Image courtesy of Pixabay

Image courtesy of Pixabay

Ariel On Sylvia Plat by Gordana Karakashevska

The lady comes out of her glass bell

to stretch his legs,

To put the potatoes to boil

for those two hungry mouths

to talk to the bees

to greet death

which is always here,

sitting in her place next to the door.

 

The typewriter is silent

The clean lines of the dresses fall

Here she is, trying to recognize her father

- Life is dying, don't you see?

Do you not hear the voice of Ariel who has become an echo,

an echo that fills time?

The lady enters her glass bell

To turn on the gas

To close the door tightly

To sing of death

To say goodbye to winter

To welcome eternity

To put your head in the oven.

 

* Ariel is a masculine name meaning "lion of God" in Biblical Hebrew.

Gordana Karakashevska was born on January 31, 1973 in Pehchevo, Macedonia. She attends primary school in Pehchevo and high school in Skopje in EPU Boris Kiddrich. Since then she has lived, worked and created in Skopje with the exception of a few years of her life when she lived and worked in Turin, Italy and they will leave a deep mark on her as a creative person and artist. She deals with art and in hers free time with photography. She has been writing since she was thirteen years old, when she actively participated in regional competitions in art and literary works. For her, writing is a way of life and art is a universal language.

When The World Is on Fire by Honey Novick 

When the world is on fire 

do you close your eyes?  Ignore it?

Do you?

 

Fuelled by racial discrimination

this conflagration

is a spirit abomination

this IS my nation

home of my education

playground of my indoctrination

to a world of justification

looking for integration

knowing that communication

is the way forward

 

I say I want a revolution, a human revolution

it’s gonna have to start with me

the only solution for this revolution

Has to start with me

 

We’re all in the same war

but not all in the same trenches 

these flames are deep, embedded

we need more than hammers and wrenches

 

reformation, inner reformation

takes transformation

no longer subjugation

seeing ourselves as real

coexistence

human transformation

my own revolution

lighting my way and seeing you

 

Honey Novick is a singer/songwriter/voice teacher/poet who lives in Toronto.

She has 9 chapbooks, 8 CDs and has been published in numerous anthologies.

She teaches Voice Yoga at the Secret Handshake, is an artist resource for the Friendly Spike Theatre Band and sings with bill Bissett and George Elliott Clarke

Of Toil And Harvest by LaVern Spencer McCarthy 

We pray for a passing cloud,

but the sun beats down in yellow spite.

I plant seedlings, row after row.

My brown-eyed helper follows, grumbling,

douses each tiny promise

with water from a silver pail.

 

He hates the work, grouses that

he should have gone

to computer school instead.

There are no hellish days

in a truck garden there.

 

He needs a siesta

beneath the cottonwood tree,

a sweating jug of cold lemonade nearby.

 

Rewards seem lost in the whirl

of blowing dust and heat.

Dreams spiral into nowhere

 

until those autumn days

when we harvest our treasures—

bushels of gold from brown earth,

carrots to be sold at Farmer’s Market.

 

LaVern Spencer McCarthy is a published poet, with many state and national awards to her credit. She is a life member of the Poetry Society of Texas and is a member of several other state poetry societies. She has published five books of poetry and three books of short stories.

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Crafted by Morgan Traquair 

White paper scored in curves reveals a bow   

a stern an open hold to carry your cargo

images and omens    stones and sacred 

words                        

remembrances of your life

 

A bamboo mast secures a large square sail

adorned with wild flowers   precious herbs   

fruits 

for the voyage ahead

How you loved sailboats skiffs vintage clippers!

A sailor at heart hands firm on the wheel   

you steer into squalls dash through white-laced

waves   

eyes steady on the horizon  

 

Your Viking funeral ship set aflame over-rides

the seventh wave carrying your ashes over the

ocean

towards a distance beyond sight

Morgan's poetry explores intimate coastlines of relationships, both stormy and calm, inflow and ebb. She writes about joy, shame, heartbreak, and release. Morgan celebrates diversity, serendipity, and the wonders of life and nature. Her work has appeared in spring magazine, Our Lives, an anthology and Impermanence, a chapbook, and other publications.

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SIBILA by Gordana Karakashevska

January

It is not difficult to predict the time to come

It will be even colder at night

Like my sister frozen tears.

 

I still sleep like a bent dog,

The first thing I do is

I open my half-alive eye and look dull

in the angels,

in white spirits

in every dead soul that shines without shadow.

 

I take the sticky worms away from me and blossom like a cherry,

now I look like someone who can not be forgotten, I am eternal.

 

I failed to write a love letter

I did not find time, I admit

And I'm lazy, I admit

I failed to write a farewell letter

So I have said goodbye to you so many times,

Silence, by habit

That is not it, neither living nor dying

I did not know how to understand all that.

I slept

at the ends of my gray hairs

Here I am, straightening up now

Like a marble figure millions of years old

Cracked,

with smooth feet, I take the first step,

I step.

 

* Sybil - a prophetess in Greek mythology