Poetry Drawer: The Frog’s Voices: When I Am Old: Long Lost Memories: Memories of Grief Were Forgotten: What Are Those Strange Images, Which I Think I See? by James G. Piatt

The Frog’s Voices

I listen to the voices of night frogs croaking,
in the late hours of the night, and try to
understand the meaning of their messages
echoing off the silver moon:

Their hoarse voices curl through my sleepy,
mind, sewing strange thoughts from long-
forgotten memories, in my mind. In the midst
of their croaking, they speak to me
in their language of sorrow.

During the fading hours of the night, I search
for metaphors to translate the
meaning of the frog’s melancholy
mutterings as their voices continue
to burst into the mysterious emptiness
of the moonlit night, but all I end up with are
strange symbols.

When I Am Old

When I can no longer see
stars crawl lazily though
the vastness of sky

on silver moonbeams,
or the beauty of verdant trees
in secret hollow glens,
and my weary bones
and ashen hair
tell me I am no longer young
and it is useless to
believe in magic anymore
or see elves and sprites
dancing in meadows fallow,
I will feel sorrow’s weight
upon my shoulders.

Long Lost Memories

Amidst the cold, brisk gales
        On an abandoned winter night,
Long-lost memories
        Suddenly burst forth
 Inside the billowing steam, spewing
        From an ancient iron horse
As it disappeared into the
        Unforgiving gap of dark fears
Riding on rusted iron rails,
        And I wept in sorrow.

Memories of Grief Were Forgotten

Emerging in the hours of an iron-colored metallic
night, rusting symbols covered with an aging patina
of dark contractions whispered across an old man’s
ebbing life, causing him anguish.

Crystal poems written in scarlet ink were shattered
by metaphorical hammers pounding words of grief
into gloomy synonyms and causing dark allegories
to ache inside the cold dreariness of his aging mind.

Images of broken tombstones in a field of unknown
graves entered his consciousness and his trail of
tears melted into the cemetery’s soil, damping it
with more sorrow than it could hold.

He sensed dark, once-forgotten memories being
awakened, but as sharp pangs of grief started
piercing his collapsing mind, the tainted memories in
the blink of Meng Po’s eye were forgotten, and
calmness ensued.

What Are Those Strange Images, Which I Think I See?

Is it helplessness
Suspended in rust-coated visions,

The hallucinatory echo of
An old broken tenor saxophone,

An antediluvian sea where
Dead things scream at midnight,

A place where abandoned women
Cut their hair with broken glass shears

While they painfully paint crimson roses,
On their bedroom walls?

Is it a shattered, rusted nightmare that
Tastes metallic like rusted blood,

Desires twisting like toxic tendrils
inside poisonous mushrooms,

A white psychedelic pill that
Confuses similes with syntax,

Or a dark poem about death inside
A nightmare that haunts a poet’s mind?

Is it a melancholy song sung by
A bone-thin chanteuse in a shadowy bar,

A decaying memory corroding
Atop a broken cement tombstone, or

perhaps a cemetery where ghosts devour reality, and
whose skeletal hands scrape at your bones?

James, a retired Professor and octogenarian is a Best of Web nominee and three time Pushcart nominee and has had five poetry books The Silent Pond, (2012), Ancient Rhythms, (2014), LIGHT, (2016), Solace Between the Lines, (2019), and Serenity (2022), 1770 poems, five novels, and thirty-five short stories published in scores of national and international magazines, anthologies, and books. He earned his doctorate from BYU, and his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, SLO. He lives in Santa Ynez, California, with his wife Sandy, and a dog named Scout. His great, great aunt and uncle, Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt, and John James Piatt were prolific poets in the 1800s.

You can find more of James’ work here on Ink Pantry.

Books From The Pantry: The Second of August by Peter J Donnelly

Peter J Donnelly lives in York where he works as a hospital secretary. He has a MA in Creative Writing and a degree in English Literature from the University of Wales Lampeter. Thanks are due to the Dreich magazine, Writer’s Egg, Southlight and South Bank, where some of these poems have previously appeared. His poetry has also been published in other magazines and anthologies including One Hand Clapping, Black Nore Review, Ink, Sweat and Tears, Obsessed with Pipework, High Window and The Beach Hut. The 22 won second prize in the Ripon Poetry Festival competition in 2021 and The Second of August was a joint runner up in the Buzzwords open poetry competition in 2020.

Do check out his poetry collection by Alien Buddha Press: The Second of August by Peter J Donnelly

Also this great interview by Wombwell Rainbow.

Peter’s other collection, Solving the Puzzle is published by Alien Buddha Press.

Poetry Drawer: Summer is Dying: Bowl of Black Petunias: Memories Past: Now That I Desire by Michael Lee Johnson

Summer is Dying

Outside, summer is dying into fall,
and blue daddy petunias sprout ears—
hear the beginning of night chills.
In their yellow window box,
they cuddle up and fear death together.
The balcony sliding door
is poorly insulated, and a cold draft
creeps into all the spare rooms.

Bowl of Black Petunias

If you must leave me, please
leave me for something special,
like a beautiful bowl of black petunias—
for when the memories leak
and cracks appear
and old memories fade,
flowers rebuff bloom,
sidewalks fester weeds
and we both lie down
separately from each other
for the very last time.

Memories Past

(Hillbilly Daddy)

I settle into my thoughts
zigzagging between tears
my fathers’ grave—
Tippecanoe River
Indiana 1982.
Over now,
a hillbilly country
like the flow
catfish memories
raccoons in trees
coon dogs tracking
on the river bank,
the hunt.
Snapping turtles
in the boat
offline—
river flakes
to ice—
now covered
thick snow.

Now That I Desire

Now that I desire to be close to you
like two occupants sharing a twin bed
sensing the warmth of sweating shoulders,
hungering for your flesh like a wild wolf
leaning over an empty carcass,
you’re off searching unexplored cliffs,
climbing dangerous mountain tops,
capturing bumblebees in broken beer bottles for biology class,
pleasing plants, parachuting from clouds for fun.
In shadows, you’re closer to life, nonsense,
a princess of absurdity, a collector
of dreams and silent sounds.
In clouds, you build your own fantasy.
Share it with select celebrities.
But till this captive discovers a cure for caring,
a way of rescuing insatiable insanity,
or lives long enough to be patient in longing for you—
you must be vigilant,
for with time, snow will surely
blanket this warm desire.

Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era. Today he is a poet in the greater Chicagoland area, IL.  He has 289 YouTube poetry videos. Michael Lee Johnson is an internationally published poet in 44 countries, a song lyricist, has several published poetry books, has been nominated for 6 Pushcart Prize awards, and 6 Best of the Net nominations. He is editor-in-chief of 3 poetry anthologies, all available on Amazon, and has several poetry books and chapbooks. He has over 453 published poems. Michael is the administrator of 6 Facebook Poetry groups. Member Illinois State Poetry Society. Do not forget to consider me for Best of the Net or Pushcart nomination!

Poetry Drawer: The Traveller by Raja Chakraborty

boots, smelling of here and there, long roads, unending hours

motel beds and sullied skin, roughage along rugged cheekbones

harsh winter, seasons on turn, fireplace or heartburn, calm water-blue eyes

oregano flavoured evenings, albatross wings, words exchanged in hello or goodbye

one closed door after the other, new room, unkempt future, checked bills

half-eaten dinner for rats, tips on a desolate corner table, future sunrise

ignition key on the move, tyres screech release, to a new dream, new flag down

through untold stories, haunted myths or chinese- whisper, shadows live on

Born and brought up in Kolkata, India with parents having an intense interest in literature, Raja Chakraborty grew up in ambient surroundings. Chakraborty is a bilingual poet writing in Bengali and English. To date he has published five books of English poems, and six books of Bengali poems/rhymes. He is also a regular contributor to magazines and anthologies.

Inky Interview: Poet Adrian Mckenzie

Adrian McKenzie is a poet from Stoke-on-Trent, UK.

Please tell us about your poetry journey.

My journey began as a six-year-old kid that saw a rapper on Saturday morning television and was immediately fascinated by the way words fitted the drum pattern. Being a black kid in a suburban area, mum surrounded me with books as she wanted my work ethic and intelligence to overcome any racialised barriers. I was barely 10 years old when I became obsessed with the poem ‘Roman Wall Blues’ by W.H. Auden from one she’d bought. For the rest of my formal education I enjoyed English and creative writing but was never interested in poetry and hated literature analysis.

I was a people pleasing shy kid whose first love was music. Being raised in a church going household, I joined the local choir at 11 having dreamed about becoming a choir director and emulating my favourite gospel artists. Despite the ridicule I received for my voice, I left for university at 18 respected for my songwriting ability. It would be a place where my musical ambitions would peak. I went on to write for other singers and set up a gospel group that won regional awards.

Whilst at university I stumbled on spoken word during a search for rap battles and will never forget the awe of hearing ‘5 senses’ by renowned American poet Saul Williams. I would hone my style in online forums. Influences of battle rap and Saul can be found in my writing and performance to this day. I would be selected as one of the best up and comers by the local Poet Laureate within a few years of returning home to Birmingham. However, it took another move away to Stoke-on-Trent for me to become what I am now.

Can you share a poem with us and walk us through the idea behind it?

Scratches, cuts and breaks created plates
Waves across broken lines need no co-signs
Those with ears heard smiles
Hard times made hearts soft as vinyl
Stop, start continue for alignment
Its amazing we dance in silence as sound bites us
The bug nobody wants to squash or repel despite the danger of jezebels decibels
Just pile on the pylons so this soul train can never crash
We turn tables like bric a brac and from the crick and crack you can get with this or get with that
Pleasantries made relatives from battles that were stress relief
We pop locked our energies until joy thieves submerged
Lucifer son of the morning, we chased em out of earth

This piece could by summed up by the Bob Marley quote, “when music hits you feel no pain”. Like many of my poems, it is tightly packed with a few, if you know you know references.

It is rooted in the early origins and practices of hip hop which was founded by DJ Kool Herc. The DJ who would play cuts from different artists, scratching the record to create break beats. This is coupled with the idea of pain and I explore how we process music in spite of it.

Dance is referenced. When we dance it’s for us, others might join them even imitate things they like to share joy. Think weekend club nights. In hip hop, dance battles used to be a way of diffusing tension and negativity as well as express themselves.

What themes keep cropping up in your writing?

Identity / faith or belief / relationships/ humanity

What are you reading at the moment?

Nothing! Although I read a lot, it’s primarily for information rather than pleasure. True to my roots, you’ll see more influence in my writing from who I’m listening to.

What advice would you give to new poets?

Write and share from where you’re at. From the words you use, to your voice and the way you feel on and off the page. It’s all yours, nobody else’s, so embrace it.

Where is the best place to get copies of your work?

For printed copies you can find me on Amazon – I have two projects, Bless Yuh Art which is a year’s worth of poetry in the order it was inspired, and 7 on the back which was my first foray into self-publishing. However, if you want to see and experience my poetry from across the years – both my YouTube and Instagram pages have a number of videos.

Have you any upcoming performances?

I’ll be doing an online performance for Gloucestershire Poetry Society in the autumn, date to be confirmed, and I have a headline set at Voices from The Fountain in Walsall for May 2024. I’ll be putting up performances on my social media pages as soon as I know.

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