ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - Each individual poem is copyrighted - Tous droits réservés
TUTTI I DIRITTI RISERVATI. Il copyright di ogni poesia appartiene ad ogni singolo autore
The poems are published in order of arrival
Poesie pubblicate in ordine di arrivo
Les poèmes sont publiés par ordre d'arrivée
Poetry & Light
Lidia Chiarelli, Italy
An Evening Sky
A slash of Blue! A sweep of Gray!
Some scarlet patches - on the way -
Compose an evening sky . . .
—Emily Dickinson
So sweet was
the scent of those evenings
when
our steps invented long distance routes
in the summer gardens
when
slowly the lights were lit
and competing with the moons and the stars
formed parabolas of light
on the opaque stones of the paths.
Then, life
just begun
seemed to reveal
- just for us -
a sky of unreal colours.
Countless images
(fragments of old memories)
that
today
recreate and break
in the weary kaleidoscope
of the mind.
Lidia Chiarelli, Torino Italy
#lightsforthecity
Poem in memory of my father Guido Chiarelli, head engineer for the lighting projects in Torino 1956 – 1968
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. Poetry Star, China 2022. Coordinator of DylanDay in Italy. Her poems are translated in many languages and published in several countries around the world. https://lidiachiarelli.jimdofree.com/
Mindy Kronenberg, USA
Ville de Lumière
I still have old postcards from Paris
written in hurried, jagged script,
from a man who’s barely a shadow,
a faded smudge on my heart.
But the photos of La Tour Eiffel
and Arch de Triumph, rising from the
glittering streets, glow as the day
they arrived in my hands.
For years I dreamed of
the City of Light,
immersed in the music of
its shimmering tongue,
wrapped in perfumed evening air
under elegant architecture
and stars, savoring the flavors
of a moveable feast.
This is the city of Bogart
and Bergman,
where poète chien Max
fell in love, and the Louvre
raised a crystal pyramid.
This is where my longing takes me--
over the rooftops of Montmartre,
down the boulevards of blooming trees
where hope flourishes
in a palette of gardens, and candles
flicker outside cafes and concert halls
to honor the dead, remind the world:
No one will diminish your illumination.
Mindy Kronenberg
#lightsforthecity
___
Hershey Pennsylvania
It was a summer redolent of chocolate—
our car a lozenge of sweat and cologne
in a pilgrimage from musty Brooklyn
to a place of cocoa-inspired dreams
on the maps of craving Americans.
My adolescent longing was semi-sweet,
saving desire for a molten confection
stirred in huge vats, lava-thick,
pressed in gleaming squares
and dried packets of malted potpourri.
Streetlamps capped with Hershey’s Kisses
lined the avenues and boulevards
like sentries in the heat,
burned at night in the fragrant air,
our breath heavy and sweet
under their light, dissolving
the bitter seams of our despair.
Mindy Kronenberg
#lightsforthecity
___
In Transit
She was anchored
on the sidewalk,
her face eclipsed by
the back of his head
as they stood together,
his body turning
toward the curb,
his right foot already
in the street
its sole
inches from cigarette ash
that a funnel of air
churned and let go--
her arm still around
his neck, their faces
close but barely touching
a kiss either coming
or ending
when I drove past them
never to learn
whether he delayed and
missed the light or
whether she stayed
and watched him cross
to the other side
where streetlamps
bent with baited breath
suddenly glowed
against the blush of dusk
as I was pulled into
the burning mouth
of the Holland Tunnel.
Mindy Kronenberg
#lightsforthecity
Mindy Kronenberg's poetry has appeared widely online and in print in the US and abroad. She teaches writing, literature, and arts courses at SUNY Empire State college and for BOCES and
Poets & Writers. She edits the international poetry journal Oberon, now in its 20th year.
Adel Khozam, United Arab Emirates
5 Poems about Light
By: Adel Khozam
(1)
Like anything else
The light on a glass surface may break and lose his mouth
We might see him scared, dim in restaurants of revealing secrets
And we might see him as nothingness in the cells of the compelled
And light is not a man, even if it's reflected in the mirror
And light is not a beautiful woman, nor her eyes
The illusion of the beginning is the same illusion of the end
And you, even if you stand idle in your place
The sun will change your shadow
And if you walk, the night will sweep from in front of you
The trail’s trace.
(2)
You can see the Light, touch him…
In the poem on the wall engraved with a lover's nails
In your mother's eyes, even when they are closed
And if you raise your head a little bit
You'll see him shine under the wings of a bird that just escaped from a cage
And you'll see him laughing
In the mirrors when they face each other
It's the same light that is worshipped by poets
But they don't know yet
Was he born from the paper?
Or was the paper born from him?
(3)
The star yawns with a closed mouth
But its light crosses the universes quickly, reaching my mouth
I yawn, too, like I'm imitating her
I chew its meaning
And I proudly entered the marathon of running in the dark
And running with closed eyes
And it doesn't matter who's faster here…
And who listens to what silence says
And who
Left his eyes, as two eggs in the nest of knowledge
But its most important that my heart hatches, and flutters…
Over the vast lake of life.
(4)
It's been two weeks
And I'm sleeping under the lamppost on the sidewalk
A month passed, and I am a blank line in a blank sheet of paper.
A year passed, and I am the shadow of a light in an unfinished painting.
Two years have passed,
And I'm a thread, and my girlfriend is a kite
And the Eon has passed, and passed again, and he saw me sticking to her
The sword said, "Let me cut the traveler's neck."
The angel said, "The threads of love can't be seen."
And little by little
The seed of light realized
My rain is coming from afar.
(5)
Every night
Addison looks at the earth from the sky
And sees only his lamps
They are the streetlights
That at dawn
Close their eyes
And go into a deep sleep
Despite the loud noise of cities in the afternoon
And the cruelty of their traffic.
Translated by: Dr. Heyam Abdulhamid
Adel Khozam
#lightsforthecity
Adel Khozam poet from Dubai - United Arab Emirates. He has published 17 books composed of poetry collections, novels, philosophy, and spirituality. His poetry collection Naked Spring won the Tulliola International Poetry Prize in Italy, 2020. In 2021, he was awarded the SILVER SHIELD by the World Hispanic Union of Writers. In 2022, he created (world Poetry Tree) anthology of hope, love and peace in Expo Dubai 2020 with more than 400 international poets participated.
Tarana Turan Rahimli, Azerbajian
Good morning, Rome!
Good morning, Rome!
Your sun is smiling at me
In the middle of the winter.
Let your morning
That is far from the malice of the world
Be full of light!
Land of Pompei
Where the swords
That cut the shadows of evil
Are shining from a far distance.
Let your mornings
Which are prohibited to oppression
Be full of light!
Hey, Fontana Trevi
Let your waters
That are purling
In the kingdom of wishes
In the intention of lovers
Be full of light!
Good morning, Rome!
Hey, tangerine trees,
On the way of Coliseum,
How good you grow here!
Your branches are heavy with fruits,
But nobody picks any of them
In the unjust fight
The crowns of our life
The tiny children,
Are picked up basket after basket.
Good morning, Rome!
Old, great Vatican!
Let around you always be happy life,
Let you always be flourishing
Let you never witness
To the blood that was shed in vain.
Hey, the stage of theatre of Marcellus!
Let you always be lost in silence!
Be always so-
Being far from the “games”
Played at the world stage.
Enchant my spirit
Let be inspired and write
About your immortal fame.
Good morning, Rome!
I am sowing a handful of hope
On your soil in which poppies grow
In February.
Let those hopes germinate
And have a thousand branches.
Poetry didn’t change us,
Let me dedicate a poem
To humanity.
Let me write a poem
To each green leaf of you
Maybe it might take wings
And guard over the humanity
Good morning, Rome!
Good morning, Rome!
Translated from Azerbaijani into English by Sevil Gulten
Tarana Turan Rahimli
#charmofurbanlandscape
Assosiate Prof. Dr. Tarana Turan Rahimli is an Azerbaijani poet, writer, journalist, translator, literary critic, teacher, academic, is an active member of the International Literary Agency in Turkey, Azerbaijan, Philippine, Kazakhstan, İtaly, Oman, Belgium, USA. She is a PhD in Philology, Associate Professor, author of 8 books and more than 400 articles.
Đặng Thân, Vietnam
Đặng Thân – Vietnam- Dex 19 (2020) - acrylic on canvas - Size: 100 cm x 130 cm
LIGHTS FOR THE CITY
*
POEM:
[English]
Misted with Life
under the illusory canopy
supermen
king-kongs
spidermen
break away
in the mist
lighting
in the must
shining
through the darkness
loosely crickets blowing woodwinds with zest
[lightened with everlasting alcohol]
fireflies spreading light
never rest
the weaker sex always enjoys longer sex life
the strong heroes often have short lives
a symphony
played by an orchestra
of hylas
bull-frogs
old toad
the conductor
stirring
Thai porridge
bubbly and sweet
slipping through
the empty night
quietly
suddenly
the bell
bongs
*
[Italian – translated by Lucilla Trapazzo]
Frastornato di Vita
All’ombra dell’illusione
Superman
King-Kong
Spiderman
si allontanano
nella nebbia
illuminati
dal dovere
splendenti
nelle tenebre
liberi i grilli suonano i fiati con gioia
[leggeri per alcool a fiumi]
le lucciole diffondono la luce
senza posa
il sesso debole gode sempre di una vita sessuale più lunga
gli eroi forti hanno spesso vita breve
una sinfonia
suonata da un'orchestra
di hyla[1]
rane toro
il vecchio rospo
il conduttore
mescola
porridge tailandese
spumeggiante e dolce
scivolando
nella notte vuota
in silenzio
all’improvviso
la campana
[1] Hyla, anfibio, meglio conosciuto con il nome comune di raganella
Đặng Thân – Vietnam
#lightsforthecity
Đặng Thân (Vietnam) is a notable bilingual poet, fiction writer, critic and essayist, based in Vietnam. His works in various genres ‘have created the utmost important turning-point in the writing style of Vietnamese literature.’ He pioneers Vietnamese alliteration and a new style named ‘phac-nhien’ in poetry and ideology. His poetry has been translated into 12 languages, and recently garnered five prestigious international prizes.
Đặng Thân - Dex 23 (2021) - acrylic on canvas - Size: 100 cm x 130 cm
Masudul Hoq, Bangladesh
Biljana D. Obradović, Serbia/USA
Unusual Phenomenon
On the Il Redentore Festival (the plague
end’s celebration) in Venice we pushed
our baby son in his carriage and crossed
the pontoon bridge across the Giodeca
for the first time even though we had
been here before on this July celebration.
The pontoniers had been building it all day long.
Thousands of tourists walked back and forth.
I went inside the church built in honor of all who died,
to light a candle; few worshippers were inside.
We watched the fireworks by the Academia bridge,
packed with people. The next day we visited
Pound’s and Olga’s graves on San Michele,
the cimitero. Then spent a day on the Venetian
islands, Burano and Torcello. On Burano I
bought lace, and jewelry, had lunch at Pound’s
favorite restaurant there, Trattoria da Romano.
We had the usual: I a grilled branzino, John
frutti di mare, just like the other night
at regular Pound hangout, Montin,
in the garden outside covered with arbor;
couldn’t get enough of the same, so tasty!
After the exhausting weekend we returned
to Brunnenburg, and went out to rest onto
the balcony only to see a double rainbow
on the hill directly in front, yet no rain had fallen.
The next day the local newspaper covered
this unusual phenomenon, while Patrizia
joked it must’ve happened because Graziella
had just watered the plants in the garden.
.
Biljana D. Obradović
.
#charmofurbanlandscape
Andre Schreuder, The Netherlands
Artwork by Andre Schreuder
The Netherlands
The City
The stones are wet
Below my feet
On this barren
Empty street
Gushes of wind
bouncing on walls
Make sounds
And the echo
Of my shoes
Slowly fade,
Andre Schreuder
The Netherlands
#charmofurbanlandscape
Andre Schreuder, born in Delft The Netherlands, 1960, painter and poet. Published : Fair and Square; The Borderline of Art; Paintings and Poetry, and a book in dutch rhyme, about stories from the east. His paintings are inspired by all the great painters around the 1900's. http://www.schreuder-art.nl/
Yeşim Ağaoğlu, Turkey
"Installation"
by yeşim ağaoğlu
#lightsforthecity
new york blues
new york slipping falls from my hands
and you fall with it too
manhattan afloat in rain puddles
like a black-and-white photograph
as cubic as it can be
comparing the chrysler building with the tower of galata
ı find one is a crystal chandelier
the other a reading lamp with a bust up light bulb
and you, you are like the figures in modigliani’s...
but no, no,
ın matisse’s paintings
slipping from between my fingers against my wish
we’re playing an e:t game
ın the sistine chapel
knee-high in melancholy
ı myself are falling down your back
higgly-piggly to truth’s core
now the minarets have grazed me again
remain in good cheer, my one and only
and fare-thee-well, new york you whore
yeşim ağaoğlu
#lightsforthecity
Yesim Agaoglu (Turkey) was born and lives in Istanbul. She studied in Istanbul University, Art History, Archaeology and Cinema. Her poems have appeared in various anthologies, and her published books of poetry have been translated into many languages. She frequently participates in international literary and poetry festivals, as well as gaining recognition internationally as a contemporary artist.
NGUYEN CHAU NGOC DOAN CHINH (HONG NGOC CHAU), Vietnam
CITY LIGHTS UP
1
How strangely quiet the city at night!
A lot of dark alleys no one passed-by
The light is tearing the silent night
I‘m feeling lonely in the wind sighs
2
The blurry scene is in milky white
The mist sparkles like star lights
Like a real mystery appeared
Flirting the souls of travelers
3
The city seems to wear new clothes
It puts on pretty clothes, you know
Street lights are as quiet as watching
High tops of the buildings are soaring
4
The modern mixed up with the ancient time
The wind fluttered with colors and rhythms
A vibrant symbol of city streets as ever
The new era that mankind still desired
5
Surely the night lights divide the light
For diligent peddlers during the night
Here and there, go and forth on streets
To suffer for a living they satisfy indeed
6
Street lights pursue a couple to promenade
Pure hearts they fall in love so passionate
Step by step, strolling in their free time
They breathe the air, the source of life
7
The night scent on grass and leaves spread
The lights are sparkling in the mist, great
Green bud sprouts, and a lot of open flowers
The city at night seems to be a great wonder
8
The lights at night give us the life
To spread joy everywhere we like
Civilization rises in the worldly life
Humanity is in peace in leisure life
*
HNC@All Rights Reserved
HONG NGOC CHAU
#lightsforthecity
Her true name is NGUYEN CHAU NGOC DOAN CHINH. Her Pen name is HONG NGOC CHAU, her Facebook name is NGUYEN CHINH. She is a Master of Education Management. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Ho Chi Minh City (Vietnam), the Honorary Foreign Advisor, Ambassador of the Suryodaya Literature Foundation (SLF) From- Vietnam; the member Admin of W.U. P (World Union of Poets), the level of GENERAL COUNCILOR of the World Union of Poets with COORDINATORS SILVER MEDAL ( 14th medal of the World Union of Poets), Contributor of VISHWA BHARATI - India (The Vishwabharati Research Center), International Ambassador of the Circle of the International Chamber of Writers & Artists, Administrator, moderator, group expert of many literary forums around the world; Honorary Doctor of Humanity of the Prixton Church and University.
Álvaro Mata Guillé, Costa Rica
Opus 111, número 4
bajo la luz de las farolas
a Jacqueline Alencart
Las mariposas
al deletrear en el libro de las preguntas,
atraídas por el tránsito de fuego, las flores del mal
y el país de los ausentes,
se adentran al mirar sin mirar de los muertos,
que sentados en las gradas a mi lado,
se desvanecen con las bancas
humedecidas por la niebla del otoño,
al lado de la calle,
en el frío de las sombras.
Las caracolas de la Casa de las conchas,
atraídas por el jolgorio de las conversaciones,
bajaban por las ventanas:
iban,
venían,
desaparecían bajo la bruma
hasta llegar al letargo adormecido en las bancas.
No muy lejos,
desdibujados por la llovizna como brujas volando entre las cúpulas,
Jacqueline junto a Eunice, Ninfa, Antidio y las mariposas,
reían alrededor de las farolas,
entre las velas
y el humo del incienso,
caminando entre las tumbas,
más allá de las estrellas,
más allá del polvo.
Era yo,
era otro,
el mismo,
sabiendo sin saber de la ausencia,
sabiendo sin saber de tu muerte. Era octubre,
era noviembre en Salamanca,
aunque aquí,
en este otro lugar donde se escriben los fragmentos,
las huellas del viento persiguen la arena
y Antígona,
con su collar opaco,
se mece todavía en el árbol de las orejas.
en el recuerdo.
*
Tiempo después,
acompañadas por la noche,
las caracolas se unían al desfile de las mariposas
y los gritos en las sombras,
acosaban con furia las paredes, los techos
y las gradas de las iglesias,
asustando en los callejones,
riéndose se dejaban caer desde las ventanas,
insistiendo en subir para caerse otra vez,
como Sísifo que regresa perenne a la cima de la colina,
como Prometeo exponiendo su vientre,
castigado por robarse el fuego,
la pira del sacrificio,
como piedras.
*
Ir y venir es una ilusión
donde las cosas se transforman sin irse
y el alma se convierte en polvo,
como la sal,
que al voltearse en el desierto transfigurada en estatuas,
miran sin ver,
sin reencuentro.
Ese día,
Jacqueline, que hacía pocos meses se había ido,
quería acostumbrarse bajo la luz de las farolas,
a la soledad de lo ausente,
entonces,
Eunice regresó con las mariposas al tránsito de fuego
y a los elementos terrestres,
Antidio y las caracolas al campo nublo,
Ninfa a leer entre los nichos de las tumbas,
sentándose en los mausoleos,
en la penumbra,
en la niebla.
Álvaro Mata Guillé.
#lightsforthecity
Álvaro Mata Guillé, Costa Rica
San José, Costa Rica. Poeta, ensayista, director teatral. Director del Corredor cultural: Poesía en tránsito, que integra festivales internacionales de poesía de México y España. Director del Festival Internacional de poesía En el Lugar de los Escudos (México), coodirector del Festival Internacional del Norte y Castilla y León-Poesía en tránsito. Algunos de sus libros son: Debajo del viento, Sobre los fragmentos, Un país sin nombre, Intemperies, Más allá de la bruma. De próxima aparición: El individuo en la sombra (ensayo).
Noris Roberts, Venezuela
Hágase la luz
Lo primero que se vio fueron
las sonrisas de los niños
contemplando la noche
como nunca antes la habían visto
Las calles ofrecen un abrazo nocturno
que antes no existía,
ostentan colores que estaban ocultos
en tus jardines y tus fuentes
Tu silueta es una frontera flotante
orgullosa y elegante;
como luna en el cielo
te vistieron de honor...
por las manos de tu creador
Turín, estás resplandeciente;
bravo Guido Chiarelli,
le diste vida a "Ville Lumière”
como un sol naciente
©Noris Roberts
2022
Let there be light
The first thing to be seen were
the smiles of the children
contemplating the night
as they had never seen it before
The streets offer a nocturnal embrace
that did not exist before,
flaunting the hidden colors
of its gardens and fountains
Your silhouette is a floating border
proud and elegant;
like a moon in the sky
you were clothed with honor...
by the hands of your creator
Turin, you are shining;
bravo Guido Chiarelli,
you gave birth to "Ville Lumière”
like a sun that’s rising
©Noris Roberts
2022
#lightsforthecity
Noris Roberts (Venezuela) - Abogada, poeta y escritora. Premio Literario Naji Naaman (miembro honorario de la Maison Naaman pour la Culture); nombrada Embajadora de la Paz en representación de Venezuela por el Cercle Universel de la Paix France/Suisse; Cónsul de la Asociación de Escritores y Artistas del Orbe "ASEALDO" y miembro honorífico de la Asociación Latinoamericana de Poetas "ASOLAPO".
Venezuelan attorney, poet and writer. Awarded with the Naji Naaman Literary Prize (honorary member of the Maison Naaman pour la Culture); appointed Ambassador of Peace on behalf of Venezuela by the Cercle Universel de la Paix France/Suisse; Consul of the Association of Writers and Artists of the Orb "ASEALDO" and honorary member of the Latin American Association of Poets "ASOLAPO
A.D. Winans, USA
For one last ride on a magnificent horse
Maria Errico, Italy
INCANTO
NEL BUIO
Frantuma il tramonto l’orizzonte,
immantinente trascolora il cielo...
sfiorire, attonita, osservo il quanto di luce
bolide che ansima rigenerazione nella culla della
sua fornace nucleare ma, anima parmenidea, all’alba
lo evocherò, quando
il Sortilegio schiude gli occhi e, magnetica, si
espande la Bellezza nel Creato!
Squarcia le nubi il chiaro Cuore Lunare,
sulla Terra disseminate lucciole artificiali
di forze maliose e incantatrici, reviviscenza
di vita stanano dalle città oscurate!
Di passione fremono gli amanti clandestini,
bramosi i corpi si avvinghiano nella penombra
galeotta, mentre annegano ebbri
i sogni degli Infanti, allegri possessori di visioni
e libertà, ovunque navighino
i loro occhi, nel colorato frastuono dei
notturni fuochi artificiali.
Maria Errico
#lightsforthecity
Maria Errico: A degree in philosophy with honours. Member of Fisd-Coni (Italian National Olympic Committee) during the ‘80s, responsable for Mind Disabled in Brussels for “Special Olympics”.
Publications: Poems, novels, fairy tales, collective poetic works, video poetry performed by important people: Alessandro Quasimodo and Hafez Haidar.
Future publication: Historical story.
Finalist in several competitions, merit plaques, medals, honour diplomas. Translated into Polish (Anthology), Russian, Serbian (Anthology), and Chinese. Excellent poet Award 8° “Festival Primavera” Chinese poetry. Present at Artist and Famous poets showroom in China.
ZHANG Zhuoyue, China
NIGHTFALL
日暮（外二首）
日落
惊起一群乌鸫
此刻
路灯照亮了
那些归家的匆匆步履
和前方的一排排高楼
此刻
夜风被万物唤醒
远山
在沉寂中
伸了一下懒腰
此刻
枯树下
蚂蚁们
纷纷涌入
栀子花的梦乡
此刻
我看见
一行行诗
掠过
灯火阑珊的家园
——那是乌鸫，在盘旋
2022年2月8日于陪都
[China]Zhang Zhuoyue
Nightfall
The sun set
And startled a flock of crows.
Now
Street lamps shone on
The hasty steps hurrying home
And rows of high buildings ahead.
Now
The nocturnal breeze was awoken by all things.
Distant mountains
In the dead silence
Stretched their lazy waists.
Now
Under withered trees
Ants
Swarmed into the dream
Of gardenia, one after another.
Now
I saw
Lines of poems
Flew over
Homes dimly lit:
—The crows were hovering.
February 8, 2022, written in Chongqing
(Translated by Prof. Li Zhengshuan)
#lightsforthecity
ZHANG Zhuoyue was born on January 6, 2011 in Chongqing City, China. He loves writing, taekwondo, programming and music. He is now a six grade student in Xincun Experimental Primary School, Jiangbei District, Chongqing City.
Lana Derkač, Croatia
THE CELEBRANT
The sky is a wizard.
It filled the plains with admiration, and they jumped into it
and from then on they defined themselves as mountains.
It impressed waters and following
the invisible threads of its most self-reliant
molecule they ascended into the clouds.
The sky listens well because it is an empty space
and no object obscures the sound.
It sees all movements because gridlock
does not halt the panoramic view nor does it
deprive it of objectivity.
The sky is wide and when a newly risen skyscraper
squeezes it a bit, pinches its lungs,
it is soon born at some other corner of the
Earth and it is a celebrant.
And so each day at some place it has its birthday.
The lights we turn on in the evening across the continents
are but boundless and erratic candles
on its birthday cake.
LANA DERKAČ
#lightsforthecity
LANA DERKAČ (Croatia) is a prominent, award-winning Croatian writer. She has published some fifteen collections of poetry, prose, drama and essays in Croatia. Her work has been translated into 20 languages.
Tzemin Ition Tsai, Taiwan (China)
The old shop that never lights out
His spine stands upright
On a small old wooden bench
Under the sunlight, with hands are all jagged with veins
Wrinkles are twisted and deep
The Moon is lonely
But not bow her head tonight
The gap between the clouds
The bride's first helpless night
There is more fear than sadness
The winds are coming
The flapping sound of mixed wings
The caged bird screamed out
That's not from my double wings
That's not from my companions
The sun goes so wild
Hide in a shady corner
Cat on the tin house
Your dry tongue is not enough
To lick your fragile soul wet
Sunken eye socket
Around the gaming table
Greedy eyes bloodshot
Secretly calculating
Each passerby's compassion
Late autumn deep night
Village boy playing the flute
Sound into the cloud
The shop has turned off the lights
Where am I going tonight?
~by Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai, Taiwan(China)
#lightsforthecity
Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai, Taiwan(China)
A professor, especially an explorer who is good at delving into fine writing. He likes attention to detail the bizarre twists and turns in literary works, not entirely because of the gem of life, but especially loves to describe the beauty of its details.
Juliet Preston, USA
(Artwork: Abstract photography)
Juliet Preston (USA) is
A poet at heart,
An artist by passion,
An engineer by profession.
Claudia Piccinno, Italy
Haiku
Dissipa il buio
nei rioni scuri
l'elettricità.
.
Non ha paura
il cane randagio
sott'il lampione.
.
Riposati
gendarme di ferro
durante il dì.
#lightsforthecity
Claudia Piccinno, docente, traduttrice, autrice di numerosi libri di poesia. Ha scritto inoltre diversi saggi. Ambasciatrice per l’Italia del World Institute for Peace e di Istanbul Sanat Art, benemerita del Comune di Castel Maggiore per meriti culturali. Responsabile della rubrica poesia per la Gazzetta di Istanbul, editor per l’Europa della rivista turca Papirus, edita da Artshop; collabora con vari blog e riviste cartacee, tra cui Verbumpress, Menabò e Il Porticciolo
http://claudiapiccinno.weebly.com/
Eralieva Umkan Polotovna, Kyrgyzstan
THE MOON
(The moon is the lamp of the universe)
Admiring, looking at you,
And I pick up the sounds.
After all, I live loving you
I sing and admire.
You light up the world,
Beauty makes me melt,
The whole ether is full of you,
You are a golden maiden.
I see an uncountable swarm of stars,
They cannot be compared to you.
Anyway, the fight is unequal,
Let them accept their fate.
I praise you without end,
Guide me,
Don't avert your eyes,
Don't hide behind the mist.
Sometimes you 'll go behind the clouds,
Are you playing hide and seek with me
And I'm running to you, you're waiting,
We're playing catch-up.
You are the queen among the stars,
the Princess of this night,
Girlfriend, it just so happened,
That she is inseparable from the sun.
You have a big role –
Witness of the night.
You and the sun have been together since ancient times
Be radiant – lights.
Do you see the sufferers of the earth
And all lovers too.
Good luck was promised to all of us,
Be kinder, not stricter.
You're an eyewitness to everything,
Laughing, you often joke,
People won 't hide anything,
Sometimes you will have a conscience.
Be close to lovers, the moon,
And sprinkle on the light!
Be far from the wicked,
Or hide without an answer.
ERALIEVA UMUTKAN POLOTOVNA (Kyrgyzstan)
#lightsforthecity
Eralieva Umkan Polotovna (Kyrgyzstan) is a poet, writer, publicist.
Author of more than a dozen books. Winner of dozens of international festivals and competitions.