
His eyes could hardly
See upwards
I saw superman
Who was neither
Sitting nor standing
He seems to be
The incarnation of
Eternal damnation
I saw the superman
Who could hardly speak
Or chant a sermon
I saw the superman
Who was neither monkey nor man
With clawed hands
And semi circled reverted backHe was waiting for
Either some crow
Or some swan.
I saw the superman
Crawling slowly
On the sandIn between the desert land
May beTo Bethlehemor some alien landwww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Alive through voice
Denied through absence
Laughing in fantasies
Crying in silence
Building in letters
True through pain
I love you-“Erica” a.k.a. “Spirit Love”, 21 from Los Angeles,
USA. Prefers to keep discreet and mysterious...

Rain
Kathy Coman (USA)I love the way
You fall up against my skin
I feel its God’s way of naturally cleansing me
From sin’s scars
That tries to reopen themselves to me daily
So He sends you
To cleanse and refresh my soul
Kathy Coman graduated from the University of Toledo in 2008 with a
Bachelor's of English. She has been published in A&U Magazine aswell as online at jerryjazzmusician.

BOLD
STATEMENTS
Why are so many people needing to
be un-acceptable. Why do theyreach out to me in such a forcefulmanner. Do I appear to relinquish
my RIGHTS as an achiever in any
given effort. Read me my
MEMORIES and the answer willreach out and touch someone;anyone. The remedies that residewithin my mind are consequencesthat may render one USELESS in
their efforts. Recycle mandatory
affections and reside amongst the
COMPETITION that may master
anger’s rejects. What we fail tosometimes realize is that we make
MISTAKES but we are not to beheld accountable for the such.
RECAPTURE every demeanor that
may fight to survive and withinthat circle, may become beknownst
to you. When a TIGER cries andthat they do, we can’t hear it aswell as when a TREE falls and yes,it does make a SOUND.
SOUND Feel me
when you can’t and even when
you won’t because everything I
ATTEMPT to become only
remembers that which may bringabout my DEEPEST fear.
ROARING is a call of the wild.
Screaming comes from inside thecloset and the mercy never rest.

FAILURE can never be accounted
for if the attempts arewww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

MEASURED.
MEASURED Record the evidence
and scream it from within. Neverallow FORCES to be with you; there
is a heaven and the only way toknow that, is to FORGIVE.
FORGIVE Forgive
when you can’t or simply when
you don’t want to.
Escape and FREE your…..
Knowing their mind allows the
PLEASURE to revolve around what
I resolute; and the REWARD will be
all mine, no yours too. Support
that which is MANDATORY. I
don’t think so far that which we
accept is only as far as the eye cansee and to only see can bring about
UNBELIEF.
UNBELIEF Boldness is a fortified
ELEMENT that will extinguish an
enormous, burning DESIRE;
DESIRE there
is another understanding whichmust be LEANED on.
-

Kim Wilson

“Days”

GIFTS

Days don’t look as glorious
when your heart’s
been shattered.
It seems time takes,
as the itty bitty ‘peaces’
struggle to get together; again.
I looked out into the sunshine
and saw nothing;
but a blurry eyesore sight.
The grass seemed toget greener in a divine instant.
I thought it was a heavenly light
blue shaded with whites
and grays and birds; the sky.
My heart leaking; waiting fornothing yet sadness arrived
to keep my tears company.
Reaching, wanting, wasting
served a relentless purpose.
What invaded was evident
that what is to comes; hurried.
Nights seems to be brighter
than days; filled with fear as
cultural boldness spit and screamand yell that it’sfamiliar; will refusing gather
itty bitty together again.

I use my gift to write out loud.
I know I’m not the only one;escaping,
feeling,
trying,asking,forgiving,praying,
excepting,
accepting,turning away,
giving it up,
seeking,
needing,
blessing,
retaliating,attempting,misusing,
crying,keeping,
sharing,hoping,wondering,praising,
reliving;

what in the hell’o is going on!
There is only one WAY, TRUTH AND LIGHT!

kimkologne.synthasite.com
My name is Kimberly Wilson and I
create poetry from who I am on theinside. I have a load of venting,inspiring, captivating,informational emotions per myself
to sharewww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Gonzalo Salesky (Argentina)
You Will Be
You will be breath of sea, you will be nostalgia
When your mouth leaves and does not return.
You will be my breeze when the wind drops,
You will be fire beyond words.
You will be the sky, void of my pages,
And the prayer to announce my departure
When the pain, this world and our life
Take everything and leave me nothing.

Gonzalo is a 32 year old
Argeintine writer whose works
can be read on his blog at
gonzalosalesky.blogspot.com
We are honoured to carry atranslation of his poems in the
English language.

Harlequins
As harlequins in the windYour laugh flies with me.
It envelops me and rises in mid autumn,
Makes me grow and mature in silence.
Maybe it grows dark for some
But, my love, only your love is enough for me
To reach eternal paradise in life,
To be able to daydream of your eyes,
And so to forget, amongst all, those tears.
Omen
I know that in life, no matter how,Fire is always extinguished by day.
Night is short when winter looms,
Time cures and heals wounds.
To stop talking is not good medicine;
I know the harbinger of light and agony
Is being fulfilled, no matter when it arrives,
Perhaps it is near and finds you asleep.
You will not see it coming even if it is announced,
Do you know how sweet and frivolous is this expectation?
Because very soon you will emerge, it will be so easy
Like coming full circle.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Rishan Singh (South Africa)
Born in KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa. He has achieved many accolades in his life. His poems haveappeared in publications in South Africa and abroad. He is a South African poet with a great feel forthe creative arts. This is his second publication in Cartys Poetry Journal.

MY FRIENDMy friend,
How much can I say,
but that my friendship for you
is my precious treasure.
How I hoped that you'd come,but ever since you left
I can't move on.
My life is now painful.
My life is now sorrowful,
full of tears...
I feel I have no worth,but I guess this is whatlife brings.
My life is now painful.
My life is now in darkness,
I can't move on...
Someday when I'm gone;

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

at least look back at our friendship,
perhaps there is that elementof kindness that might have crushed me.
I'm only human but
my life is now in sorrow,crushed into glass pieces is
how I live.
My Friend,
How much more can I say,hate is all I too can express,
but the word 'no' can't cometo my lips.
In life I have been blessedwith kindness,but what do I get?
My dear friend,
how my heart hurts, but
I shall never forget you.

Luiza Flynn-Goodlett (USA)Recently migrated to the San Francisco bay area, after completion of her MFA at The New School.
She was awarded the Andrea Klein Willison Prize for Poetry upon graduation from Sarah LawrenceCollege. Her work has appeared in The Sarah Lawrence Poetry Review, Breadcrumb Scabs, Oberon,Four and Twenty, Ghost Ocean Magazine, and is forthcoming in Meridian. She was chosen as firstrunner-up for the 2011 UNO Writing Contest for Study Abroad. She recently completed her firstbook, Congress of Mud.
The Vision

Animal Time

You walk out of a teeming wood, nose
the air— daffodils pucker in sunny clumps,
an aeolian harp of new leaves, egg-teeth
slit shells, and jays extend albumin-slick
wings, kindling snaps under furred paws.

I bleed like the white mutt who hid under
the porch at thunder, her puckered teats inlace-pink rows. Her fur is stained a rusty
brown, and I kneel, at six, to touch, to know

All winter, downed in snow, you huddled,
cave-bound, restless, hair dreaded in mud,savored the cavern of your empty stomach,dreams that conjured a horizon of saplings,
swollen peaches, each with a single gold
bead that whispers wasps from their hives.
Feet bare, you wander from the thicket:
rays graze your pale shoulders, freckles,
the mammalian crests of breasts. Raisea hand to shade your eyes, the other, stretch

that steady ache and leak, a staccato
liquid, ritual cremation. The houndin me points—mirrors reflect a monster,perched on hind legs, dulled senses and talons,
adorned and swaddled from the chill, lightly
furred, arched neck bisected by a pulsing
jugular. Monthly this beast reeks iron, tends
its toothy gash, burrows in a knit nest.
Just out of the circle of firelight,
my fellows growl, curl down to lick and lick.

to where I linger, like a town, bridges dashedby ice storms. I ghost you, our twin hollows, ripebreasts, but I’ve grown feral, all slant spineand canines. Scoop me from the shade into
summer’s racket. Tame me under your hands.

The Times

Fossor’s Lament

this newsprint cannot cease squawking.
It coughs like an outboard motor, emits
puffs of statistics, the latest from a new

It’s a myth, this “six feet.” Four, just below
the frost line’s the deepest you can level.
The floor shifts: silt, gravel, limestone, grunting
layers. My pick slices soil to rock, thenI busy the shovel. Backhoes, such coarse
instruments, incise loam, fling pebble-richdirt, but can’t narrow walls, pack them tightto stave off cave-ins. Coffins, beware of

Approximately the heft of an infant,small pistol, or a shoebox with a year’s
worth of receipts the morning of tax day,conflict, “boots on the ground.” Daily,
it arrives, steals into our mailboxes,or tongues the welcome mat, sodden
with a morning sunshower. Shaveit thin for the parakeet cage or let it pile,
plastic-sheathed on the top step to trip

such haste, the hill is likely lousy with gophers.
We humble, stooped by work, see hearses snake
the gates, deliver another fellow towhat’s known as rest. But my kin harrowed

the postman, it won’t stop declaring,with single-spaced certainty, of the Past,
mistaken, cluttered, savaged by worry,catacombs, left limbs as legend, and ourwork will stay, bear witness on judgment day.

and its ruddy handmaid, the Present,
slippery with ire. We shuffle in, clutch
the day’s summation to terrycloth chests,
knowing we’ll not appear in its folds,
that alcove of relevance, our syllables
set in wine-dark ink, as if definitive,
as if, once, we’d known what to say.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Irena Jovanovic (Serbia)
Born at Zajecar, Serbia (Europe) in 1971. She holds a Master’s degree in painting and works
as a painter, ceramics designer, poet and sculptor. She has been writing poetry for almost
20 years in Serbian language; now has now started writing in English too. Her first collectionof poems in English entitled CROWNS OF LIGHT ABOVE OUR HEADS is in press. She and herwork are devoted to spirituality, in service of the Supreme Lord. She is greatly interested in
Hindu Vaishnavism. She will mostly be found engaged at Facebook. One may visit thefollowing Link of her page:https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=10150785966660594&id=75457059
3#!/pages/Irena-Jovanovi%C4%87/221729514543916

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

ONE RAINDROPHONEY LIKE SWEETNESSI am only a raindrop
on the petalof Your divine flower, Lordfallen from inner self
fallen from Your Inner Self
consisting miracle
unknown to myself
miracle of Your Miracle
magic of all Your potencies
love I did not cognize
but which arises at the horizon
in beautiful golden dawnof Your Divine Touchand I surrender to it
I surrender to You
one raindrop.

Honey like sweetness of Your love, Lordof Your all potent divinityof Your all expanding, all perfect knowledge
which is all sweet in essencenectarean in substanceand opulent in wonderful glare
embeds me in deepest oceansof secure joyful silencepeaceful happiness insidemerged with all powerful bliss…
Like in uplifted dreams about You
Lord, I awake in my own completenessin Your all beautiful presence
in mellows of all tasty
exalted super excellencein Your honey like sweetness
after countless billionsof tasteless births…

MY DEAR SOULMY RADIANT LOTUS GARDENMy dear soul
may you live foreverin light of all spiritual atoms
in eclectics of all elliptic
forms of spirit
and lifelove and observationin condensate of perfectness
higher vision and mercy
forgiveness and beauty
magnificence and happinessin cascade followingsof shiny wishes andsinging visions
sparkling hopes
and opulent realizationsin Lord...
in Lord...

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Sparkling like gem
initiating firein the crystal of dawn
radiating spectrum
iridescent glarechosen to satisfy Your Omnipresence, Lordin my hidden sanctuary
my small heart's radiant lotus garden
set thickly with minikin diamond likefaceted fractals of soul reflections
O, Lord, I am just a smallest sampleof Your uplifted Divinity
diminutive selfO, please, please enlist me justand only as a little lotus budin Your paramountbrilliant lotus garden.

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011
UNITED IN LOVEHOW CAN I

United in loveme and You forever
Lord
You and me togethero, God
why
where
how
it happened
long time ago
we were there
now again
united in love
united in love.

How can I plant the seedof pure love into your heart,spiritual love, divine one
and untouched?
If I offer my heart in an arati ceremony
to my sweet Lord,
can you join me?
If I bow myself down towards Him,
will you follow me?
I want to put my life
into His hands
and surrender my lovesoul and existence
to higher instancesof His love...
Will you join me?
Can you follow me,
untouched, divine and spiritualized
in sublime love?
So how can I
plant the seed of love,
love of God
into Your heart?

SWEET FRAGRANCE OF YOUR SOULYour sweet fragrant soulso dear, shiny and blissful
so hidden, beautiful and odorous
like tiniest flower
from secret garden of Lord's presents
so pure and fulfilled with loveso essential, nectar like and precious
your soul
your sweetest wonderful soul
Lord's jewel on the top of His crowno, my dear friendthat is your soul
your lovely sweet soulmerged in the ocean of blissof divine love of God

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

THIS IS A WONDERFUL DAY
This is a wonderful day - Krishna is playing His flute
birds are chirping all around Him
bumble-bees are buzzing collecting nectar
following His garland and blissful shine
peacocks are decorating forests
with opened mandalas of their tails
many flowers have offered their lives
happy to ornament His divine crownsmelling out their entire life essenceo, Lord, I would liketo be one of them
what else could I say
it is perfectO, it is such a wonderful day!

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011NOTHING COMPARES TO YOU,
LORD
Nothing compares to You, Lord
to Your beautiful soft mellows and essences
so oceanic mild, overwhelming and soothing
Nothing compares to You, Lord
to Your extraordinarily amazing divinity
splendor of Your Inner Selfand charming mesmerizing appearance
O, Lord! Nothing compares to You
Lord of my heart and soul!
My heart beats are Your drums
for orchestration of divine symphonyof all universes imaginedby Your omnipotent Mind
You play your flute, divine soloist
and we follow Your melodies
completely rapt by happiness
uplifted by following in Your footsteps
ecstatically searching for Your traces
everywhere, in everything
So, nothing, nothing compares to You
nothing compares to
Lord of all universes

LIKE A QUEEN
Like a Supreme Queen, Radharani
walks through galleries of my life
my divine Lord Lady, source of my life form
I'm tracing for Her traces
footprints of golden splendour
anything that She has touchedilluminated areas
unknown passages in the labyrinth of myheart
hidden chambers for divine eternity
secret odours of uplifted divinity
for I want to serve Her
for I want to serve Her
Radharani, queen of my heart

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

ENERGY OF COLOURS OF LIFE
Your energy colours my life, Lord
like endless spectrum of rainbow
spreading nuances over my forehead
my mind and heart dived into varietyo, what opulence and beauty
what perfect intelligence of Yours
what sublime essence emanatesfrom all Your creation
touched by You

GOLDEN DAWN
Golden dawn arises, o, Lord
Your Name shines blissfully
my eyes are full of tears
Your Form is so effulgent
my life is so tiny
but essence is present
in it's baskets
Oh, molten goldof effulgence of loveYour Embodiment isso sweet and ecstatic
amazingly beautiful
and infinitely dear
- my eyes are fullof nectarean joy and tears- golden dawn is coming
in Your Golden Soul.

RADHA & KRISHNA
When One
becomes Twogame starts
playful lights
share flights
and delights
in betweenof each otherends and starts- all parts are sublime
together - apartagain and again
sustained in shine
nectarean, divine
love of mineCarty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Once More Into the Breach.. (Dan Castle)Ages
My eyes find you attractive.
mysoul finds you seductive.
you recall the sweeter memories,of old lovers I have known.
for all those Queens of Hearts,
as they performed their parts,of dallying and dreaming,
Chronos wore away their throne.
Now I stand here in my evening,watching memories of morning.
Yearning for past joys and grieving,
for the beauty that has flown.
And still I'd love to spend my hours,'mongst a million new born flowers,
while I listened to your singing,
all hopes of joy sounds ringing,with no thought of any ending,of your journey through your time.
Loss and pathos in this story,
as my beard now long grows hoary,yet somehow there's peace and glory,that Life's dance of love goes on.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Greg Gunn (Canada)
Born in Windsor, Ontario in 1960, Greg grew up in four small towns throughout Ontario before
moving to London in 1970.
An electronics technician graduate of Fanshawe College in 1982, Mr. Gunn began writing extensively
and has done so for over thirty years, he is most passionate about poetry. Other interests include
music, astronomy, philosophy, photography, foreign languages, and gardening.
To date, Gregory has had poems published in Inscribed Magazine, Green’s Magazine, The Toronto
Quarterly, Yes, Poetry, Wordletting Magazine, Songs for Every Race, Ditch Magazine, Ascent
Aspirations, The Light Ekphrastic, Carcinogenic, Steel Toe Review, Cyclamens and Swords, et al. Also
published are five collections of his selected poetry.

SHEEP SEARCH SKYWARD
The anima humana
is a neophyte. It has studied
the coyote, fully cognisantof its scent; still it maintains
blatant skewed dogmatism,gullibly grazing on the luscious
earthly greens, as thoughcarnivores were nonentities.
The gastrointestinal tract,
is but a dissimilar species;
alarm wigglesthen stampedes
inside its stomach like a snaregnashing brute.
While the mouth supplicates
for articles of faith, the spirit
evil-eyes the coyote,habitually masticates its preyand religiously thrives.
THIS ATHENIAN SITE
A vast ivory marble colonnade:its columns are ashen like birch trunks,
or like Grecian pillars in the sea,
infused in a glaucous mist that drapes
aqueous, from the emerald Sargassoladen olive trees stemming out
dappled urns. The early evening twists
through the interlaced gates as though
it had slumbered amid the fragrantwww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

foliage until the meagre meanderingof the west breeze had aroused it. Haze
enwraps the spacious grove which
nestles the trees, the ivory pilastrade,its antiquated pillars, graven obelisks;
and this enclosed portico maintains
everything in a few fleeting momentsof your breathing. You shall have respitein this site as you drink wine and imbibe
the words of Plato. Rest awhile waiting.
I’ll meet you here tomorrow.
LEAVENED APHRODITE
Leavened Aphrodite, risen from foam,
could garner not her yearnings, she had
but one desire, tender as an olive leaf
to the estuary, a concubineof a single light and lust, compelled
to become subterranean.
Dismay is merely mortality
in pursuit of celestial adjudication ,in an ill-suited location below
cyclamens in non-elevated ethereality.
Impart what pensive kisses wander
over the skin-Elysium of the psyche
to wherever The Fates Of Love await
with spears cocked to pierce
the unsuspecting humankind.
But since vine aren’t oviparous,
and even proselytes appear prone

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011
to recover their rational. You will
eventually discover the three motifsof this natural magic are flora, excreta,
and temptresses. May they proffer you
serenity’s aplomb; equanimity.
REPETITIOUS REAPING

In their mind they travel avenuesof abrupt resolve wearing
comfortable track shoes.
Elevated, my legs forget troubling
thrombosis, envision dance floors.
They plié and aren’t afraid to jump.

Withered winter. The sallow
land furrowed by hoof tracks justbefore the snow cloaked it could
be construed as an obsolescentembarkation program long since gone.
Upon its zenith a lanky evergreen waves
its falcon wing crown like a warrior.
The nadir beneath rest those fallen inbattle, coffered and counted.

Confined to Gortex, my legs
foresee a future enwrapped in yours.

So quiet, so inert seemingly thatthe frost-laden loam can’t be tilled,
or stretched out shadows straggle
like a hoary crop of hair. But still
the cloudless threshold of dawn grows
noticeably gloomier. Little creatures
may discover safe accommodationsin the gloam, as well as I perchance.
Could all this desolate spatial charm
be a semi-fallacy; a partial white lie?
The bristly bog demonstrates ice floe
sheets splattering, intertwined twigs,
and waterlogged logs beyond thatcavernous arc where the sky and thisgravel road form a union, signifies
a path to follow, not a digression.

Like a toddler learning to walk,I am those legs and these legs
are me. I am taking small steps,
dreaming of mountains almost
touching the clouds, seeking
serenity. Emboldened, standing
more erect with each passing day.

This lacklustre tract may be deserted
but you bear in mind it is no desert.
The plow’s tines will be sharpened,banners lowered, the dogs of war
planted, cultivated, and sown again,
for many more harvested bumper crops.
BEDRIDDEN
Bedridden in the infirmary,
my feet dream of traversing
forest paths in October, snowladen trails in January.
Before windows, my feet dreamabout the sun in summer.
www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Heavy as lead, lower
extremities become pensive.
Nearly lifeless, complainingof pain, longing for liberty,
wide open spaces. Jubilant
in take-for granted things.

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Lisa McCraw, (USA)She fell like a raindrop
Cascading toward the earth
In a pivotal dance
One she did not know
Did not want to learn
But she fell anyway
Landing feet first
But splintered pieces
Scattered her birth soil
Anger and disappointment
Fragmented her posture
As she tried to stand proud
But too many psychotic blows
Bent her backMade her stoop low
Low enough to see the reality
Of the dirt beneath her slippers
She thought she was a princess
But landed in the muck
And became a queen of the damned
She wanted her own kingdom
Her own kingInsteadShe got someone else’s leftovers
And her ruby red slippers were too tight
After the house of pain crashed on her frame
She wilted
A flower once falling from the clouds
Today, just a lone petal
Drifting, waiting
For a new tomorrow
A different sorrow
From the last
The one before
She dreamed of greatness
But she is defeated
And weeps alone
Her hope is gone
Her belief no moreLife is not a dream
But a lonely woman’s chore
NOLA..P(Nothing Out There Like A…POET)© 2011

Lisa McCraw, pen name NOLA...P(Nothing Out There
Like A...POET)

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Matthew Bell
(Austraia)

SILENT WORLD
1 - SILENCE
The silence is deafening
As if the world is no more
No birds chirping
No car engines idling
Not even the sound of children playing
There is stillness surrounding me
Uneasy and thickAs if it’s a living breathing presence
The only thing left
2 – STAGNANT WORLD
Not even a breeze
To kick the dust up around me
The air is stagnant and odd
Something is gone
The smell of life
Has disappeared
No more robust smells of roses
No more smells of coming rain
The sky is empty
Not even a cloud
3 – EMPTY STREETS

29yr old emerging writer/poet, i am a quiet
reserved person who is enjoys reading, music
and writing, writing is my life its the only thingthat keeps me sane, there is not a day that
doesn't go by that i am not working one of mynovels, various poetry and short stories, mostof my poems can be found on my facebook
poetry page darkness inside, i don't have one
particular style for my writing, its a mix ofvarious types of genre, styles and mediums.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/DarknessInside/213762091981676

A creeping dread fills me
As I walk through the empty streets
Cars lay empty, void of life
I pause and look into the shop fronts
But nothing looks backJust an inanimate mannequin
That has no life
That has no purpose now but to rot
4 – DEAD AIR
The phones are deadNot even a dial tone
The whispers of past voices
Are slowly forgotten
I can’t even remember what words sound like anymore
I open my mouth
An uncomfortable silence
But nothing comes out
5 - EMPTINESSI cross the vast lands
Of this once vibrant earth
But all is the same
Not a living soul can be foundThe remnants of this mechanical world
Rotting and rusting away along the roadside
In the fields tractors are left abandoned
The grass growing highCocooning them in vegetation
As the world returns to how it once was before man took holdwww.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011
6 – SILENT WORLDDARK MOON RISING

Standing at the cross roads on these desolate back roads
I collapse to my knees
The tears streaming
They taste of nothing
As they roll across my lips
I stare at the heavens and scream
But alas nothing
Not even a whimper
Not even a cry
I’m alone in this silent world

I see a dark moon rising
Peeking over the horizon
Night sky engulfing the cries
As the children of light go silent
Hushed whispers are dying
As the world grows more violent
Stars in the heavens
No longer guide us
Leaving us to wallow in our own vices
Life’s heartbeat becomes dormant
As if this earth no longer supports us
We fade away into obscurity
Praying for a renewed sense security
Knowing we failed to stop this insanity
As the dark moon rises
Defining us causing this deafening silence

MR MOCKINGBIRD
Sitting in the cool beneath a tall blue gum tree
Summer wind blowing fills me with ease
Come Mr Mockingbird sing to me
A tune of majestic harmony
As you float in the evening light peeking through the leaves
Come Mr Cricket let me hear your chant
Mixed with the frogs croak on the rivers bank
I drift away caught in a daydream
Listlessly watching the water in a trance
Captivated by the ripples as they move and dance
My foot tapping to the unheard song
The beat in my heart as I sing along
Chewing on a blade of grass as the daylight goes
Watching the fireflies emit their ignited glow
Melancholy mind lost to starry dreams
Never coming backCause I’m lost to the moment
Trapped in this serene state of being
CLEANSING RAIN
Green grass growing wild and free
tangles of blades wooven together
like a blanket wrapping the earth
cold and wet between my wrinkled toes
grey clouds overhead flash meanacingly
a brewing storm lingering in the sky
a calming sensation filling me whole
droplets of rain fall majesticaly
each one a cleansing shower
staring in awe at this beautiful beastas it rolls overhead like a grey wave
Closing my eyes the rain drips on my brow
I listen contently as the rain sounds like a tattoo
rythmically dripping as it fills the puddles
staining the concrete dark
Dozens of blotches run together
forming like little lakes
than the little lakes become litte oceans
little oceans bordering the lush green grassa tiny coastline stretching down the footpath

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Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Laura Cleary (Ireland)
A 26 year old girl living in Dublin. She has had poetry published by Ascent Aspirations, DCU's SleeplessNights anthology and has been shortlisted for the 2011 iYeats poetry prize. Her interests include reading,cooking, eating and sleeping (preferably in that order)

Runaway
A length of thread is needed
To hang my hope upon,
To tangle through my fingers,
To hang my wishes from.
You offered me a coin purse
To squash my fears into,
Yet, I’m hesitant to take it.
I won’t take from you.
I have other options,
Dredging through dirt suits me
As you kindly pointed out
And I'll always suit myself.

Possibilities
If I were your mother
You would eat right
Here, as much as you like
While I stir by the sink
Swirling roux into milk
Grown plumper on feeding,On fuss, rerepairing
Your worn elbows, thumbs
Pushed through your geansaí,
I’d use that word, ‘geansaí’,In front of your friends,
That treacle thick tide
Of wine uniforms, creeping
Indoors most mornings to
Swallow you, carry you
Inch you from home, with
The memory of me still
Hot in your mind as
The spoon in my glass.
If you weren’t my motherIf you loved me back.

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

So now,
Now I’ll suit myself,
Suit myself in chain mailTo join the Latin quarter
To snuffle out the whores.
Their weathered loins unravelling
Have caught in countless places,
Have run through even more,
They dangle many threads.
So, I shall take a battered stool
To squat upon and listen to
Their lives' lamenting sing-song pleas
For the first-born of their scattered seeds
Molested by the by-passers.
I shall win their threadbare hearts
Then they shall use their many means
To find for me a lifeline,
To string my lies up with.

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

In Search of Roots by Niall O Conner (Ireland)
Niall O Conner is a n Irish writer, published again here on Cartys Poetry Journal.
http://dublinepost.blogspot.com/ is his website.

I
I come bearing sheets of forked ideas
and web-linked names of strangers
from whose loins I'd sprung.
I come as a city dweller,
to find in what small and mean house, or field,
my predecessors had struggled, unaware as yetthat more could be known than the next harvest,
the next child.
At first I found three modern houses,
complete with double garages, new cars,
and trampolines.
Each fresh house, with an apron of closely manicured,useless grass, whose clippings, heaped to rot,
led me up the lane way. to where the ditch was still agrowing,
and the years were taken back to when the moss
covered stones, were still naked in their busyness,
and when a bend was first turned,
for God knows what reason.
It is to this bend I go, this willful, or unconscious
hieroglyph, where one man stopped
and made our family’s home.
II
I find the first, weathered and decaying house,
single storied, single roomed, one eyedand open mouthed, silent in its memories
of house proud ornament, busy courtesan hens,
and other 'yard to pots.'
At the second house, a horse waited, half door, open.
I was recognised as one of those who braided straw
to bend its will, and so, it tipped its head and snorted.
We gazed; exchanging memories, andI saw in his stead, Maureen, and Delia, motherand farmer’s daughter, glad for the break in weather,
www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011that allowed the half door to stand open,
and the sun break in;names I know from a census night, that were impressedby pen, clumsy in thickened hand, listing proudly
read and write; English for the future,
English and Irish, for the past.

Three cottages in all, with no door facing anotherso each man, father and son, could leave in the morningand go his own way.

From here, at the age of fifteen, my great-grandfather,
had left, and crossed the fields to another farm, pickedby the same calculation and observation, he learnedat the side of a towering leg, that was never uncovered,never revealed, as flesh.
Even in death, those trunks had remained so,covered by a shroud that strangely stretchedfrom chin to toe, and those great handsthat had spread seed were now knuckled, and boundrestrained by prayer, and rosary bead.
III
In the graveyard of Kilcolman, where he lies now,
within a worms length of farmers who once eyed his land,with intent; between the lichen and the moss,
I searched in vain, for a carved name,that would tell me, I too lay here in part.
The western wind, that is without beginningor end, fills all the empty spaces between themand me, and around these stone placements
I stagger, not knowing where, and when,
I am to fall.
Then from the derelict church, of rounded stone and sky,a shivering dog fox bolted from where the hunters lie,and I was shocked to see, as if it was always there,a landscape shared with toil and care,and rough hewn cart, followed by skipping waif,
and a tired, stooped man, with chin on forearm,on upright spade, gazed wistfully in my direction,and saw his future, before him laid.
www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Evin Okçuoğlu (Turkey)
Born in İstanbul-Turkey in 1956. She graduated Atatürk
Training Institute and started teaching English at HighSchool. Later she completed 4th year at Marmara
University.
She worked as lecturer at İstanbul University for 19
years.
She wrote stories and poems for children. She has 6
books. Her other poems and stories are published indifferent literature magazines.
She has a translation book named “Kosovalı Kız Zana”(Girl of Kosovo)
She has 2 daughters, and lives in İstanbul.
Names of her books for children are:1-Sakın Kızma Anne/Please Don't Get Angry Mom(Nisan, 2006 ATP publising)2-Şiir Bahçesi/Poetry Garden, Ekim, 2006 (71 poems forchildren)3-Ünlü Besteciler/Famous Composers, Oct 2006 (lifestory of 10 composers)
4-Çocuk Emeği Öyküleri/Stories of Working Children,
October 2006 (ten stories about working children)
5-Toprak Öyküleri/Land Stories, Oct 2006 (stories about
land)
6-Konuşan Eşyalar/Talking Objects Oct 2006 (Talking
Objects -10 stories)
7-Çilekli Masal Pastası/Tale Pie made of Strawberry Oct.
2007 (ten tales)
8-İçi Görünen Şiirler (Poems 2009)
9-Sardunya Kırıldıkça (Stories 2009)Evin
ekmekten önce onur deme zamanı
http://evinokcuoglu.blogspot.com/
http://evinokcuoglu.azbuz.com/index.jsp
http://fikretuzunyazilari.blogspot.com/

We Had Known

We could not understandDarkness wouldn’t have known its darkness
If the light hadn’t penetrated inside.

They came this time without the guns.
Without bombs they destroyed homes.
Without boots our rights were trampled.
Without force we were evicted,
not suddenly, but over years
and no doors were shouldered open.
It was our traditions that they routed.
We could not understand.

Water wouldn’t have known that it flows
If a leaf hadn’t fallen on it.
Human beings wouldn’t have known its
humanity
If he hadn’t strained love from his comb------

With radioactive leaks and wastes,
with their social reconstructions,oh, how they came and passed,
altering all that once had been
before those years of our destruction.

She burns too brightly
Icarus thinks to himself
Sailors fall easy
Simon Rhee (USA)We have no bio for this poet, alas, and it was too close to deadline towww.cartyspoetryjournal.com
wait for one. He likes surfing, and is from California, USA.

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

ELIZABETH A. FONTAINE (USA)

Born and raised in Springfield, MA. I have been writing poetry for the last twenty-three years. For the most part, I write about humanitarianneeds, sometimes with a story-like base to it. I'm a single parent raising my wonderful and bright son, Austin. During my lifetime, I have
had the opportunity to join the U.S. Navy. During my first tour of duty, I got the chance to be stationed in Sardinia, Italy. I've been:
published in numerous poetry anthologies; with a variety of stand up poetry readings, as well as every Thursday I attend Blog Talk Radio.
There are two ways to contact me: www.facebook.com/Elizabeth Fontaine (this one has a small assortment of poems on this site) or
through fontaine_elizabeth @yahoo.com" SCARS THAT RUN DEEP "Dakota was a special young girl.
She was fascinated with inquisitive taste
and knowledge for the world.
However, at a very young age
she viewed life with little importance.
One look in her direction
and you could literally feel her sufferance.
When Dakota was ten months old
she found herself caught in a house fire.
Standing in her crib
as the intense flames kept getting higher.
Ultimately, the extreme temperaturesbegan to melt her skin.
Even the firemen
who helped to save her life
felt pity as their hearts cringed.
Dakota was seen as
an angelic and innocent child.
That all changed with the critical disfigurementof more than just her smile.
This girl found herself susceptible
to nonstop gawking and ruthless criticism.
So in this regard,
she became branded

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as a misfit through socialism.
Schools essentially offered more resistanceand a condensed ignorant population.
On the other hand, she found it harder
to concentrate on her education.
Meanwhile, her parents behavior
continued to formulate a vindictive pattern.
Their excessively notorious tempers
flared because of financial matters.
Generally, there was no sense in complaining.
Dakota's daily punitive damage was usually a beating.
Sometimes getting locked within the confidesof her bedroom,
without eating.
She often felt trapped and isolated
staring beyond those walls at night.
The girl constantly craved and longed
for someone to hold her tight.
At least for someone to show her
affection and compassion.
Rather then facing consistent boutsof depression.
Dakota prays that her future
may hold a new direction.

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Luana Stebule (Lithuania)
Once more we are proud to feature Luanas poetry.
Farce
Same midwinterTorture slow walk to the ring.
Still winter,still winter,still winter.
Sun wanted to climb up,
Moon thought maybe thaw.
Cold stray Lure
Dripping melted bit.
Wind husky whisper
Already lives in a waking deep sleep...
Again wanted to go back to the bud,Rain the wheel again and repeat
long-rehearsed.
Improved life in the blink of...
Twist
See images you have already left.
In my dream, day dream, feelings of sifting.
Casually, lazily yawning worse days.
Flag-mast, the wind gave.
Constant hurry, stay in the daylight
Should wait, wait, stay.
Wheel of Time is rotating and rotating,
Unfortunately, this weather-beaten, snow
drops, perfect..
Fears. Probably not;Neither moth nor crickets than the flowers.
Marsh, still aches your spirit
Failed, and broke dripped.
Colorless, cheese - in silence of your tears
Already feeling restless soul to download.
This autumn Scam - temporary.
Soreness hanging on the corners
I wait patiently dreams - capture.
We are all seamlessly intermixed
The perfect one.
Humble cook and thrive in the
Not a moment or an hour per day.
We are energetic soup of chaos always...
Consciousness is still blind maid.
Wish to express their will
Deluded senses, and only five.
www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Is it just the smell taste sound shape
As the most important and can not find.
Wee bit on the demanding gourmet of God
split slightly.
Shoo away harsh and emotionless words,
May be the light...
May be the light,
May be...
Round ball rotates
more,
Disappearing comforting hope ash
Your own transportation hub is broken.
Only
Lakes have already returned to the cloud
Even the sun dazzle.
Closed eyes.
Another shoo away and harsh gusts shooaway,
Maybe the truth,
maybe
raunchy.
I am still a cloud or a cloud will be more?
And the rain slowly pours.
I still...
Letters between the point,
Between demanding silence.
Among the sounds of sustainable,
weak rush
identify other.
Reduce other names
Hope is frozen whimsical life...
This is just a moment
Only sings error.
Perception becomes more importantmeasure.
Dont touch,Dont touch.
Do not be afraid.

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011
Other Way
Look,
Paper back into trees openness.
Look,
Glass in the sand backmeasurements.
Linen dresses, flowered fields.
sees,
All knives forks spoons
underground.
Ghost gold, silver and iron
And you have time.
Dust to dust
eternal circle.
A New Beginningwill be.
LabelsIllusory effects of the environment
Drag yoke of belief
not remember a better
Freud nor Jung.
Harness turbulent rolls
Slope - steep.
Is less and less talkWith your heart.
Words are incapable of loving touch,
We look forward to the fullness.
Miracle happened inside,
Fail and the outside.
We are each other,
Pathetic note,so it
Upset and frightened
his own ego.
The long-awaited walkexperiences on mountain tops.
Fire - Agni.
In the clarification toward enlightenment,
You do not need words.
It was a ford rocks
already crossed the
awaited silence.
surprise...
coals was circulating
To me logged in
Whisleing boyhood wind.
Greenest leaves torn
the proud hope.
www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

And it is so
we are still.
Anike (name)
Of the noblest soul vibrations
Mature thoughts spasms.
I'm trying to get wisdom Om (sound) ...
Medieval alchemists failed
Change.
Base metals into gold,
Still did not invent medicines for all diseases.
Especially from the soul,
Especially from the soul,
Especially from the soul.
Piercing thought hope will be held on the indeep of the universe,
Angra Mainjus hanging around
Vigilantly monitoring every breath.
Rejoice failures and downs
Ephemeral reality spill canvas.
Abstraction torture misleading,It's your life picture.
Laughing demons Anath,Anuzda Mazda banishes images,
As ever, the hope white canvas.
As ever, the new tests
continuation of the eternal.
Satori
Knelt caught the echo.
Here and now, the presence of.
Reach its high point spread collar,
Buried thirst for self-destruction.
Pressed shallow thoughts
emotions again,
Fraudulent cadmium color
junction.
Between birth and death
mysterious whirpool,a measure of time
all recurrence.
The next generation will understand already,that spring,That autumn.

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Barbara Wühr (Germany / France)
Retired Secretary, (b. in Germany in 1939), has been
living in Montpellier (France) since 1959. She is amember of “The School of Poetry” on Facebook.
Nowadays she is very occupied in writing her first booktitled Ma Voie, ou comment renaître de ses cendres... .
She claims: “In this book I am telling nearly everything
about my life... and I do not know if it will be published

one day... but I love writing... and I added poems andphotos of my paintings too... because these paintings arepart of ‘my therapy’ - and I found balance , living here
and now... .” Her hobbies include: Poetry, Painting,
Esoteric –Spirituality, Reading, Cooking, Sewing,
Gardening, Just Dreaming; Sports: Tennis, Skiing, Chi
Gong, Tai Chi Chuan.

I - SUNBEAMSSo entering, tiptoeing, what do I find?
A poem called “Passing By”. Never mind!
It is the Poets right to yearn and howl,
Sunbeams attacking his body and his soul!
The grey hair not turning black,
The hopes being drown just for lack
Of being loved with his whole body and mind,
Of those things he cannot possess or cannot find.
Religions telling us that we must not desire,
All our dreams finishing in hell and fire;
Mankind is obliged to live in jealousy and fear,
Not being happy just “ Now and Here”.
I am preaching the liberty to love and share,
Not to restrain others to be your slave and careThat, as long as poets and other artists make us dream,
Let’s rejoice and be reinvigorated by the sunshine beam!
P.S. I composed this poem today, when commenting the poem called "Passing By"
by Mr. Susheel Kumar Sharma of India

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Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

II - Revealing Truth
Archangel Saint Michel and his angels coming soon with swords…
That’s why “Indigo Children”, fighting with apocalyptic words,
For a better world came some time ago to earth,
They have chosen to be “Light Warriors” since their birth.
It is very hard for humanity to accept the revealing truth,
Which like the sound of black music we are calling the blues,
Are those awakening sonnets revealing in us so much sorrow...
So much yearning and crying for vengeance in all those rotten boroughs.
As fire can be drowned in the great see and the vision
Of wounds being healed, by the moon’s energy of oblivion,
The “Light Maker’s” task being the connection to body, soul and mind,
Healing with love and understanding…nothing better of the kind!
The “Light Warriors/Makers”, as black and white,
Showing the way to balance and put it right…
Bringing the light to Mother Earth both together,Thus being the perfect androgynous couple forever.

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Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

III - Cosmic Cords(Inspired by the theory of strings)
You hit the main point in my heart,
Seeing no more hanging gallows in my yard;
Being at the end of my tether,
Climbing on the next rope-ladder…
What do I find to heal my sorrow?
Do you remember I have two strings on my bow!
And I tell you that with devil’s black luck,
I am able leaving behind me this infernal fug.
To my astonishment I see angels with bright shining hands,
Playing with delicacy universal music on stringed instruments!
All together being a particle of the great “One” of all those Lords;
Come on the inside vibrating to the music of the cosmic cords.

J’ai

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Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

IV - Day of St.Barbara
When “ Metatron” sent me the light,“Sainte Barbe” began the fight…
Too much fire is of no good;
Therefore in between I stood…
“Braveheart” with so much love,
Sharing with all of those of above;
Then letting it flow beneath and besides,
In all directions, the energy collides!
Parcels of sparkles shining so brightThat you and I are ascending…
Just HERE AND NOW, until realms
Where there is NO ENDING!
(I wrote this without “thinking”…
It came to me automatically on the day of Beard the great martyr; and St. Barbara (in Greek and Latin ) is asaint of the Roman Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church , celebrated on December 4th)

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Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

V - Pégase l'ami de mon âme
Barbara WÜHR,17/09/2011
Les aventures mon âme… ma sœur,Je ne les crains pas, je n’ai pas peur !
Chevauchant la plume du corbeau noir,
M’emportant au Champs Elysées, il faut croire.
C’est là que la plus douce vie éternelle m’est offerte,
Cependant mon amour m’attend dans la brise experte…
Et un nuage blanc vient me soulever dans le ciel bleu
L’azur, ivre d’amour, cherchant mon âme dans les cieux !
Entourée de lumière divine et caressant mon âme,Le plus bel amour étincelle en moi comme une flamme,
Ce rêve éveillé me fait penser à toi laissée sur terre,
Et mon vœux de te rejoindre est de loin le plus cher.
Et voilà que je te retrouve sur cette page blanche,
Pégase me déposant doucement sur cette branche,D’où je te regarde cherchant encore tes mots pour le dire…
Ecoute ton cœur… entends-tu le son de sa mélodieuse lyre ?
Je suis en toi mon âme sœur, comme tu es en moi,
Pour toujours réunies, fêtons cette union dans la joie !
L’inspiration des poètes cherchant leurs mots sans fin
Se trouve dans le blanc et le noir ne faisant qu’UN !

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Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011
(beneath the translation by Google)

V – Pegasus, the friend of my soul…
The adventures my soul ... my sister
I do not fear them, I'm not afraid!
Riding the pen of the black raven,
Carrying me to the Champs Elysees, we must believe.

This is where the sweetest everlasting life is offered to me,
But my love is waiting for me in the breeze expert...
And a white cloud just lifts me in the blue sky
The sky, drunk with love, seeking my soul in heaven!

Surrounded by divine light and caressing my soul;
The most beautiful love sparking in me like a flame;
This waking dream makes me think of you left on earth,
And “my wishes reaching you” is by far the most important.
And here I'll meet you on that blank page,
Pegasus gently depositing me on this branch,Hence I look at you still seeking your word for it...
Listen to your heart ... do you hear the sound of his melodious lyre?
I am in you my soul mate, you're like me,
Forever together, celebrating the union of joy!
The inspiration of poets seeking their words without end
Is in the black and white being one!

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

VI – I love you so much…
Dear Poet, overwhelming words like this wave are
Turbulent flowers of sea foam coming to me as a saver.
My soul awaiting you, oh my lover, since eternity
Bathed in invisible traumas and the dark side slyly
Shattering our love in thousands of fragile bubbles!
Now, you and I are breaking upon the rocks all those rubbles,
Unraveling this wall obstructing the view to our eternal alliance…
At least rising, clinging together, being just ONE in this cosmic dance!

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011

Frank C. Praeger ::: USA
A Fretted Patience

A Topping Off

Marks defaced, skunks, rabbits, chipmunks
alter
the mythic must, the should, the did.
A waterfall terminates.
Forest rangers appear
as if, as if they consist of air.
Brown-needled paths go on.
Barren oaks, decaying leaves, wilted grass,ancient thoughts.
Torn, treed, a fretted patience.
Add, add,
fill any crack.
Each gift a bribe,a bride displeased,
the most of me destabilized.

Wish bilked,
lately unfulfilled.
Unattractive aftertastes
left as fossils,but, then, memorials,
and, still, an eagerness forwarded
to every nodding head,nagging as to need
as fortune's flippant ways abound.
I am jostled,closed off,
but not denounced
or cut away,
left, lauding overa brillant unasked for first.
Without lasting renunciation,subject to tell,a call for sacrifice.
Each day contest.
Pushed, the weary populate
where no broken light bulbs line the way
and each treasure tantamount to an old shoe.

How to Say It
Not largeness per se,or crankiness for an answer.
Yes.
How's that, nothing more.
Confronted with your least
pallid image of yourself,
yes.
Mouth closed,
molars grinding,contested claims,
surfeit of assurances,
and, just as before,
yes.
Screwball life,
a tattletale dotes on your past
but more when the only lesson is less.
I can keep saying it,
yes,panderer of my fancies
to make invincible
my every guess.
I can'tand dogs can't
explain,nor cats slither their way through this.

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Fixated Maneuvers
That deep, dulled to no end, unstated,
seethes.
Leaves sanctified
still.
Nodular fettered slips, consecrated, aligned,
recede precessionally.
Candled,starred,windowframed sleepwalkers roam.
A listlessness drawn out to dawn.
Rushes of sound, word-haunted rage,
an assurance to each scene as thieves
deliberate.
Drummer boys drum away.
Those that have not been heard,that have not seen loose ropes and frayedsleeves,that have not desisted from lines of leastdissent

Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011
are now to be found boarding up old houses,
commiserating over moon stones,
while those who might have been heard,
who might have answered - drummers drum
away would have, by now, oblivious to shame,forgotten their own ashen faced anger,
even, the drummers drumming might, bynow,
although fixated on their maneuvers,
be reluctant to remain.

Exuberant
Skin tight Levi's,
last vanity of youth's escapades,
last gestureof a greater would be nobility,of crescendo
following crescendo,
towards a day's disintegration,a robin's manifesto,a chipmunk's pause,
unrequited
novel
sexual assignments.
Who is to hunt for the secret narrativeof each person's life,
each intractable animal?
A lifetime of it
whether it was lunch, dinner, or sleep,a music of soundless entreatiesthat came afterwith its own affect.
Stairs that vanished as we descended.
Stairs, music,
an autumnal patina spreads a child's shrill cry,a huge fear,a lasting deficit.
A flute player without a fluteon the far side of an empty square,
the far side of each glance,
and the fartherest side of a paradisicalthought
serenely composed as a kitten falling
landed upright.
The flute player is no longer there,
then, reappears,
gesticulating to the images of another era,to an unfolding light;
and out of the explicit shadowsto have foundthere past the outlying hills and lowering fog,
sun turned, heightened, held
bronze, purple, yellow, white,
intoxicatedfurther than the plush exuberance of
blooming peonies,
those who may have been the fulfillment of a
final magnificence.

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Carty’s Poetry Journal Dec 2011Native American Cookbook!!!
Whisper n Thunder is a 501c3 NonProfit civic benefit organization dedicated toempowering Native Americans through education, awareness & opportunity.
Our cookbook authors come from many tribes across Indian Country, who haveshared their family favorites with you in this compilation cookbook.

Whisper n Thunder Cookbook
for Healthy Living 2011
Authored by Whisper n Thunder Inc.

List Price: $12.00

So many of us love to eat! Food is comfort, food is celebration. Food is a memoryof loved ones and times past. What we eat feeds our body and soul, but can feed
our waistline too. Try your hand at traditional Native American Indian recipes, withhealthy suggestions that taste just as delicious! Inside you'll find favorite recipes andhealthy living for today's adventurous cooks. With beautiful artwork throughout,this is a stunning addition to your cookbook library. Enjoy!

Visit Whisper n ThunderEzine online for our
ISBN/EAN13: 1466490632 / 9781466490635
quarterly magazine.
Buy at: https://www.createspace.com/3716198

www.cartyspoetryjournal.com