RECUERDOS DE UN VERANO

 

 

el murmullo de una fuente,

el vuelo ondulante de los pájaros,

las canciones estridentes de grillos, ranas y chicharras,

el fluir suave de una gran mariposa blanca,

las hojas susurrantes de los árboles,

el viento que despeina,

una sombra fresca y la tibieza del sol,

el perfume de una flor violeta.

y el perfume de una flor naranja también,

un silencio y una risa,

una luna que aúlla,

el sabor de una lágrima

y un sombrero negro.

 

 

Alejandra Miranda (Argentina-2021)

 

 

RICORDI DI UN’ESTATE

 

il mormorio di una fontana,

il volo ondeggiante degli uccelli,

i canti stridenti di grilli, rane e cicale,

il flusso delicato di una grande farfalla bianca,

le foglie sussurranti degli alberi,

il vento che scompiglia,

una fresca ombra e il tiepidezza del sole,

il profumo di un fiore di violetta.

e anche il profumo di un fiore d'arancio,

un silenzio e una risata,

la luna dei lupi,

il sapore di una lacrima

e un cappello nero.

 

 

Alejandra Miranda (Argentina – 2021)

 

Alejandra Miranda (Argentina): artista visual, escritora y curadora. Vive en La Paz (Entre Ríos, Argentina) - FB Alejandra Miranda Arte 

AUTRE TEMPS

 

On ne t'a rien dit au départ

tu croyais oui peut-être

d'une vie meilleure

sans barrière

sur une autre terre

plus vivace

que celle des villes

encerclées

 

à l'embarquement

on presse la foule

dans les fourgons

et la misère se met en marche

sur les rails vers l'inconnu

redouté

 

à l'arrivée

seule la rage des chiens

et les bastonnades

par-dessus les cris

d'une foule aux aboies

assoiffée que les larmes

ne parviennent pas

à étancher

 

puis la mascarade

s'est déployée en sélections

et le guet-apens s'est refermé

sur le mince espoir

de revoir tous les sourires

des visages à découvert

dans un espace vivifiant

dans un autre temps

 

 

 

© Huguette Bertrand -

 

 

 

UN ALTRO TEMPO

 

All'inizio non te l'hanno detto

hai creduto sì forse

ad una vita migliore

senza ostacoli

su una terra diversa

più viva

di quella delle città

assediate

 

all'imbarco

la folla spinta

nei furgoni

e la miseria si mette in cammino

sulla rotta verso l'ignoto

temuto

 

all’ arrivo

solo la rabbia dei cani

e le percosse

sopra le grida

di una folla disperata, assetata

che le lacrime

non giungono

a placare

 

 

poi la messa in scena

nelle selezioni

e la trappola si è chiusa

sulla sottile speranza

di  rivedere i sorrisi

di volti allo scoperto

in uno spazio vivo

 

in un altro tempo

 

(traduzione: Lidia Chiarelli)

 

Bertrand, Huguette (Canada) Poète et éditrice, Huguette Bertrand a publié 38 ouvrages de poésie dont plusieurs en collaboration avec des artistes en art visuel et photographie. De nombreux textes ont paru dans diverses revues et anthologies internationales imprimées et en ligne. Certains de ses poèmes ont été traduits en plusieurs langues. http://www.espacepoetique.com https://www.facebook.com/huguette.bertrand.9

 

The Night The Eagle Shrieked

 

He'd dreamt a dream like never once before,

the sort they'd say would speak of him a pawn -

prophetic things they'd make but metaphor,

the words unread from out that lexicon.

Inside that "sleep" he'd seen the mountains fall,

the rivers rise that washed away the land,

the people massed their backs against the wall,

the ice in sheets that shook the desert sand.

From off afar he'd heard the eagle shriek,

a frozen feel that settled down his spine -

that bird alone the one now left to speak -

the world gone mute to frighten Frankenstein.

He'd dreamt a dream that they'd refused to hear,

though each in turn had walked away in fear.

 

-Richard Doiron ©

 

 

Richard Doiron, New Brunswick, Canada.

Poetry in print 50 years. Lifetime Achievement  Awards from World Poetry (2012), World Friendship

Poetry (2017).

Named World Poet Laureate, World Friendship Poetry (2019)

 

Nominated for Lifetime Achievement Award by ARTeryUSA 2017. Author of 18 books

La Poétesse

 

 

L’ombre chaude et bleue des cyprès, dans l’après-midi tranquille, accueille la pâleur gracieuse et la chevelure flottante de l’alanguie avec son livre aux pages tournées par le vent.

 

La belle réfléchit, imagine, crée artistement une élaboration conséquente de ses idéaux dans lesquels se répandent les bonheurs qu’elle veut dispenser en voyant les visages transformés par la joie.

 

De sa douce lèvre généreuse, son souffle émane alors parfumé d’une poésie qui lui vient naturellement pour être aimable avec les personnes exceptionnelles de sensibilité jusqu’à la bonté.

 

La clarté du ciel favorise la concentration de sa pensée sur les sourires à regarder, à apprécier, à mémoriser, pour avoir recours à des souvenirs lorsqu’arrivera le moment dernier.

 

Elle prévoit, planifie, amplifie ses visées, persuadée de la capacité d’indignation du peuple qui, avec elle, réclamerait des dirigeants la concrétisation d’un rêve d’égalité.

 

Se renouvelant par sa persistance, le reflet doré chemine dans la frondaison pour frémir sur la nacre de la main délicate et tavelée transmettant l’univers significatif des syllabes alignées.

 

Elle poétise patiemment sa volonté d’abreuver l’âme de mots en donnant à boire dans les calices de la saison des roses et son assiduité à rassasier le besoin d’affection en devenant encore la femme dont le baiser guérit.

 

 

Lucie Poirier - Canada

 

 

Maître ès arts, théoricienne et praticienne d’une poésie variée par son lexique et son aspect, Lucie Poirier édite ses livres d’artistes faits à la main. Sur scène, elle termine ses spectacles poétiques, avec mouvements et chansons, en soufflant dans sa main pour que des pétales volent vers le public.

Life is a war

Hurry swallows novels
Dreams chewed by history
From a dry and anxious womb

Someone broke the vase
Before the roses wither
The liquid from the orbits
Feed the love

We are in a field of mined words
Music explodes rips out hope
Break the eyes

The leaves remain green
Greens of withered hope
Green without a red smell.

I'm at war with life
Experiences with broken hands
Grab my shoulders

Life is a war
And I am the Glory
Daughter of Vitória.

 

I believe Dylan Thomas

was always at war with life

and  "And death shall have no dominion"

 

Glória Sofia

 

Glória Sofia, is a dreamer as most poets.  Born and raised in the city of Praia in Cape Verde.

Her poetry has been translated into more than 15 languages, and in 2020 she won a  prize for UMPPL.

She collaborates with the online newspapers or magazines in the world. She represents Cape Verde in Immagine & Poesia  Movement.

 

Her works have been widely published.  https://gloriasvmonteiro.wixsite.com/gloriasofia

 

Qin Feng

 

清明：四月的兩滴泪眼

秦風[中国]

 

清明。荒蕪的四月中

僅存活的兩個

漢字。寂寥而冷清的兩滴泪

被异鄉的雨水反復擦洗

村口。敞開故鄉的生死之門

空曠的天地，早已坍塌入土

衰草，枯樹與風的守望

歸途之上，沒有歸人

苦難。被大地一次次收養

長成唯一站立的莊稼：

母親的墳和父親的墓

我，是祖先的生死

我是，自己的孤兒

是人間，直立行走的墓碑

 

 

作者简介：

秦风，本名蒲建雄，文学博士。曾获首届全球汉语诗歌主奖、首届天府文学作品奖、长城文学奖、苏东坡文学奖。全国诗歌报刊网络联盟“十大最佳抗疫诗歌奖”、第六届上海市民诗歌节原创诗歌一等奖。作品被译作多种语言并收录多种诗歌选集。著有诗集《独步苍茫》。

 

 

Pure and Bright: April's Two Teardrops

By Qin Feng [China]

 

Pure and Bright. The only two Chinese words

Alive in the forlorn ’nd deserted month of April.

The two teardrops, lonesome and desolate,

Are time and again being scrubbed and rinsed

By rainwater in the alien land.

Th’ Entrance to the Village. The gate of life and death

Of my native place is wide agape.

The vast universe has long collapsed into earth.

The watchful watch of withered grass, dried trees, and winds.

On the way home, no one’s on his way back.

Sufferings. Adopted over and over,

Have grown into the only standing crops:

Mother’s grave, and Father’s tomb.

I, I am the life and death of my forebears;

I, I am orphan to my own self,

A gravestone, that walks upright

In the world mundane.

 

（Translated by Botao LIU）

 

 

 

Qin Feng, real name Pu Jianxiong, doctor of literature. He has won the First Global Chinese Poetry Main Prize, the First Tianfu Literature Prize, the Great Wall Literature Prize and the Su Dongpo Literature Prize. The “Top Ten Poems Against Covid-19” held by the National Poetry and Newspaper Network Alliance and the first prize of the 6th the Poetry Festival Original Poems in Shanghai. His works have been translated into many languages and included in anthologies of poetry. He is the author of a collection of poems called “On Horizon Alone”.

Wang Mengren

 

醒着的瓦

王猛仁 [中国]

 

真担心那一堆零乱的细密往事

会把你从高枝上震落

我屏住呼吸，究竟想去哪个城市的屋檐下

默默静守

 

这明净而又静穆的画面

不该在雨雪缠绵之后

用一阵热烈如骤雨的掌声

求证它的本来面目

 

长久滞留心头的落日般的喟叹

经历过一系列的短暂阵痛

都复归原状

已不再有被涂着黑色的夜空

立在乱云缤纷中

成就这么多

断碑碎瓦

 

 

作者简介:

王猛仁，中国当代著名诗人、书法家。1959年生，河南省扶沟县人。中国作家协会、中国书法家协会会员，河南省文联委员，周口市书法家协会终身名誉主席，周口师范学院兼职教授。著有《养拙堂文存》（九卷）、《平原书》、《平原歌者》等。部分诗作被译成英语、意大利语、德语、法语、西班牙语、泰米尔语、日语、韩语、希腊语、俄语等。

 

 

 

La mattonella del risveglio

 di Wang Mengren [China]

 

Vera preoccupazione è che un mucchio di eventi disordinati e trascorsi

Possano scuoterti da sopra l’alto ramo

Trattenendo il respiro, mi chiedo in che città della terra andrei

Per stare tranquillamente sotto la grondaia

 

L'immagine luminosa e solenne

Non dovrebbe essere ricercata per la sua origine

Con un applauso energico come un forte acquazzone

Dopo il romantico rapporto della pioggia e della neve

 

I sospiri, come il sole al tramonto, indugiano a lungo nella mente

Dopo una serie di temporanee crisi di dolore

Ritornando alla loro originalità

E non c'è più notte oscura con vernice nera

In piedi tra le nuvole caotiche

Facendo tante piastrelle rotte

Realizzate le loro imprese

 

 (tradotte da Domenico Defelice)

 

 

 

 

Wang Mengren, famoso poeta e calligrafo della Cina contemporanea, è nato nel 1959 nella contea di Fugou, nella provincia di Henan. È membro della Chinese Writers' Association, della Chinese Calligraphers' Association, membro del comitato della Henan Provincial Literary Federation, presidente onorario a vita della Zhoukou Municipal Calligraphers 'Association e professore part-time del Zhoukou Normal College. Ha pubblicato Literary Writings in My Humble Abode (in 9 volumi), The Writing of the Plain e The Singer of the Plain ecc. Alcune sue poesie sono state tradotte in inglese, italiano, tedesco, francese, spagnolo, tamil, giapponese, coreano, greco, russo ecc.

Xi Ke

 

一次爱的痕迹

西可[中国]

 

穿过一段时间之后,空地上

堆放着向日葵

是什么力量让他们堆在一起呢

雨中,一群少年用力砍伐

翠绿的向日葵

我已经无法写下“热爱”这个词

如果是过去，是昨天

我会用自己的手臂为她遮拦

雨或者横飞的刀痕

 

但是,今天我只是闻到向日葵的气息

 

 

作者简介：

西可，中国当代著名诗人，本名杨维周。中国作家协会会员。祖籍甘肃崇信，上世纪八十年代开始诗歌创作，九十年代曾赴深圳主持流浪诗人诗展。2012年受邀赴以色列参加第32届世界诗人大会。作品主要有诗集巜汭河弯弯》《铜壶》《故垒》《风铃》《我和我的一些日子》《今生无需告别》《西可诗歌集》，散文集《谷地》《我的生活与你无关》《我还活着》等十多种。现居西安。

 

 

The Trace of a Love

By Xi Ke [China]

 

Through a section of time, on the vacant land

Sunflowers are piled up

But what force piles them up

In the rain, a group of youths cut with knives

The green sunflowers

I cannot write down the word “love”

If it is the past, yesterday

I will block it with my arms

Raindrops or the flying knife scars

 

But, today I only smell the breath of sunflowers

 

(Translated by Zhang Zhizhong

 

 

 

Xi Ke, a famous poet in contemporary China, was born as Yang Weizhou from a family of Chongxin ancestry in Gansu Province of China. He is member of the Chinese Writers Association. He began to write poetry in the 1980s and went to Shenzhen to host the “Wandering Poets Poetry Exhibition” in the 1990s. In 2012, he was invited to Israel to attend the 32^nd World Poets’ Congress. His works have been published in a variety of journals, and his published poetry collections include The Bend of Ruihe River, The Bronze Pot, Old Forts, The Wind Bell, Some Days of Mine and Me, No Need to Say Goodbye to This Life, The Collection of Xi Ke Poems, etc., besides his prose collections The Valley, My Life Has Nothing to Do with You, I Still Live. He now lives in Xi’an.

Xu Chunfang

 

梦境

徐春芳 [中国]

 

我每天所做的事情

就是把墙垒得更高些

把外面的世界封印

我站在空荡荡的大厅

踩着词语的滑轮

旋转或侧空翻

我就是舞台

不需要观众喝彩

一个人也High得自在

 

 

作者简介：

徐春芳，中国当代著名诗人。男，1976年出生于安徽望江县农村。已出版诗集《颂歌》《雅歌》《江南》《徐春芳诗选》（中英对照），散文集《风从故乡来》。部分作品被翻译成英语、意大利语、希腊语、阿拉伯语、罗马尼亚语、尼泊尔语等多种文字，获得过黎巴嫩国际文学奖、2020年度华语十佳诗集、安徽省政府社科奖（文学类）、 “中国网络诗歌20年”创作奖、首届“安徽诗歌奖·最佳诗人奖”、全国鲁藜诗歌奖等国内外多种奖项。

 

 

 

Dream World

             By Xu Chunfang [China]

 

The things that I did everyday

Were building the wall higher than before

To seal off the outside world

Standing in the empty lobby

On the glide wheel of words

Revolving or side flipping

I am the stage

And I don’t need applause

Even so I could get high by myself

 

                (Translated by Brent O. Yan)

 

 

 

Xu Chunfang, a famous contemporary Chinese poet, was born in the countryside of Wangjiang County, Anhui Province in 1976. He has published many poetry anthologies, such as Ode, Elegy, Jiangnan, Selected Poems of Xu Chunfang (Chinese and English edition), and prose anthologies Wind from Hometown. Some of his works have been translated into English, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Romanian, Nepalese and other languages. He has won the Lebanon International Literature Award, the Top Ten Chinese Poetry Collections of 2020, the Social Science Award of Anhui Provincial Government, , the “20 years of Chinese Online Poetry” Creation Award, the first “Anhui Poetry Award · Best Poet Award”, and the Luli National Poetry Award, among many other awards at home and abroad.

ZHANG Zhi

 

十四行：给十六岁的阿文

张智[中国]

 

你说你未满十六岁

就在老爸老妈的调教下

开始皮肉生涯

 

我说我未满十六岁

就在现实生活的重压下

开始行吟生涯

 

如今，你小小的乳房依然结实

而我，作为诗人也已声名远扬

你读不懂我内心的沧桑

我猜不透你燃烧的美丽

 

与其说你在国家的床上自由开放

还不如说你在我的诗中悄然生长

六月的夜风啊，把谁的心吹远

你空空的眸子盛不下火的喟叹

 

 

作者简介：

    张智，笔名野鬼，英文名Arthur Zhang，1965年出生于四川巴县。中国当代重要诗人、批评家、翻译家。文学博士。先后从事过多种职业，现任IPTRC主席、混语版《国际诗歌翻译》季刊执行总编、英文版《世界诗歌年鉴》主编、希腊文学艺术与科学学院外籍院士。1986年开始发表文学和翻译作品。部分作品被译成三十余种外国文字。出版诗集五种，译诗集二种。现居重庆。

 

 

A Poem of Fourteen Lines: To the 16-year-old A Wen

By ZHANG Zhi [China]

 

Taught by your parents

You began to work as a prostitute

When you were quite sixteen, you say

 

Pressed by the life in reality

I began to work as a poet

When I was quite sixteen, I say

 

Now still sturdy your little breasts

And also famous I am as a poet—

You can’t comprehend the great changes in my heart

While I fail to make clear your burning beauty

 

It is not so much to say you are opening freely on the bed of the country

As to say you grow silently in my poem lines

Whose heart is blown away by the nightly wind in June

Your hollow eyes will not hold the fiery sigh

 

 

 

 

ZHANG Zhi, born in Phoenix Town of Baxian County, Sichuan province in 1965, is an important poet, critic and translator in contemporary China. His pen name is Diablo, English name is Arthur ZHANG, and ancestral place is Nan’an of Chongqing City. He is a doctor of literature. He is the current president of the International Poetry Translation and Research Centre, executive editor of Rendition of International Poetry Quarterly (multilingual), editor-in-chief of the English edition of World Poetry Yearbook. He began to publish his literary and translation works since 1986. Some of his literary works have been translated into more than thirty foreign languages. He has published six poetry collections and two translation of poetry. He now lives in Chongqing city.

. Tang Cheng Mao (China)

THE CARELESS RAINS WASH AWAY THE COSMETICS

 

 

The thunder has been dismembering the sky from yesterday.

 

Some classical leaves are falling down.

 

Some luxurious expectations are fading away.

 

The simple yet profound rains, in a pose of humility, Rinse off worries and anxieties.

 

The raindrops beating on the body give a pain that goes deep into the marrow.

 

 

The pain with depth is called happiness.

 

The clouds descend again,

 

Letting us have happiness and sorrows again.

 

The careless rains wash away the cosmetics.

 

Life becomes tragic, heroic and boundless.

 

The rains walking on the tiles

 

Are rendering the stories under the tiles into romances.

 

Standing under the tiles, you put life in a lower position.

 

What's concerned about vanity cannot be soaked by rains.

 

Certain things cannot avoid the rains,

 

Such as love and status.

 

Before the rains,

Standing is another fate of man.

 

And that handkerchief with floral prints—

 

So long as it slightly wipes the moist spot of your life, Your life will be much, much cleaner.

 

 

Bio:  Tang Chengmao, national First-class Writer, member of the Chinese Writers Association, vice president of International Chinese Poetry Association, trustee of The Poetry Institute of China, chief editor of literary magazines, visiting professor at Sichuan University of Media and Communication. Tang was also the executive director of the fourth Chinese Haizi Poetry Award committee, general producer of the second Chinese Poetry Spring Festival Gala, vice director of the third Chinese Poetry Spring Festival Gala committee, executive director of the first Ten Best Contemporary Chinese Poets assessment committee. Tang has published literary works of several million words in domestic and foreign newspapers and periodicals such as October, Chinese Writers, Literature, Shi Kan. Several of his works have been serialized in newspapers and periodicals. Tang also received Spain's International Poet Laureate Award and the Chinese New Poetry Centenary Hundred Best Poets Award.

Hu Jin Quan  (China)

 

 PHILOSOPHIEREN

 

Hypnotized by the moon.


I close my eyes and rotate with the rotation of the earth,
Till the sun rises.


Day after day, and year after year.


I am half asleep and half awake,

Round and round the sun.

 

The other side is the other side.

The number of tickets to the other shore is very limited.


"Sold out," said a voice from the ticket hall
It made the people in line very disappointed.


Suddenly, they realized that the man was boarding the plane.


In line, the man had been first.

 

I am meditating on the other side,

And hovering on the edge of consciousness.

 

Bio: Hu Jinquan, national first-class artist, president of Hong Kong International Art Association,

 

Vice President of the Council of the Chinese Painting and Calligraphy Association, Consultant of the Chinese Cultural Information Association of the Chinese Ministry of Culture, and Vice President of the Hong Kong Federation of Literary and Art Circles.

 Ge Xiaoqiang (China)

 

WHITE DEW ON AUTUMN WIND

 

From This Day, Only Wild Chrysanthemums I Can Survey

From This Day, Only One Person I Can Miss

As Awakening, Still I Can Recognize

The Thirteenth Solitude Unexpectedly Appeared On The Plain

The White Dew Rode The Sheep To The Setting Sun

Then Rode The Setting Sun to Midnight

I Used to Call Her Tear

To See Her Haste Gesture

For the Moon In the Sky

As if From This Day,All Flora in Men's World

Can Burn in the Dark On Their Own

Can Live till Dawn on Memories On Their Own

 

 

Bio: Ge Xiaoqiang, borned in 1973 in Tongyu, Jilin, China. Published collection of poems "To The Lake, Or Astrology Book" ,Collections of essays  "Dream Liu Zhai " , "Snow Window" , "Turn Around In The Dark".  Collection of poems won The Jilin Changbai Mountain Literature Award.

 Zhang Qiandong（China）

 

THE SOUTHERN HILL

 

My southern hill is to the south of any hills

With green trees and flowers everywhere

There are a farm, a hut and a river

At the foot of it, there must be a little boat for travelling

 

My southern hill cannot be leaved the world far away

There must be in reality and can grow vegetables

Can cook used fire. And in leisure time, no matter picking asters

Or lotus or wild flowers, I think they are all right

Because each flower has her beautiful side

 

Of course, I hope one day the little boat could be able to carry

Back the man who leaves us about one thousand years

So that I can have a big drink with him

And go to the future with him

 

 

Bio: Zhang Qiandong, was born in 1981 in Wushan, Chongqing. Member of Chongqing Writers Association, member of Chinese Poetry Society. His works have been selected in some anthology and won some awards. Published six collections of poems and essays. Editor-in-chief of "Yangtze River Poetry".

Lettre d'un soldat 

 

 

Sur un sol nauséabond

Je t'écris ces quelques mots

Je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas

Il me tarde, le repos.

Le soleil toujours se lève

Mais jamais je ne le vois

Le noir habite mes rêves

Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...

 

Les étoiles ne brillent plus

Elles ont filé au coin d'une rue,

Le vent qui était mon ami

Aujourd'hui, je le maudis.

Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...

 

Le sang coule sur ma joue

Une larme de nous

Il fait si froid sur ce sol

Je suis seul, je décolle.

Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...

 

Mes paupières se font lourdes

Le marchand de sable va passer

Et mes oreilles sont sourdes

Je tire un trait sur le passé.

Mais je vais bien, ne t'en fais pas ...

 

Sur un sol nauséabond

J'ai écrit ces quelques mots

 

Je sais qu'ils te parviendront

 

Sandrine DAVIN 

 

Sandrine DAVIN est née le 15/12/1975 à Grenoble (FRANCE) où elle réside toujours.

Elle est auteure de poésie contemporaine inspirée des tankas, elle a édité 13 recueils de poésie dont le dernier s’intitule « Et pour quelques grains de terre » chez TheBookEdition.

Ses ouvrages sont étudiés par des classes de l’enseignement primaire et au collège où Sandrine intervient auprès de ces élèves. Elle a ce goût de faire partager la poésie au jeune public et de donner l’envie d’écrire. 

Elle est également diplômée par la Société des Poètes Français pour son poème « Lettre d'un soldat ».

Sandrine Davin est une répresentante du Mouvement IMMAGINE & POESIA  pour la France.

 

https://www.plume-de-poete.fr/profil-membre/sandrine/

 

◾TRAPPED◾

In the alleys of your cell phone,
there is a universe of pleasant flowers,
blooming the ecstasy through the pictures.
Still the juxtaposition of joys & fears,
portrays a door holds the mystery,
terrifying yet appeasing

& demonic yet angelic.
Your fixed stares & lost mind,
easily depict how it has possessed your soul!
Grips full of frailty & robust, 

eyes full of rage & gloom,
flame the drops of rain & drains the summer too.
Destroyed you, still love dwelling in abyss
as majestic drugs of the hidden world grasps you,
& the blank wounds comfort you later the most.
You hate & love equally, every part of this possession.
Soothing & horrifying gazes you are punctured with,
leave an impact of loving the darkness & poisons!
Blind eyes easily bear the trap of devil’s bond,
Shameless tunes yet feels truth,  

stinky taboo yet righteous;
You mention the story of the pictures as holy as god 

& flawlessly breed the love of sin in the soil of your heart. 

Suchismita Ghoshal 

 

~©storytellersuchismita

(The poem expresses the gulity pleasure of being addicted towards social medias and using mobile phone. )

 

Suchismita Ghoshal is basically from India. She has an impeccable co-authorship in more than 520 anthologies, journals, magazines, news portals, websites, webzines and other online portals globally. By establishing herself as a poet of international repute, she currently is pursuing her MBA from GD Goenka University.

The First Robin

 

There was a robin in the garden

the first of the season

the loquat is in blossom

oranges ripen

 

Sprouts of unknown origin

pink strips across the heavens

grapes become raisins

the return of storks and pelicans

 

and two black blackbirds

squabble in the vegetation

 

Autumn in the Mediterranean

 

© 11.2020 Helen Bar-Lev

 

Helen Bar-Lev was born in New York in 1942. She holds a B.A. in Anthropology, has lived in Israel for 46 years and has had over 90 exhibitions of her landscape paintings, 34 of which were one-woman shows.  Her poems and artwork have appeared in numerous online and print anthologies.  Six poetry collections, all illustrated by Helen.  She is the Amy Kitchener senior poet laureate.  Helen was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2013 and is the recipient of the Homer European Medal for Poetry and Art.  Helen is Assistant to the President of Voices Israel. She lives in Metulla, Israel.   www.helenbarlev.com  

 

 

I SLEEP TO DREAM OF THE SUN

 

“I have longed to move away

From the hissing of the spent lie”

                               —Dylan Thomas

 

I sleep to move away

from the world of lies and wars -

the world of indifferent thoughts,

politics, and biological warfare.

I sleep to move away

from snake lairs and nightmares.

I sleep to dream of a happy day.

I sleep to dream of the sun, sea,

shore, and tranquility in the air.

The sun is in the middle of the sky,

the waves are caressing the shore,

and the sea is smooth and calm.

My father is placing me

on a big black rubber tube,

and I am moving up and down

with the gentle rhythm of the waves.

What a memorable and happy day,

if only it were possible

to make happiness, like sadness,

permanent by repetition.

What a day that I thought

had no intention of coming to an end.

However, it did, and I woke up

into endless nightmares.

 

Sepideh Zamani

 

 

 

Sepideh Zamani (born in 1973 in Iran) graduated from law school in 1999 before moving to the United States. Her work focuses on immigration, and the lives of ethnic and religious minorities under cultural cleansing. 

 

If I were a tree

 

If I were a tree, I would pluck my fruits

As soon as they would be ripe

And I would distribute them to those who

Roam the streets aimlessly,

Trying to find something to fill up

The growling stomachs of their children!

 

If I were a tree, I would scan the horizon,

To try to see who needs some relief

In the guise of my shade

And I would uproot myself, walk over

To them and bring them some comfort,

While they would head towards their destinations,

And I would even accompany them with

Some of my stories or even some of my songs

As they have been stored in my memory since eons!

 

If I were a tree, I would make myself more useful

Than I already am to humans,

As maybe, then, they would let me live and

Would think ten times before

Turning me into logs, or paper, to benefit only a few!

 

 

Anoucheka Gangabissoon

 

 

Anoucheka Gangabissoon is a Primary School Educator in Mauritius.  She writes poetry and short stories as hobby.  She considers writing to be the meaning of her life and wishes to be immortalised through her words.  She has received both national and international awards for her literary contributions.

 

Mother Light

You enrobe the world
in  a golden blanket – all seamless.
Warm, joyous and frank
you penetrate the soul
of each and everyone
stripping all eerie egos
shredding all vile  vanities

Your obedient disciples – the sunflowers
guide me to you
and daily, above the motionless  mountain
soft songs whisper to me:

“ Thunder will strike its dominant weapons
Rain will flood endless shrieks
Winds will shake creation to the core
but I shall come back
I’ll stay
I’ll shine my love for eternity
and so will you –
all selfless , unadulterated
awakened hearts.”

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Vatsala Radhakeesoon was born in Mauritius in 1977. She is a poet/writer and artist. Her deep connection to God, Nature and inner blissful solitude has a great impact on her poetry. She currently works as a literary translator and is also an interview editor of Asian Signature journal.

 

Lo que amo

 

Todo lo que amo el tiempo lo destruye:

los pequeños guiños

los antiguos nombres de dulces labios

los tropeles de infancia

los besos, los murmullos, los te odio

y el deseo

la persistencia del deseo

Todo lo que amo el tiempo lo destruye:

No deja gota

partícula de partícula de átomo

Es tanta la miseria de lo triste

Carajo. Tanta miseria

Aún con ello

no odio al tiempo

Es lo natural:

las flores de los días se marchitan

se vive, se respira, se olvida

Luego se muere

No hay rencores:

Todo lo que amo el tiempo lo destruye.

 

Ulises Paniagua

 

Ciò che amo

di Ulises Paniagua (Messico)

 

Tutto ciò che amo il tempo lo distrugge:

le piccole allusioni

gli antichi nomi delle dolci labbra

i guazzabugli dell’infanzia

i baci, i mormorii, i ti odio

e il desiderio

il persistere del desiderio

Tutto ciò che amo il tempo lo distrugge:

Non lascia una goccia

particella di particella d’atomo

E’ grande la miseria delle cose tristi

al diavolo tanta miseria

Anche con loro

non odio il tempo

E’ naturale:

i fiori dei giorni marciscono

si vive, si respira, si dimentica

Poi si muore

Non ci sono rancori:

Tutto ciò che amo il tempo lo distrugge.

 

Traduzione: Antonio Nazzaro (Centro Cultural Tina Modotti)

 

 

 

 

Ulises Paniagua (México, 1976)

 

Ganador del Concurso de Cuento Gabriel García Márquez (2019). Entrevistado por Silvia Lemus en el programa “Tratos y retratos” (Canal 22, 2020). Incluido en la antología “Puente y Precipicio” (Rusia). Autor de dos novelas, siete libros de cuentos y cuatro poemarios. Divulgado en las revistas internacionales Círculo de poesía, Ígitur, Letralia, Nueva York Poetry y Altazor. Su obra ha sido traducida al inglés, ruso, griego, serbio y checo. 

Tanta luz

 

Demasiada luz dentro de mi pecho

y otro amanecer más camina.

Muy temprano a lo largo del desbordamiento

mis ojos son tan del color del horizonte,

que les caben el abismo, sí, la oscuridad,

y no de tanto soñar se muere, sino se respira!

 

Más lejos de aquella línea horizontal

un mundo me divide y me deja,

y aquí, nada espera, solo la muerte.

 

Hay tanta luz

que de esperanza sentí dolor y angustia.

Esta vida es la fuente de otra luz.

 

Hay harta claridad en mí,

tanta, que me ahogo de cielo y Dios.

 

Sí! Allá, al otro lado de la mirada,

más allá de estos ojos que me abisman,

el sol cubre mi alma de otro cuerpo.

  

TANTA LUCE

 

Traducción (Lidia Chiarelli, Italia)

 

 

Troppa luce nel mio petto

e un’altra alba si incammina.

Molto presto in quella dispersione

i miei occhi sono così simili al colore dell’orizzonte

che si adattano all’abisso, sì, all’oscurità,

e non si muore per tanto sognare, ma si respira!

.

Più lontano da quella linea orizzontale

un mondo mi separa e mi abbandona,

e qui, nulla attende, solo la morte.

.

C’è così tanta luce

che  dalla speranza ho sentito dolore e angoscia.

Questa vita è la fonte di un’altra luce.

.

C’è così tanta chiarezza in me,

così tanta che sto annegando nel cielo e in Dio.

.

Sì! Là, dall’altra parte dello sguardo,

oltre questi occhi che mi inabissano,

 

il sole copre la mia anima con un altro corpo.

 

 

Fernando Salazar Torres: (Ciudad de México). Su poesía y ensayos se han publicado en distintas antologías, gacetas y revistas literarias impresas y electrónicas. Ha sido traducida al inglés, italiano, catalán, bengalí, serbio y ruso. Director de la revista literaria Taller Ígitur

AUSENCIA

© ALICIA MINJAREZ RAMÍREZ

MÉXICO.

 

 

 

Te marchaste

como la lluvia,

después de asolar

la campiña desnuda.

 

Tu nombre debajo de las hojas

que vuelan con el viento,

al presentir el verso

su tesitura inútil

en un ayer adverso.

 

Sigo sin entender

las siete letras

que construyen

tu ausencia.

 

Aún no oscurece…

y el lenguaje del sol,

ya no es el mismo.

 

ASSENZA

© Alicia Minjarez Ramírez

Messico.

Tradotto da: Maria Miraglia.

 

 

Sei andato via

Come la pioggia

Dopo aver distrutto

La nuda campagna.

 

Sotto le foglie

Che volano con il vento

Il tuo nome

Previsto il verso,

La sua inutile tessitura

Sugli sfavorevoli

Ieri.

 

Continuo a non capire

Le sette lettere

che costruiscono

La tua assenza.

Non è ancora buio

E il linguaggio

Del sole

 

Non è più lo stesso.

 

ALICIA MINJAREZ RAMÍREZ

She is an Internationally renowned Mexican poetess and translator, recipient of multiple awards, among them: the EASAL Medal of the European Academy of Sciences and Letters, France 2018. Prize of Excellence World Poetry Championship, Romania 2019.

Monsif Beroual

 

The Heart of P. O. E. T

 

In this humanity sake journey

I’ll be like Jean Piaget

when he starts seeing the world

through a child’s heart

or like Alexis Tocqueville

when he decides

to walk in this endless road

to reach American Democracy

or like Charles Wright Mills, who established the politics of

truth through the promise

to be honest and pure no matter how will be the cost,

 and like Spinoza who takes the magic stare from the universe

to unchain a hidden truth

or like Friedrich Nietzsche

when he screamed loud: “ Zardach , god is dead!“

when he discovered the world is getting colder.

and I wished over all ends or start within philosophy’s heart may our world be embraced by

love song again.

 

Monsif  Beroual

Country: Morocco. Taza City.

 

He is a multi- awarded and International renowned poet, born in MIDELT, Morocco, on October 19th, 1994. His poems have been translated into a dozen languages : Spanish, French, Bulgarian, Chinese, Polish, Arabic, Romanian, Serbian, Italian and Taiwanese . His poems have been published in several International magazines, in more than 300 international anthologies and magazines .

 

 

 

 Sue Zhu (New Zealand)

 

THE UNKNOWN END

 

Awe-inspiring presence

In the name of the spirit of all Creation

 

Vast forest pastures, snow capped mountains and glaciers

Set on fire by scattered tinders

The flames can engulf the world, the flood can capsize boats

 

The encyclopedia of the Earth is loaded with all kinds of new records

Rivers are diverted, mountain tops are flattened, grasslands are gnawed, wetlands are drained

 

Once counted one by one

Yellow flowered begonias, Chilean sandalwood, St. Helena olive trees, Madeiran white butterflies

and black rhinos, honeycreepers, Mauritius anacondas, Pyrenean goats, and

California Totoaba macdonaldi , golden toads in the cloud forest

But now, they either become extinct or make their escape

 

Acid rain chases wind to grow flames and intensify the smoke

The situation is only worsened by mankind’s senseless exploitation of nature, cloning, and overpopulation

Without considering any probability of asteroid impact, the habitat, little by little

Is shrinking, broken, or even lost

For the advent of the " sixth mass extinction“ prophecy, who will pay the bill

 

"Every newly opened road will create a hopeless barrier to the genetic exchange of butterflies"

The felled trees， coupled with the harvest failure of bananas wipe out the red colobuses and small-mouthed lemurs

Greedy guns raised frequently

Our close relatives who have no escape from this misfortune

 

Gaia* is heartbroken now

On the day the curtain finally falls, are we

able to get them back?

Could we still find ourselves?

 

*Gaia: The goddess of the earth in ancient Greek mythology.

The sixth mass extinction : The scientific community believes that excessive human activities have accelerated the rate of extinction of species by 1,000 times compared to natural extinction, and the earth is entering a period of the sixth mass extinction.

Bio: Sue Zhu, she is a New Zealand Chinese poet, Artist, and organizer of international cultural exchanges. She is a director of the New Zealand Poetry and Art Association, honorary director of the US-China Culture and Art Center, the NZ representative of the Italy art literary movement "Immagine and Poesia", co-founder of All Souls Poetry NZ, a vice president of Montreal International Dragon-Boat Culture and Art Festival in Canada, President of New Zealand Branch of Hong Kong Youth Poetry Alliance, a member of the Chinese Poetry Society.

 

 

Sheikha A 

 

Twinflames (Fire)

 

We came from fire when stars struck –

they say our gaze penetrated realms;

 

the wings on our backs spanned tribes –

magma of galaxies – our torsos glowing,

 

the earth below was meant to be gold,

our cords entwined in gilded spiralling.

 

They say heat generates from us – flare

in hearts that have tried breaking free –

 

we hold key and wand in illusion

of destiny; we lock time in mirrors.

 

There is alchemy in lanterns we burn;

the brim of the chalice is mouth of fire –

 

elemental like creation, incendiary like life,

 

invisible like air that fans dormant embers.

 

Sheikha A

 

 

Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her works appear in a variety of literary venues, both print and online, including several anthologies by different presses. Her poetry has been translated into Spanish, Greek, Arabic, Polish Italian, Albanian and Persian. More about her can be found at sheikha82.wordpress.com

Taking the Journey like

 

In the soaring majestic mountains of life

Black death lurking in hidden canyons, valleys, and plains.

Kept us on long holidays longer than expected,

Regretful, still, we stayed inside our cell.

 

You came to enshroud me during the twilight of this century

Every day in the sixth hour,

you appeared before me and asked, how's my best friend? 

Verily said unto me," I want to see you bloom like the Alpine of the Alps."

 

There were moments my sparkless eyes would glisten,

and you made it twinkle like the million stars in the dark heaven

There were nights that babbling brooks trespassed from my tired eyes

while you whirled and cuddled me with your grins and jokes. 

 

You've been there for me, so many miles away, and yet so near 

as you waved the bunch of violets and tulips enliven every moment,

Moods changed as you sat beside me keeping one's eyes on our monitors,

while you nudged me to listen to your favorite songs.

 

How are you, my friend? It's now my turn to ring the bell,

Whether we celebrate these holidays in our season

Taking the journey like swallows and Avians,

 

Or, live for this moment and pray that God grants us a boon.

 

 

 

Eden Soriano Trinidad hails from the Philippines. She is the founder of UNITY WORLD PEACE POETS (UNWPP) and POETS OF BIRLAND. Her poems and translation works are published in the University of the Philippines (UP) Institute for Creative Writing Freelipiniana Online (FOL) Panitikan. ph.

Neuzvraćena ljubav

 

Neka te prate spokoj i sreća,

Uvek milina, nikada tuga.

Nek' te silinom ljubavi moje

Za sva vremena zavoli druga.

 

U njenom svetlu, ti me prepoznaj,

Budi joj ljubavnik, prijatelj, brat.

Kao što sa mnom nikada nisi

S njom vodi ljubav, nikako rat.

 

Spoznaš li u njoj izvorske vode

Sa kojih samo anđeli piju,

Nemoj i njena slomiti krila

Kad oko tvoje duše se sviju.

 

Ne boj se da ćeš izgubiti sebe,

Slobodu, razum il' nešto treće,

Tvoja duša nek' stopi se s njenom

I stvorite nešto od oboje veće.

 

Predaj se čitavim bićem svojim,

Brižljivost, ljubav i nežnost ne štedi,

Shvatićeš, veruj, život kad prođe,

Ona je jedina koja vredi.

 

Anita Pešić

 

 

 

Amore a senso unico

 

Possa la pace e la felicità seguirti,

sempre gioia, mai dolore.

Spero che qualcun altro ti ami

con tutto il potere del mio amore.

 

Se mi riconosci nella sua luce,

sii il suo amante, amico, fratello.

Come se non fossi mai stato con me,

fai l'amore con lei, non la guerra.

 

Se incontri acque sorgive dentro di lei

da cui bevono solo gli angeli,

non rompere le sue ali

quando ti abbracciano.

 

Non aver paura di perderti:

libertà, buon senso o qualcos'altro,

lascia che la tua anima si fonda con la sua

e insieme creerai qualcosa di più grande di entrambi.

 

Arrenditi con tutto il tuo essere,

cura, amore e tenerezza non risparmiano.

Capirai, credimi, quando la vita finirà,

e tutto ciò che vale.

 

Anita Pešić

 

 

 Anita Pešić was born in Serbia in 1987. She is a teacher and honorable member of the “Association of the best teachers” in the former Yugoslavia. She has published four books and she is a versatile artist recognizable by unique toys she makes and competition she organizes for children.

THE SEARCH

 

Across the silence of the midnight sky
he heard her cries.
Across the stillness of the rolling plains
he heard her wails.

He had searched for centuries
He had searched through lifetimes

But still he could not find her.
Still he failed
again and again and again.

He was weak.
All strength had left his body.
Yet he crawled
like a babe upon his belly
till he reached the end of the earth.

Then the cries ceased
Then the wails vanished

Suddenly, with one urgent move
he plunged into the darkness
knowing she was waiting there.

 

 GLORIA KEH

 

Gloria Keh, 68, an artist who enjoys writing poetry, lives in Singapore.
She conducts art journaling and mandala workshops for charity.
Gloria likes combining her art with the written word.

LA MUJER ALETARGADA

 

Sin perlas, sin corales,
sin Mujer angelical…

No hay más una sonrisa en su rostro,

ni siquiera hay un boceto.

Están sus manos ocultas.
Están sus dedos quebrados.
Están sus piernas cansadas.

Sin amor, ni candor
en sus ojos cerrados.

Están sus labios sellados,
su voz silenciosa grita:

¡NO TENGO MIEDO!

Su voz temblorosa es muda…

 

¿Tú tampoco la escuchas?

 

 

 

María Calle Bajo

 

LA DONNA ADDORMENTATA

 

Senza perle, senza coralli
senza Donna angelicata.

Non c’è mai piú un sorriso nel suo viso,
non c’è nemmeno uno schizzo.

Le sue mani sono nascoste.
Le sue dita sono rotte.
Le sue gambe sono stanche.

Senza amore, nè candore
nei suoi occhi chiusi.

Le sue labbra sono sigillate,
la sua voce silenziosa é quella che grida:

IO NON HO PAURA!

La sua voce tremante è muta…

 

Non ascolti neanche lei?

 

 

María Calle Bajo

 

Poeta y profesora placentina enfocada en la enseñanza del español como lengua extranjera y hacia la investigación en el ámbito de la ciencia literaria.
Semillas es su primer libro publicado (Buenos Aires Poetry, 2020).  

 

I am not here

 

I am not here

I am not listening to you

Some clamor had forgotten to end the call in my head

Opening my windows to the night's rusty tables,

To knives those still stuck in the necks of lovers,

Coffins the night composed on the tune of waiting,

Soldiers' shoes, which lost their owners,

Bags the vacuum has burdened,

Seas, which belch the prayers of the ones who died on their way to life,

Songs those mock the departed,

A sky that tightens the dawn's ear,

Houses, which changed their names,

Flags whose colors got throaty

And barricades whose sands ran away from the noise of their voices..

To awakening speeches

However, no one left to read,

So please; do not scratch my silence

I am not with you

Some tomb had forgotten the phone hanged on inside my head

Then turned the curtain down.

 

 

 

لستُ هنا

 

لستُ هنا

لا أنصت لكم

ثمة صخبٌ نسي السماعة مفتوحةً في رأسي

وأشرع نوافذي على موائد الليل الصدئة 

على سكاكين عالقة في رقاب العاشقات

أكفان ألّفها الليل على مقام الانتظار

أحذية جنود فقدت أصحابها

حقائب أثقلها الفراغ

بحارٌ تتجشأ دعواتِ من ماتوا على نيّة الحياة

أغنيات تمدّ لسانها للراحلين

سماءٌ تمسكُ الفجرَ من أذنيه

منازل غيّرت أسماءها

رايات بحّت ألوانها

 

 ومتاريس هربت رمالها من فحيح أصواتها

نعوات.... نعوات

وما من أحدٍ تبقّى ليقرأها

لا تخدشوا ليلي

لست معكم

ثمّة قبرٌ نسيَ السماعة مفتوحةً في رأسي

 

وأغلق الستارة

 

 

Shurouk Hammoud is a Syrian poet and literary translator She has six published poetry collections and she has won many international poetry awards. Her poems were translated into 16 languages and published in paper and online magazines and poetry anthologies.

月落伴星沈

 

海霞紅過山煙翠

月映長江蓋秋水

冷冷的星河如何分辨

淺沙白浪上的殘雲

先生笑

飛空一劒

東風猶自天涯

 

幾叢蘆葦

扁舟倒影數張

霜重落向橘林紅更紅

桃花山下，路盤旋而相連

不知笛聲響自何處

漁歌聲沉沉響起

塵霧含隱不認晨囂

 

峰上之塔睥睨塵世

昔年，獨上孤雲最高層

孤傲難馴

星斗分明在身畔

長嘆無翼難飛騰

莫非，故鄉此中真境屬神仙

 

 

THE MOONSET ACCOMPANIED BY THE SKY FULL OF STARS

 

The glow of the sea by the sea red over the emerald green of the smoke in the mountains

Moonlight reflects the Yangtze River covering the autumn water

Cold galaxy tries to defend itself

About the remnant snow on shallow sand with white waves

The master laughed mockingly

Sword up in the sky

The east wind is still blowing freely to the end of the world

 

A few clumps of reeds

Several reflections of the flat boat

The frost fell heavily towards the orange grove let the red became more red

Under the peach Mountain, roads spiral and connect

I don't know where the flute sounds

The fisherman's song sounded deep

The dust and fog conceal the morning noise

 

The tower on the peak looks at the world with squinting eyes

Previous years, climbed alone to the highest level at the top of the lonely cloud

Aloof difficult to tame

Those stars are clearly standing beside me

I could only sigh helplessly, it is hard to fly without wings

Never tell me that

The real world in my hometown belongs only to gods

 

BIO

 

Prof. Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai is a professor of Asia University of Taiwan (Republic of China). His works have been published in more than fifty countries around the world and he is good at describing nature and the ethical relationship between people

HALF OF THE APPLE

If half of the apple is my heart

That, the other part is yours, I know

If your heart hurts by a stinging niddle

My heart  starts bleeding, I know

 

My destiny had been preordinated  many years ago

So, our hands were tied out together each other

Our wedding ceremony carried out high sky dome

My heart burns out by a possionate love

 

If  you are rose and me a nightingale on our own barches

Buds will blossom out together in your vineyard of love

And esense would be ventiliated out from mountains of love

Our life spens doubled  by lengthenning twice

 

As the heart  of Kulözü tending to dive in a love
And to be a sun in his imagınatıon to shine

However, burning within my body like a flame

The Burning  heart tends to flow  into the  love, I know

 

Kemal Berk

 

**************

Elmanın Yarısı
Elmanın yarısı benim gönlümse
Diğeri de senin gönlün bilirim
Yüreğine iğne batıp acısa
Benimkinden kanlar akar bilirim

Alın yazım yıllar önce yazılmış
Ellerimiz bir birine sarılmış
Nikahımız gök kubbede kıyılmış
Yüreğimi sevda yakar bilirim

Sen gül olsan bende bülbül dalında
Tomurcuklar patlar gönül bağında
Kokusunu yayan sevda dağında
Ömrümüze ömür katar bilirim

Kül'özünün gönlü aşka dalarken
Hayatımda güneş olup parlarken
İçerimi alev gibi yakarken
Yanan gönül aşka akar bilirim

 

Kemal Berk

 

Kemal Berk's Biography

 

Retired teacher, honorary columnist for a newspaper. He publishes poetry by combining poems from poets in his country, as well as poets from 25 countries around the world, for no charge. So far, he has published his 191st Poetry Publishing Week

A Trial before the 42 Judges of Osiris*

         fragment in italics by ancient Egyptian unknown

        

you … saying …guilty

… they judge my Soul …

… for I have not obeyed …

for I have gone astray

… judge me those who hold the balance…

 

the text

torn and incomplete

these opening lines

in hieratic papyrus

its origin uncertain

 

my heart on one plate

on the other, feather of truth –

Osiris,

in the Hall of Judgement,

remember: even trees fall!

 

*    It was believed in Ancient Egypt that 42 judges in the presence of Osiris, God of the Afterlife, decided if on balance the deceased deserved passage to eternal life.

___

 

When Neal Whitman and his wife, Elaine, lived in Chicago, they were docents at the University of Chicago’s Oriental Institute Museum, where they learned an appreciation for the legacy of Ancient Egypt. Today they live In Pacific Grove, California, where in retirement from a career in teaching, Neal took up a second profession: the writing of poetry.