She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.
Ted Hughes, 'Snowdrop'
You are the poison
I would drink
I would die
Unshipped in words that fall withering
Like these that fail, falter
And now blaze, blaze, penetrate, evaporate
People like words
Are deceptive, temporary, forgettable – Just because they can be
The story you told
Is the story
O little wee soul with the body of an angel
O body of water
That dares and dithers
Between this rose and that rose
Eating the petals - Taking infusions of the petals
Little pink things, cherubim broth
The petals of the blush rose and the petals of the dog rose
To feel how the bud opens to receive sunlight and water
Perhaps you don’t want to keep running back into books?
Perchance you won’t?
Perhaps you want to fold back into your little-big Zen heavens?
The ones where you don’t remember someone, anyone
Because nobody remembers you
The story you told
Is the story
The familiar, speculative, I divagate
To calibrate the love and mourn the life
In languages less spoken
And words never said
Screeding across the Brandywine on the Bucklebury Ferry
Be silent when I speak if you will hear
Love’s perspicacious promissories
Be still when I am silent -
You will see time’s univocal
Read the 'Contextual Notes' to the poem here.
Rehan Qayoom is a poet of English and Urdu, editor, translator and archivist. Educated at Birkbeck College, University of London, he has featured in numerous literary publications and performed his work internationally. He is the author of 2 books of poetry and several works of prose and criticism. He lives in London.
So we travel on earth seeking the terrain of Poetry, walking through wilderness and empty landscape or visiting those ancient sites like Dholavira in far-western Gujarat, or Mykenai in the Greek Peloponnese, or the Arawak campsite on eastern Carriacou in the Grenadine Windward Isles, pursuing that authenticity of experience in a form of antique material reality...
These are places, strange and vague situations where death is manifold and thoroughly extant to the careful eye. There are women’s bangles made of shell to be picked up from the saline dust or small copper beads and thin chert blades, or tiny obsidian arrow-heads that can be unhidden and disclosed beneath those bloody grey walls about the Lion Gate, or beautiful indented potsherds and ceramic fragments at the waterline where the Atlantic rolls out its long blue visceral waves...
Kevin McGrath 🐚Yoga of Poetry
“Dare to live the life you have dreamed."
Ralph Waldo Emerson
What began as a series of literary salons and writing workshops is now a worldwide circle of literary & fine artists who believe that words, art, and music act as a transcendent bridge, and allow us to create the lives we have imagined. Poets and Dreamers Literary Circle and the Poets and Dreamers Literary & Fine Arts Journal exist as opportunities for authors and artists to actualize themselves through collaboration and the circulation of literary and fine arts.
"Remember...the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you."