Poems for DylanDay 2023/6th part

 

 

Llareggub Dream

You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing

(Under Milk Wood _Dylan Thomas)

 

On this short spring day

amidst clouds of gray vapour

the light is now lost.

It is night too soon

a dark, starless night.

And you, Dylan, lead us

through the silently black streets

where we hear the sleepers’ quiet breath.

Fading presences sway

in the labyrinth of their dreams

and draw a fluid stillness.

Slowly the time goes by.

And when the shadows surrender to the new dawn

a voice slowly rises :

Reverend Eli Jenkins

sings words of love for his town,

 

so innocent, charming and timeless.

 

Lidia Chiarelli, Italy

 

#dylanday

 

 

Lidia Chiarelli (Turin, Italy). Writer, artist, translator, founder with Aeronwy Thomas of the literary-art movement Immagine & Poesia  (2007). Six nominations for the Pushcart Prize (USA). Awarded with the Literary Arts Medal (NY) 2020. Sahitto International Grand Jury Award 2021. Coordinator of DylanDay in Italy. Her poems are translated in many languages and published in several countries around the world. https://lidiachiarelli.jimdofree.com/

 

The Deathless Dream

 

I need to dream

the deathless dream

as a way of life.

 

Without this dreaming,

my life lacks its wandering,

its sense of adventure.

 

Yes, to dream the deathless dream

gives me what I need to blossom.

 

Spring is beginning

to reveal its face

in the buds unfurling.

 

Rain-soaked pines

silently stand by

as guardians to this renaissance.

 

And like the storm-free clouds,

I drift without care.

 

 

Carolyn Mary Kleefeld

 

#dylanday

 

 

Big Sur poet, prose-writer, and visual artist Carolyn Mary Kleefeld (California-USA) has her permanent art and literary archive at the Carolyn Campagna Kleefeld Contemporary Art Museum at California State University, Long Beach.   www.carolynmarykleefeld.com, www.alchemyoracle.com

 

 

 

AUGUST IN A TULLE NIGHTGOWN

 

 

These late warm August afternoons

and the wet sheets on which the sun's angled rays fall

through semi-downed blinds

making ribbons of a golden zebra –

 

They remind of the lazy roadside resorts

the taverns that offered lodging upstairs without check-in or taxes

On the water bottles on the balcony lined up by the flowerpots –

 

They remind of the student rooms, pages of pocket novels

filled with Nanas, Koletas and Monas

and their lovers who first shave to dull da razor and then pass it to them

in a scented foam bath

on smooth legs, satin slippers, tulle cloths and nightgowns

on light walls and heavy iron beds

behind which every noise and flush of water was heard –

 

They remind of our Mediterranean conversations

with cold white wine

soft cheese and grapes we've lazily grabbed from the vines above our heads

and ate it fresh, unwashed

debating, with full mouth, the impact of Simone on French structuralists

she undeniably must have left

at least to the extent Sartre had on the philosophy of existentialism

 

- as if it was the most important issue in the world

 

If we leave out death to intellect

the smell of puddles and the croaking of frogs

 

 

We are essentially back at the beginning

 

Katarina Sarić, Serbia

 

#dylanday

 

 

Katarina Sarić, Serbia,  lives and creates between her native Budva and Belgrade.

At FF Nikšić she graduated with a degree in philosophy and then language and South Slavic literature, at FPN Podgorica she is completing postgraduate studies in social policy and social work.

She writes socially-engaged poetry, prose and essays. She is a writer, poetic provocateur and performance artist.  https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/interview-with-katarina-saric

My Wish-List of Impossible Dreams

 

May all megalomaniacs

– politicians, millionaires, goons –

zip off to the moon

freeing our planet

of greed, ambition,

war.

 

May the natural wisdom

of natives connected to the soil

and the souls of ancestors

surface.

 

May the cancer of piling

 mindless mountains of money

be tempered by the word

ENOUGH. 

 

May wounded mountains be healed

of quarries devouring grass, tree, shrub,

to snake across valleys as highways

gobbling up pristine greenery.

 

May the word ‘Universe’, ‘Nature’

replace names of gods and prophets

teaching us to live as people of a planet

 

undivided by narrow nationalist identities.

 

 

Meher Pestonji, India

 

#dylanday

 

 

Meher Pestonji (India) is a veteran journalist writing on street-kids, housing rights, communalism while covering theatre, art and interviewing creative people. She has written short stories, novels : Pervez and Sadak Chhaap, and plays. 'Being Human in a War Zone' - collection of short stories -has been accepted by Ukiyoto Publishers. A digital performance of Turning Point is running on zoom. She is active on various international poetry groups.

https://www.facebook.com/meher.pestonji

 

 

 

NOTTE

 

Il nero della notte

attende

una scelta di luce

imbriglia

l’amore nascosto

produce

il rosso dell’alba

acceca

il sogno sognato

e

al riverbero

stabilisce

il confine con la notte.

 

 

Giovanna Fileccia

Da “La Giostra dorata del Ragno che tesse”

 Ed. Simposium 2015

 

 #dylanday

 

 

 

Giovanna Fileccia è l’inventrice di una nuova espressione artistica da lei stessa denominata con il neologismo “Poesia Sculturata”: opere tridimensionali e sculture che crea dal 2013 prendendo ispirazione dalle sue poesie. Ha pubblicato diversi libri. Sue poesie sono inserite in spettacoli teatrali. Interprete dei suoi testi e monologhi. Ha co-condotto un Talk Show radiofonico. Ha ideato e condotto rubriche letterarie. Recensisce e presenta autori. Il suo blog:  www.giovannafileccia.com.

 

 The fog on the rails

 

She creeps in farewells

she thickens the heartbeat

she stuns the departures.

It confuses the profiles

and mixes tears and smiles,

she tickles imaginary journeys

and postponed dreams.

She can disguise headlights

and lonely hearts.

She freezes fingers

and beating in a safari

of silhouettes and  breathes.

She penetrates in my soul...

the fog on the rails.

 

Mare Nostrum

 

Ode to you

liquid cradle for the dreamers,

“Muse” for painters and for novelists,

“Promised land”

for seagulls and fishermen!

Ode to you

silent mirror

for rebels and for pioneers,

“Caronte” for the inflatable boats of strangers!

Disturbed is your frenetic pulsing

because of the dross of the nuclear power plant.

Ode to the sparkling laughters of bathers!

Ode to the tickle that Grecale and Maestrale

test on the innocence of the wave.

Deaf and mute are the consciences

of the brave nocturnal helmsmen.

Ode to you, Mare Nostrum,

ode to your improvising yourself

pentagram of a several voices chorus,

sounding box of quick lullabies,

main road of hope,

vibrant warning to avoid the mattanza.

 

Wings of ink

 

Glossy pages

they wink by the shop windows,

wrinkled pages

smile at the lonely hearts,

illustrated pages

promise

adventures and knowledge.

Wings of ink

trace

routes of knowledge,

rewrite flight routes,

that with tender touch

cradle a dream.

I devoured kilometers of lines

without taking a step.

Here I am.

I landed!

 

 

 

Claudia Piccinno- The ceiling

AABS PUBLISHING HOUSE

India-2019

 

#dylanday

 

 

 

Claudia Piccinno, Italy,  is a teacher, poet and translator, she lives and teaches in the north of Italy. Operating in more than 100 anthologies, she’s member of the jury in many national and international literary prizes. She has been the Continental Director for Europe in the World Festival Poetry from April 2019 to september 2021, she represents Istanbul culture in Italy as Ambassador of Ist Sanat Art Association. She has published 41 poetry books, among her own poetry collections and other poets' translations into Italian language. Multi awarded Poet.

https://claudiapiccinno.weebly.com 

 

 

I am still dreaming

 

This is my dream for the world,

to be bright!

For every people on our Precious Planet,

to have the right!

This is my dream side by side,

to live in peace and fruitful life!

This is my dream my faithful friend,

to hear the war comes to the end!

 

No more starvation but cultivation!

No more lies…no more cries!

So, this is my dream my faithful friend,

To share the world hand by hand!

And try …..try to think a while in silence,

for those who loved you

more dear…

For they are the ones,

who will never weaken you up!

when life is not so clear,

close your eyes and come

to my arms dear!

Let your soul fly above

the horizon!

Where there are no clouds!

No dust! No drought!

Life there is so clear!

This is my dream for the world…

 

 MY DEAR!

 

 Rania Angelakoudi, Sweden/Greece

 

#dylanday

 

 Rania Angelakoudi, Sweden/Greece: Born in a small town in Sweden, Rania now lives most of the time in Greece. She has gone onto win many national and international awards and accolades including from the Italian Ministry of Culture based in Ankona, had her own work published, and has contributed to a large number of national and international collections and anthologies. In November 2016, Rania was nominated as ‘Icon for World Peace.’ She works as a Journalist and teacher, and is an active environmentalist and supporter for human rights and peace in the world.

https://www.thepoetmagazine.org/interview-with-rania-angelakoudi

 

 

Quella luce che sta dentro il cielo

e si fa amore negli occhi

oggi è più schietta

fa la somma di tutte le albe

arrese alla luna

fino a parlare la lingua chiara dell'aria.

Non è mai stato così vicino il sole

nella precarietà delle cose

e mentre sosto con l'anima

in un sogno senza tempo

le mie guance pronunciano un rossore

che replica con precisione

 

l'eterna fioritura.

 

Michela Zanarella, Italy

 

#dylanday

 

Michela Zanarella, Italy. Giornalista pubblicista - redattrice di Periodico Italiano Magazine

Presidente della Rete Italiana per il Dialogo Euro-mediterraneo (RIDE-APS)

Presidente A.P.S. "Le Ragunanze"

Extraordinary Ambassador for Naji Naaman’s Foundation for Gratis Culture 

 

TONIGHT'S DREAM

I

 

Here I sit

in beautiful Fólkvangar

for all of eternity

waiting in vain

encased 

in my self made 

golden tomb

my throne

doomed

to be 

forever alone

all but my faithful cats

and my falcon cloak

my neck

wrapped

in Brísingamen jewels

sparkling 

magical 

I drift off

into my sad slumber

hardened amber tears 

crumble

tumble down 

between my breasts

with the hope

that he will visit me 

in tonight's dream.

 

 (Page 113, Freya’s Tears By Mia Barkan Clarke, CCC Ó2019)

 

 

 

THE DREAM

II

 

He swiftly rode in

on his strong 

eight-legged steed

stared into my 

silver tear-filled eyes

grabbed my waist

pulled me close

whispered in my ear 

“I’m here.”

I thought

this day

would never 

come. 

 

Drunk 

with mead

I taste it

on his lips

his ravens flap

their pitch 

black wings

all around us

creating

a tempestuous 

storm

swirling

twirling my hair about

the fire blows out

smoke permeates

as we love each other

wildly,

madly

Thor's thunder bolts 

crash

echo

in the distance 

calling him 

back to battle

off in the vast universe

again

 

I awake from my slumber 

with the taste of mead

on my lips

the scent of smoke

in my hair

as the fire embers 

have long been 

extinguished 

 

Did he return to me?

 

It must

have just

been

a dream. 

 

 

(Page 115, Freya’s Tears By Mia Barkan Clarke, CCC Ó2019)

 

 

Mia Barkan, USA

 

#dylanday

 

Mia Barkan (USA) is an Artist, Art Therapist, Educator, Poet, and Author of Freya’s Tears, Tea with Nana, and My Sacred Circle Mandala Journal.  Mia's works have been published and exhibited worldwide.  Mia is the mother of two daughters residing on Long Island, NY.  

 

 

Peripatetic Dreams

 

Our toes hurt

because she moves to

some loud rock beat.

 

Years ago she made

us pose in Saint-Cast Brittany,

at France’s North coast

to draw us

in pencil strokes.

 

Three decades later

she posed us to paint

us for an other portrait

in Kansas City, Missouri.

 

Who knows what she will

dream up,

maybe she will want to

pose us for a sculpture

next time.

 

Who knows

where that may be.

 

Does she think she can abuse us

just like years ago.

We may just go on strike

and refuse to move her.

 

Silvia Kofler, USA

 

#dylanday

 

 

 

Silvia Kofler (USA) is a widely published poet, translator, and educator. Her book of poems Gambol the World:  Eine Weltanschauung by Spartan Presss has been translated into Portuguese by Carlos Ramos, and was published as a bilingual edition by Ghost Editions, in Portugal, 2021.

 

Da sogno a realtà 

 

Scende lentamente la sera

spengo la mia lumiera

e ovunque posso andare

in un paese lontano a sognare. 

Chiudo gli occhi nella notte 

e il buio m'inghiotte 

Nel l'inconscio una luce m'invade

e qualcosa di strano accade. 

Vedo nuvole nel cielo vagare

e gabbiani sulle onde del mare, 

giardini pieni di fiori, 

mi desto... e appare un'immagine a colori, 

il sogno è realizzato, 

sul muro da un quadro colorato.

 

 

Eralda Andreo Trovero, Italy

 

#dylanday

 

Eralda Andreo Trovero scrive poesie dall'età di 15 anni. Si è classificata seconda ad un concorso di poesie al Palafiori di Sanremo (2009). Ha pubblicato Poesia è vita e Poesie Graziose.

 

Word Sounding

 

 

The sounds of words can shake the skies

or cut an ego down to size,

when knowing sages have their say

of fitting words to seize the day,

conveying wisdom from the wise.

 

An avid versifier tries

through orphic craft to harmonize

with sense and lyric overlay

the sounds of words.

 

From inner cosmos may arise

the wordless visions word defies

that seek to find a worded way

with synesthetic interplay,

and thus in poem crystallize

the sounds of words.

 

 

Harley White, USA/Spain

 

#dylanday

 

Harley White (USA/Spain) is a born word-lover.  Some of her literary offerings include all genres of poetry, songs, stories, poems about the cosmos, works based on fairy tales, awakenings, and a book called, The Autobiography of a Granada Cat – As told to Harley White…

http://harleywhite.awardspace.info/

https://kirkwwangensteen.es/eresmas/Harley/Poems_by_Harley.html

 

Sognando

 

Diversa e uguale

si ripete l’immagine;

sognando si anima

il monte roccioso, sì,

esso .. !,  voragine che

erutta ammassi di

periferie viventi.

La roccia si squarcia,

e tra le pietraie

                             il respiro   dei dannati

                             della terra si fa anelante.

                             Dalle baracche cavernose

                             camminano verso valle,

                              dalle viscere dei monti

                               s’apre il futuro; il domani

                                è un flusso umano

                                verso il chiaro

                                     della vita

 

Giovanna Arancio, Italy

#dylanday

 

Giovanna Arancio (Italia): operatrice culturale nel settore delle arti visive, critico di arte contemporanea, autrice di testi teatrali e poetici. La sua recente pubblicazione è “Viottoli di carta”, silloge di poesie.