Aloneness explores expanses of red silence
Taking a deep chance with every ventured step
Attacked by the threatening stillness of the rocks.

In the long coat of the forgotten cattle rancher
The apparition seeks an encounter with brethren
Gazing at the crest of a menacing granite sword.

He tastes the wind engulfing the numbed soul
Feet gliding on the sides of decaying mountains
Sole conqueror of land forgotten by adventure.

There is no need to see eyes shut to the common scene
Every atom penetrates through every pore
Giving life anew to the man as he crosses the bright realm.

His pockets are empty of any sustenance for
His entrails smile with the energy of the creation
On the deathly edges as on a tightrope he floats.

Slim upon the infinite abyss, the wanderer screams
With delight as he is captured by the storm of ages
He understands the amazing grace of his past sufferings.

Poetry Drawer: Holding Time In Their Arms by Fabrice Poussin

1.
Your face swirls
around the bright blue madness of your eyes

Your bottled-up rage explodes
and we are flung
as in an action movie

and land in the basket of a new rollercoaster
one that doesn’t rely on gravity
or other laws of physics

2.
Neurons fire and misfire
love and hate coexist
Your indifference
rolls in like a tide

and makes me feel like my heart
has been plucked out and
set in a gondola

The gondolier picks it up and
bounces it on the end of his paddle
He yodels like a cowboy

3.
You step off a vaporetto
onto a Venice dock
to meet me

but St. Mark’s Square is flooded again
I cannot leave the opera hall
The singers, feeling antsy
decide to repeat their performance
for free
for everyone trapped with them

They are terrible singers
They mutilate the score

Your blue eyes drift
over the water in St. Mark’s Square
You are as photogenic as the Hell
described by Dante
Your neurons are as striated
as the walls of the Grand Canyon

I feel hopeless
living with you
I feel damaged
without you
I feel deranged
in either case

Inky Interview: Author Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois from Denver, Colorado

Flash In The Pantry: Serotonin Reuptake by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Mandela Warp: A Moment in History by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Cooking Shows by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Still Wet by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Loch by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

The golden sidestep of the days, ah!
arranged golden ladders years.
A mirror
let me see
countless smiles of time.
The long corridors of gold
leading to countless crystal space-times.
On golden gates
carved with the rounds of
golden sun.
I walked into the rounds of
the mirror of the sun
and saw the palaces of gold.
The big birds of gold feathers, ah!
singing the prehistoric stories to me.
I’m the giant in the sun, ah!
I am the golden sun.
Countless centuries ago
I flew in the crystal universe.
To date the magnificent gold palaces
still waiting for me in the sun
To date the golden sun
Singing in the universe.

I am the king of the sun, ah!
The dragon and phoenix are my mounts.
The wheel of the golden sun
It’s all my hometown.

The countless golden suns
Laughing at me in the universe.
The huge dragons and phoenixes
Flying in the crystal space.

The golden rivers, ah!
Flying down from the sky
and turned into
the new golden seas of time.

I saw the huge castles, ah!
Standing above the ocean.
In the sky with red clouds wafting
sparkled the colourful lights.

The cities of crystal, ah!
like the lofty mountains in the sky.
The aerial gardens, ah!
like the colourful clouds floating in the sky.

I was riding on a golden dragon, ah!
flew to the golden space,
turned into the golden lights, ah!
and flew into the wheels of the sun.

The golden flames of the sun
like a huge and beautiful wreath.
The sacred temples
Smilling and opening to me.

I saw the giants, ah!
Lived happily in the sun.
Their sweet smiles, ah!
like a beautiful garden.

Their great art, ah!
sparkled the divine joy.
The magnificent palaces of gold, ah!
Were exactly their masterpiece.

The flowers of the jewels and gold, ah!
Were in full bloom in the gardens of the sun.
The pavilions and towers of crystal, ah!
Sparkled the strange light.

The lines of words of jewels
enchased in the walls of gold.
The huge statues
smiling to you gladly.

The massive painting that engraved by gold
hung in the centre of the main hall.
Inlaid with gems
like the cities of gold.

The huge dragon and phoenix
singing joyfully in the sky,
like the pieces of mysterious movement
made me forget the time suddenly.

Every giant sun
was the kingdoms of gold.
The countless holy giants
lived their miraculous lives.

They had neither night
nor years of the world.
Ten million years of mankind
seemed to be their one day.

They had no worry
sparkling the light all over their bodies,
like the rounds of sun
smiled gladly all the time.

Their divine wisdom
could change the universe
Let every star in the sky
to turn into the beautiful home.

Countless hundreds of millions of years ago
they created humans.
Even the little earth
was also their works.

With their own spirits
they created the universes.
The countless shining stars
like their words.

In that distant space
they were engaged in creation.
The whole change of mankind
has already existed in their eyes.

They were the ancestors of mankind
And were filled with affections to mankind,
and all the wisdom of mankind
had come from their transmission.

Many centuries ago
they have come to the world,
created the sacred civilizations
and the cities of gold.

Their offspring from generation to generation
lived and reproduced on the earth,
experienced numerous changes
To have humans today.

Those ancient civilizations
are still shining in space.
All the past time
are all in another space.

The prehistoric civilization of mankind
will come fortunately again to the world,
As if the underground seeds
sprout and bloom on the ground.

The countless great arts
will be brilliant youth!
That miraculous science and civilizations
will illuminate the new history.

The old earth, ah!
And will be young again.
The flames of his heart, ah!
Will make himself transparent.

The countless sleeping time, ah!
Will wake up from the stone.
The bright and holy lights
will turn into the springs.

Those holy giants, ah!
Will go out of the sun,
with the wisdom of those lights
Illuminating the time-space of mankind.

The golden halls will appear
in the transparent oceans,
like the giant ships
towards the coast of mankind.

In the silent mountains
will ring out the joyful songs,
the fragrant rivers
will flow into the paradises of mankind.

I opened the doors, ah!
And saw the space-times,
the great civilizations, ah!
laughing before my eyes.

The countless eras of light
are coming up to us.
The cities of crystal
blooming in the new time-spaces.

The great flowers of civilization
blossoming in the seas of time-space.
The rounds of the golden sun
are also laughing and singing in space.

The countless cities of gold
blinking towards me in the sun,
spilt the gay singings
like the colourful flowers.

I saw that heaven and earth
filled with laughters everywhere,
that giant planets
also turned into human homes.

I opened one door after another
And flew into one sun after another.
The sacred golden civilization, ah!
like an endless long corridor of time.

Those giants of the sun, ah!
working on the sacred creation.
Let the gold of time
Turn into the countless paradises

Their holy spirits, ah!
Illuminated the space-times,
and created the magic sciences
and that holy arts.

I heard the rounds of the sun, ah!
Singing to me in space,
as if there were countless suns
sending out the golden lights.

I entered the universes
and opened the time-spaces
Every crystal space, ah!
There were also the rounds of the sun.

The stars of time, ah!
Shining in the space of crystal
turned into the bright lights
and agglomerated into the sea of the universe.

All the wisdom of the world
came from the deep space.
The seas of time, ah!
were pregnant with the countless suns.

All the future of mankind
were enshrined in the sun.
The future pictures of the mankind
Will shine the joyful lights.

Every wanderer of the world
are all the descendants of the sun,
The countless centuries ago, ah!
were all the golden giants.

Opening the picture books of the time, ah!
The mankind had been incomparable tall.
The Himalayas, ah!
Was just a little giant.

Before the birth of the earth
mankind have already existed.
The countless stars of the universe
had all been the human homes.

The changes of mankind, ah!
Created the different civilizations.
The another great space, ah!
determined the course of the world.

The future of mankind has been arranged
in the golden palace of the sun,
as if the huge pictures
were enshrined in the rolls of golden book.

The golden books of the sun
shone the words of gold,
the lines of mysterious words, ah!
Gestated the future civilization.

All kinds of issues of human creation, ah!
Came from the revelation of the sun
Only the holy spirit
could understand the words of the sun.

The giants of the sun, ah!
Were the master of the sun.
The rounds of the great suns
were the lights of their hearts.

They were the ancestors of mankind, ah!
They were the earliest human.
In the sun, ah!
Watching their descendants.

I heard their singings
calling me days and nights.
That sweet and moving singing, ah!
were the cups of beautiful wine.

I saw the lines of words, ah!
Shining in the palace of the sun
Their divine wisdom
gave me the limitless comforts.

In the layers of the heavens
they were concomitant with me.
Watching me on the earth
To create the new poems.

Their holy lights
shining in my eyes
Turned into the lines of words
and wrote the new poems.

Their divine wisdom
perpetuated in these poems.
The bright future of mankind
turned into the pictures

I opened the rolls of golden book, ah!
Were full of my name.
It’s above that sun, ah!
Have already had my volumes of poetry

I don’t know if it’s today
Write down these words
Or hundreds of millions of years ago
Had already written them.

I don’t know if I am today, ah!
Or in the distant future.
Maybe those golden books, ah!
were enshrined in the future golden hall.

The time of miraculous change, ah!
You incarnated into everything.
The mysterious and distant prehistory
is maybe the human future.

The leisurely change of the universe, ah!
Is maybe the phantom of the mirror
That bright mirror, ah!
is exactly the divine eternity.

Time and time, ah!
Is maybe just you and me
When we disappear
Everything will be vanished without a trace.

I saw the lines of words
shining in the palace of the sun,
incarnated into the golden lights
and flew into my chest.

I was infinitely joyful in my heart, ah!
And saw the picture scrolls.
The completely new paradises, ah!
Smilling on the ground of the world.

The transparent and flashing earth, ah!
Like a charming girl,
the colourful gardens, ah!
were her gorgeous dress.

The clear rivers, ah!
The green mountains of jadite.
The blue eyes of the sea, ah!
Shining the charming glow.

The sky was glittering and translucent as the gem.
The soft white clouds,
the cities of light
appeared the beautiful smiling face.

I opened the picture books of time
and saw the giants.
They were flying in the air, ah!
rode in a huge spaceship.

The shining planets, ah!
took their greetings to them with smiles.
In the vastness of space
they set up the homes

Their magical eyes, ah!
Twinkled with the surprising wisdom.
Each of them was the mountainous figure and athletic
revealed the extraordinary temperament.

Their quiet eyes
it seemed to have insight into the future.
Everyone was chivalrous, ah!
And filled with holy love.

I looked at the picture scrolls, ah!
As if I had fell asleep
also as if to return to the past
the time of hundreds of millions of years ago.

The golden discs of time, ah!
You spined the wonderful music.
All the future of mankind, ah!
Were stored worshipfully in your chest.

The new giants will appear
in the changing space leisurely.
Let the holy civilization, ah!
To bloom again in the space.

The gates of crystal
leading to different time-space.
Every space of light, ah!
has the rounds of the sun.

The sacred fires of the sun, ah!
Will turn into the gold of the time,
and build the palaces of civilization
in the future centuries.

The flowers of science and art, ah!
Will blossom in the gardens of the world.
The lights of the holy civilization
will be turned into a completely new sun.

The huge flowers of the universe
will be the human homes.
The stars of the time
will be turned into sweet wine

Inky Interview Exclusive: Chinese Poet and Eremite: Hongri Yuan

Poetry Drawer: Golden Giant by Hongri Yuan: Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

It was but for a brief instant within their embrace
They brought time to a standstill
And created eternity within a twirling sphere.

Statues of remote eras almost forgotten
Precious stones of ancient lands gently sculpted
Blue veins pulsating at the rhythm of the universe.

The artist seeking perfection for the masterpiece
They hold each other flawlessly on a pedestal
In the changing mists atop Olympus.

curves espousing resting hearts upon their chests
they may be asleep within the deep glee of the moment
their souls smiling as the world continues it waltz.

Pressed onto the day of a private encounter
They recall a time when all things were one
Building in a fleeting memory an everlasting lifetime.

The bird I’ve brought home, snatched from its roost
in the grocery store rotisserie,
lies trussed and supine on the kitchen island–
to be eaten by myself and whomever’s here,
now that the children are of driving age,
and only silence and shadows remain
impatient to greet me at the door.

From the darkness of the living room,
my seventeen-year old daughter emerges,
standing opposite at the counter
in the reticence she’s fixed toward me
for a week. And without a word or glance,
we begin to dismantle the bird.

White meat pulled from tendons, dark meat scraped from bone,
we crack joints in our accidental dinner,
unknitting ligaments, greasy fingers
raised to mouths, until our meal is done,
and she lopes back up the stairs, back to her life,
with the carcass reduced to a capsized keel
of cartilage and bone stranded on the island,
stripped to that treasured, elemental moment.

Inky Interview Special: Kevin Casey

Poetry Drawer: Quotidian by Kevin Casey

all it’s many flaws

i hate that my jaunt
home from work
is in the
darkness
i like the hours,
but not the creepy men
who sometimes
are drawn to me like a moth
to the light;
and i’ve double backed,
walked slower,
and taken different ways
home
to shrug people off
but it’s exhausting always being
on the look out
it’s tiring always having to think
of the worst case scenario—
they insist that there’s
no such thing as rape culture,
but if that were true
i wouldn’t be holding onto my keys
like a weapon
every time i leave my house;
don’t give me your ignorance or your perspective
give me a change so i can believe that
“not all men” are truly accepting
of our culture as is,
and all it’s many flaws.

eyes that never see

i saw a white moon
folded backward
origami
in a hazy blue sky
folded over
a peach lily
caught by the beauty
i gave pause
from my mundane task at work
of taking the trash out,
and i looked around to see
if anyone else
was dazzled by this beauty;
but none of them even noticed
some are given eyes
with which they never see
others have lost their sight and they
can see—
always rushing by
going nowhere fast
i cannot help but wonder
how some people, like me, are given eyes
to witness;
and others eyes that never see.

i wasn’t brave

the cigarette smoke
was dancing
in the air,
and she sat there all
charisma and elegance;
and i envied and admired it
both at once—
i remember the apple tini
with it’s carmel draped across
the top like a gauzy shawl
it was delicious,
and i closed my eyes
before opening them again
to drink everything in;
i remember she was wearing
the black beret and had made her
eyes cat eyes
with that liquid
eye-liner
that i’ve never mastered—
i think that was the moment i knew
that i had fallen for her,
but i was never brave enough to say
it out loud;
especially not to her,
and definitely not to me.

step on a crack, break you own back

i wasn’t paying attention
lost in a thought
i tripped over the crack in the sidewalk
flew forward several feet,
but managed
somehow to keep my footing;
i am good at not
falling
sometimes
in a way that i don’t know if it’s a talent
or just dumb luck
too mute to tell me a thing—
i scold myself
to be more careful,
but i doubt it’ll be the last time
it happens;
my mind is a curious thing always slipping away
from what they tell me is reality
pushing me forward
when they want to push me backward—
right now i’m paying attention,
but later
i may trip over that same crack again;
and this time i may curse
those who made the sidewalk for making it
so tricky
when it should be a perfect shade of straight
instead of curved, irregular
and able to trip over.

addicted to both

shooting star
makes me pause
everything
is noticed
for a reason
either to rescind from chaos
or descend into it,
and i am always good at reaching
my fingers into the cosmic
cookie jar;
what can i say?
i’ve always liked cookies
a trait that
my mother gave me,
and i used to be better at self-control,
but sometimes it tastes too good
to stop;
i would rather be addicted to
the soft goodness
of a chocolate chip cookie
than the body of a man who doesn’t reciprocate
my love
as it so happens
i am addicted to both.

some days his name still hurts

my skin was the equator
his the north pole
i guess i should’ve known
the coldness of his death
would never inhabit
any bones
especially not the firey
song of love,
but when you care for someone
as deeply as i did;
you disrobe from any fabric of logic
start reaching for straws
your fingers are never long enough
to reach
pray the gilded cage is something more
than a pretty lie
even though it can’t be—
and when he finally leaves you,
you ugly cry
like a sky full of gray clouds
christening the ground with silver pearls;
you wonder how you wandered
on the knives of his lust
without realizing it wasn’t love, blaming
yourself for a broken heart
until you wise up
when he does the exact same thing;
then you become all fire and fury
passionately defensive wanting to knock
all his teeth down his throat
until one day you wake up and the pain is gone
although some days his name still hurts.

Inky Interview: Pennsylvanian Native Author Linda M. Crate

I’m in a swamp of toxins
in the American South
Somewhere through water lies Panama
Somewhere through water lies
Europe

where East German
and Bulgarian swimmers
fill their bodies with steroids
and threaten to overthrow me

I’m on the medal stand
and won’t get off
Brutal men will have to drag me off

I am golden
forever golden

Inky Interview: Author Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois from Denver, Colorado

Flash In The Pantry: Serotonin Reuptake by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Mandela Warp: A Moment in History by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Cooking Shows by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Flash In The Pantry: Still Wet by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

At McDonald’s, where sweet poisons
Lure you through dead garish lips,
Different jolts, different shades outside:
Some say ‘God’s hands’, some ‘springs of dark’
But we don’t bother, no time to waste
Over difference or metaphysics
For we thrive among probs, cads,
Mist, bikes, fatsoes, even a dirty blonde
Who had her trees deported from beds to beds,
Oh and look, do you remember the handyman
Who shouted no and got slain, how sad!
But the silence of the trees stayed with us,
That and the grudge against moves and peeves –
O trees, my dear trees, if I ever remind our life
I can’t bad-mouth you, my narcissistic trees,
Although you bend too much to pat the river,
Although still waters are your private looking glass,
You never play dirty when darkness skips
The hands I’m stretching out
So I’ll leave you alone and darkness I’ll exile
To those cathedrals where natural born raptors
Look ready to christen him in bliss and water –
Now you shut up, I know they’re different,
Love kicking and breathing,
Life a palsied ghost eager to scaring
Or eating up blue funk:
A loving child taught me so on a wintry day,
I got it fast, that’s why the raptors
Can’t grab me, so please don’t fret,
Let them smile sweet, let Mummy say
‘Know what? We call it life’ –
Life that restless bite?
Funny while running back I feel for them
My raptors that can’t bite,
I mean, honest, I grasp the difference
But they can’t, such crying shame –
Oh, and beware all that green getting so fast to your head,
My dear darling trees.

Inky Interview Special: Italian Poet Gabriella Garofalo

Poetry Drawer: Asymmetry At Full Blast by Gabriella Garofalo

Poetry Drawer: And All Of Them: To A.S.J. by Gabriella Garofalo

On The Tides Of The New

Draped in dull glow of a pale sky
the city awakens to its own rhythm;
Metro rail snaking its tortuous way to
ease flow of life in a paradigm.
Distances dissolve; brows no more wet
with sweat for one to dig his shack;
Gone was the sea lore when a voyageur
took years to anchor his bark.
And too weary to revel in his triumph.
Now beyond home lurk the avenues
on the arc of change; tech wizardry
unwinding windows to aspiring millions.
No romancing the sky, black or blue.
Earth is borne on the tides of the New.

My Tryst With Squirrel

I watched the spry squirrel
scamper away hearing
my footfall; Its ear turned
to even slight dissonance of
sound and it rushed to guard
Its nest; a fretful companion,
content to feed its
squealing offsprings, also
hearkening to my short fuse.

Its energy was unfailing;
it would sweep to the
terrace to grab any morsel
It could feed; the red stripes
on its back, caressed by a mythical
Lord kept egging it on
perhaps; It knew when
the windows would
drop down at night to squeeze
inside for a nap in its niche;
Its squealing heralded
the dawn of dawn too.
Nudging me to open
the window to the trove
of morning breeze flowing in;
And it would rush out.

Wonder what is its missive?
“Wake up Man, it’s time.”

Superannuation

When the destined place of arrival closes in
a leaf of memory throbs with the long
memento of landmarks reached and missed.
Let missed calls die out in the log.

Regrets ever remain in unused folders,
pop up to be trashed into the bog;
Monsoon flies buzzing around the bulb.

On the winding path skirt the shrubs,
breathe the fragrance of fresh blossoms.
Things lost or denied count less than
trees flitting across the train’s window.

Spinning on its thumb the earth has seen
the revolving ends of despair and hope.
On the orb of this rolling circus?

K.S.Subramanian has published two volumes of verse: Ragpickers and Treading on Gnarled Sand through the Writers’ Workshop, Kolkata, India. His short stories have appeared in indianruminations.com, setumag.com, indianreview.in, Tuck magazine and museindia.com.