Poetry Drawer: Hygiene by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Hygiene

My body smells bad
It keeps me from finding a partner
but without a partner
I don’t feel the need for hygiene

I have a feeling of deep resistance
to taking my clothes off
and stepping into the enslaved rain
of a tiled telephone booth

Rain inside a building
designed to keep rain out
is unnatural
If I lived next door to a waterfall
my life would be different

There are places like that in the Upper Peninsula
a 3/2 with attached garage
and adjoining waterfall
but I don’t live anywhere near there

I couldn’t afford a house in those neighborhoods
They wouldn’t let me use food stamps there
They wouldn’t let me talk to their children

Children give me a sense of possibility
but they wrinkle their noses at me
and whisper to each other

I can hear them
I have very good hearing
I hear things others can’t

I took a creative writing class
and wrote an autobiographical sketch
though I claimed it wasn’t

I claimed it was about someone
who had shit stains
in the seam of his jeans

The teacher said
it was a detail that had the power of veracity

I insisted on smoking in the classroom
All the other students were against me
They all washed behind their ears with ivory soap
took naps when they were told
and wore helmets when they rode their bikes

The Dean came and kicked me out
I could tell he was afraid of me
I could tell he was disgusted by my smell

If I had a girlfriend I’d be careful about my hygiene
I’d spray my feet with athlete’s foot spray
I’d go to the drug store and shoplift cans

I’d shave my face and watch the whiskers
flee down the drain
I’d use bay rum by the half-gallon

I’d put it on my clean-shaven face
and the back of my neck

If I had a partner I’d feel a need for hygiene
because there’d be a real woman
I’d want to please
and not offend

but until then my body smells repugnant,
and there’s nothing I can do
about it

Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over fourteen-hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes, and was awarded the 2017 Booranga Writers’ Centre (Australia) Prize for Fiction. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, is based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. He lives in Denver, Colorado, USA.

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

Poetry Drawer: Photogenic by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Microwave by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Granite by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Trick by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Coal by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Poetry Drawer: Poetry Slam by Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois

Books From The Pantry: One Journey by Michael Forester: Reviewed by Kev Milsom

The further I venture abroad, the deeper I travel within.’

Across the years with Ink Pantry Publishing I’ve been fortunate to read and review a wide variety of literary genres. Yet, to my knowledge, I’ve never reviewed a book that focuses upon travel writing. Thankfully, any sense of cautious trepidation at confronting this unknown genre has been somewhat lessened by the knowledge that the author is one I am familiar with, and whose words have genuinely touched my mind and heart in the past.

The book begins with a poem and a foreword, both of which immediately whet my appetite for what lies ahead, for Mr Forester is a writer who seeks not only to educate the mind, but also to touch the heart. His foreword immediately nails a variety of exploratory colours to his mast.

Here are four voyages, ventures undertaken simultaneously into the soul and into the outer world, undertaken over a period of fourteen years:

A confrontation with the devastation of the Amazon rainforest and the unceasing exploitation of its resources and people.

An encounter with the power of forgiveness in South Africa, fifteen years after the ending of apartheid.

A pilgrimage of self-exploration and enlightenment to Nepal and the Himalayas.

A learning and teaching tour of the Philippines, evaluating the impact of rapid economic modernisation.’

Thus begins a series of four, lengthy journeys across the world, with the author as our trusty guide. Within each journey, Michael transports us into the heart of each community, allowing the reader sincere samplings of worlds far beyond our daily comprehension. From each country, we are dropped into rich cultures of society; although ‘rich’, in terms of financial security, is often far from the reality of what we are exposed to. What makes this a truly enlightening experience is that Michael Forester isn’t just taking the reader on a physical journey, he is seeking to find the true soul of each location he visits.

Yet, as I look up at an electronic advertising hoarding, I see a young Nepali couple beam down indulgently on their two-year-old son in his ‘I -❤-Nepal’ t-shirt. The same dreams of love and happiness have brought this couple together as are dreamed by young lovers throughout the world, as were dreamed by my generation and throughout all of history. And now, these stereotypical parents dream their dreams for their son, who, when the time comes, will dream of happiness and love, from which will come another generation to be beamed down upon, indulgently.’

This doesn’t mean that physical descriptions within the book aren’t abundant, for within each village, town, city and country, we are served sumptuous portions of descriptive text, along with a variety of Michael’s personal photographs; more than enough to feel us mentally walking alongside the author as he seeks to unravel the inner truths of each place. Most importantly, Michael gives detailed insights into the people he encounters, from shopkeepers who chase the author through several streets in order to sell him their wares, to enlightened Buddhist monks feeding pigeons in a town square.

Lost in thought, I take the departure gate to the car park. On the ride back into the city, my driver asks where I am from in the UK, for he has spent three years in Hastings, learning business studies. I do not ask why, after such training, he is driving a taxi. He and I both know his time is yet to come.’

Michael’s writing style throughout the book portrays both his depth as a formidable writer and also as a caring, spiritual human being. His words drip with honesty and curiosity, as we are taken to the Rain Forests of South America, then onward to South Africa, Nepal, Thailand and The Philippines. Within each place, we are treated to the highs and lows of the location, with a special emphasis on the native people; how they think, how they act and how they dream. The themes of spirituality and global conservation are common within the book and Michael addresses these issues truthfully, leaving the reader to make up their own minds on the matters addressed. At no point does the reader feel pressured into adopting the author’s personal stance on anything we observe. We are merely there as witnesses and Michael’s words makes us feel like we are his friends. Along with each part of every journey, we are treated to Michael’s changing perceptions on the world around him, such as a piece of self-internalisation when wondering whether to buy a stone pendant.

The questions I habitually ask myself are ‘Why do I want this? Will it enhance or retard my journey?’ The inner answer is surprising. I want it because the energy around me is changing, and yes, this stone is indeed on my route map. I buy. I have long been aware that my journey is taking me in directions I could never imagined. But change brings the opportunity for newness and growth. I am open to change. I am open to growth. I am open to the journey’s moving into new territory.’

I’ve glanced at several travel books in the past, usually the kind of fare one finds within hotel rooms, or laid neatly upon coffee tables in self-catering cottages. In truth, I’ve never felt the urge to pick one up and read it from cover to cover. However, One Journey is a definite exception and, like Michael’s previous books which I have had the pleasure to read, it is likely one that a reader will return to many times after it is complete.

A stunning book and very much recommended.

Michael’s Website

One Journey on Amazon

Inky Interview: Michael Forester with Kev Milsom

Books From The Pantry: Vicious by Michael Forester: Reviewed by Kev Milsom

Books From The Pantry: Forest Rain: Spiritual Learnings for a New Age by Michael Forester: Reviewed by Kev Milsom

Poetry Drawer: At Exit 50; The Shade Oak; Wedding Song by Robert Demaree

AT EXIT 50

On the interstate
Vacant property
Unsold for twelve years:
Once a gentlemen’s club,
Topless waitresses,
Who knows what else;
Later a stand-alone church
(That’s my term—they called it
A Worship Centre),
God’s sense of fair play,
Pastor charismatic but unschooled,
Divorce counselling,
Choir accompanied by bass guitar.
Seller motivated,
Will renovate for new owner.
Builders of big boxes
Wait in the wings.

THE SHADE OAK

Our friend’s husband, now deceased,
Had suggested cutting down
The oak at the water’s edge.
Would improve our view of the mountain,
He thought, but we prefer
Shelter from the high
Hazy sun of July,
The private rise and fall of inner tubes
On the waves of passing boats,
Hidden from jet skiers.
Each year I trim back dead branches;
Our grandchildren grasp the stubs
Like subway straps.
We watch from the porch
When a fisherman’s line
Gets snarled in leaves
Weighed down by a predawn rain.
We did not like Wilbur all that much,
To tell the truth.
We did not cut down the tree
And would not, even if the state allowed,
Content to float in the shade
And picture the mountain
From memory.

WEDDING SONG

Soft light through Spanish moss,
White chapel on a sea island:
We have gathered over many miles and years,
Her law school friends, his cousins from Kent.
His precious little girl bears flowers.
The organist quietly plays Beethoven, Rachmaninoff,
Then, with boldness, Jeremiah Clarke,
Melodies that tell of the tenacity of love,
How it can sometimes get delayed,
How it will come back again,
How love persists, prevails.

Robert Demaree is the author of four book-length collections of poems, including Other Ladders published in 2017 by Beech River Books. His poems have received first place in competitions sponsored by the Poetry Society of New Hampshire and the Burlington Writers Club. He is a retired school administrator with ties to North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New Hampshire. Bob’s poems have appeared in over 150 periodicals including Cold Mountain Review and Louisville Review.

Poetry Drawer: Five Poems by Chinese Poet Yuan Hongri, translated by Manu Mangattu

The Coast of Time

In the pink and white golden words
Of the day outside the garden of gods
Is the hometown of thy soul.
Far before the world was born

The prehistoric giants in gold
Engraved the epic of times to be born
To tell thee, from outer skies the city of the giant
Will once again come to the coast of time


时间的海岸

粉红色 白色 金色的词语
来自天外的诸神的花园
那儿是你灵魂的故乡
这世界还没有诞生之前

史前的巨人在黄金之上
镌刻一部未来的史诗
告诉你天外的巨人之城
将再次来到时间的海岸

The Prehistoric Giants

I live in the very eyes of the stone
I am the light of the light,
The core of the universe.
Out of water and fire I emerge
Yes, churning water, turning fire.
There was a time, in black and white, when
The space of the galaxy was resplendent with colours.
The world is a book of dreams
The city of the future is above the clouds.
The prehistoric giants thence I saw
They are solemn as mountains
Living in the city of gold, transparent in body,
Synchronous with the sun and the moon and the stars.


史前的巨人

我在石头的眼睛里居住
我是光之光 宇宙的中心
我幻化出水与火
于是有了时间 黑与白
五光十色的太空之星系
世界是一本梦幻之书
未来之城在云朵之上
我看到史前的巨人
他们庄严如山岳
居住在黄金之城
透明的身体 旋转日月星辰

The Temple of the Gods

Original words –
A picture of the heart and the spirit
A breeze blowing through the silent music
That which grows in the palm of your hand
The sun, the moon and the stars singing in form
God’s bosom, the ups and downs of the earth
The river is fragrant sweet nectar of life.
Original words are stars in the night sky
Shining bright and light upon the soul.
Plaiting along the bridge of light
Can arrive at the Temple of the Gods.


诸神的殿堂

最初的词语
是心与灵的图画
是微风拂过寂静的乐曲
是万物在手掌上生长
是日月星辰在身体里呤唱
那起伏的大地是诸神的胸膛
河流芳香是生命的琼浆
最初的词语是夜空的繁星
无不闪烁灵魂之光
沿着光芒编织的桥梁
可以抵达诸神的殿堂

Golden and Transparent

When the dainty of dawn lights up your body
You shall see the golden country in stone.
The Giant is walking in the sky
His hand holds aloft a Diamond City.
In the garden outside the sky
The other one robed in transparent gold;
He’s smiling at you.
And behind him, is a huge palace.


金色透明

当黎明之光在你体内醒来
你看到了石头里的黄金之国
巨人在天空行走 手托一座钻石之城
你看到了那天外的花园
那另一个你 金色透明
他在向你微笑
身后是一座巨大的皇宫

Flash of the Giant

When I walk the City
I shall hold it in my hand.
Blowing a breath to make it transparent.
So I saw it in the future:
The Gem edifice, a flash of the giant.
The stars cling to their bodies
As if from another universe
So I know that the sea will be sweet
And the earth will be noble as gold.


闪光的巨人

当我在一座城市漫游
我会把它放在手掌上
吹一口气 让它透明
于是我看到了它的未来
宝石的巨厦 闪光的巨人
星辰在他们的体内
仿佛另一个宇宙
于是我知道海洋将甜美
大地将重新高贵如黄金

Hongri Yuan, born in China in 1962, is a poet and philosopher interested particularly in creation. Representative works include Platinum City, Gold City, Golden Paradise, Gold Sun and Golden Giant. His poetry has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada and Nigeria.


					

Poetry Drawer: Fables of The Foolish Crow: Little Sony by Saikat Gupta Majumdar

The Foolish Crow

‘How nice you sing’
The clever fox told
To see a crow with a piece of meat
In his mouth to hold.

‘How sweet is your voice?’
He again said
‘Sweeter than the cuckoo’
‘Lovely to hear’ he added

And he pleaded
‘Sing a song dear crow’
As the crow’s heart melted
And he tried to sing
The meat fell down below.

The Little Sony

Sony was the girl
Small and nice,
She could not be quiet for a while
And denied all she did with a clever smile,
While kids played with the ball
Sony was found on the ice.

She ran up the stairs often
And fell down below thrice,
All was helpless to the naughty Sony
She fed the cats her bread and honey,
Only Mom cooled her down tutting twice.

No things unbroken the little Sony left
All felt comfort while she slept
Instead of toys, she played with mice,
She was the little Sony, naughty but nice.

Ink Pantry Yuletide Poetry Competition 2018: Charles Dickens: Adult’s Category: Winner: Linda Cosgriff

An Open Letter To Mr Charles Dickens, Because He Let Me Down by Linda Cosgriff

It was the best of first lines, it was the worst of first lines.
It started well but, Chuck, it was a paragraph in before
you had your first period. What the Dickens were you thinking?
[Don’t roll your eyes, Reader; it had to be said, and now it’s out of the way.]
Charlie, Charlie, Charlie: stop dragging it out.

You name the year so many times, I think you may have lost your head a little.
But wait! A Mysterious Stranger; A Smelly Coach; A Misty Night.
A page-and-a-half of a minor character’s censure of his boss – miles away,
I might add, from anyone with the capacity to give him the kicking
he so clearly deserves. Boz, it’s bleak.

We reach the hotel. Swell. Things look up: A Gorgeous Girl joins the cast
(blonde, naturally), but is immediately rendered insensible.
Reprehensible, Charles. This reader wants to like her
but she’s quickly catatonic and it’s clear her liaison with the Stranger
is strictly platonic.
                                I’m sorry: our mutual friend has now been formally introduced as Mr Lorry. I want no truck with him. He’s brown; he’s dull;
he has no business being in one of your novels. Habitually brilliant,
you have mislaid your talent here. You appear to have chuzzled
your wits, Chip. I’m smarting.

And so to Chapter Five: French proles guzzle wine-stroke-mud from the gutter.
No good will come of it (the aforementioned and mentioned and mentioned
Year refers). The writing is definitely on the wall; the peasants whine for blood.
It’s seedy, CD; a tale not too pretty and – so far – not at all witty.
There’s no mystery, you see, except for one: why did you write it?

Here’s a curiosity: Charles Darnay has your name and initials.
You could have shopped around a bit. If he’s anything like you,
however, I bet he gets the girl.
And so it’s hard times for Sydney Second-Best Carton;
frustration for this reader: I wanted a twist. He should have boxed clever.

Chaz, I picked up your book with great expectations
but you left me with a dreadful impression.
Perhaps I’ll watch the film instead.
It would be a far, far better thing to do.

Inkphrastica: Warning by Linda Cosgriff (Words) Mark Sheeky (Watercolour)

Inkphrastica: 20th Century Faux by Linda Cosgriff (Words) Mark Sheeky (Oil Painting)

Inkphrastica: The Leveller by John F. Keane & The Reveal, When It Came, Surprised Him by Linda Cosgriff: Inspired by Mark Sheeky’s Oil Painting

Inkphrastica: Parhelic Circle: Linda Cosgriff (Words) & Mark Sheeky (Oil Painting)

Ink Pantry Yuletide Poetry Competition 2018: Charles Dickens: Adult’s Category: Highly Commended: John Keane

The Hunter by John Keane

He snared in words whole decades of a land,
The manners, morals, customs of a time;
His foot-worn city paved with contraband,
Its cunning commerce and its ways of crime;
Each book contained a vision caught with ease,
A tiny world-scape in a rounded glass
Replete with London fog and weathered trees,
The shadows furtive in its lights of gas.
Just weigh each hefty volume in your palm
And feel the world within; old London Town
In festive snow, with Ebenezer’s dreams;
Or bloody Paris in its time of harm;
The pits of joyless toil, unloved, unknown;
The hulks of sorrow looming down the Thames.

Inky Interview Special: Poet John Keane

Inkphrastica: The Fairy-Feller’s Systems Failure: John Keane (Words) & Mark Sheeky (Oil Painting)

Inkphrastica: Wax by Nicola Hulme & Just So Greek by John F. Keane: Inspired by Mark Sheeky’s Oil Painting

Inkphrastica: The Leveller by John F. Keane & The Reveal, When It Came, Surprised Him by Linda Cosgriff: Inspired by Mark Sheeky’s Oil Painting

Books From The Pantry: ‘Please Hear What I’m Not Saying’: Complied and Edited by Isabelle Kenyon for MIND: Reviewed by Claire Faulkner

Please Hear What I’m Not Saying’, published by Fly on The Wall Poetry, is a stunning and unique collection of poems about mental illness.

The book is divided into sections, the idea being that the sections grow with positivity, and that by the end of the book, you will be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The sections are untitled, and the reader is invited to name them.

I wasn’t sure how I would react to this collection. How would it make me feel? Would I enjoy it reading it? Mental illness can be a difficult subject, and as this collection shows, it affects us all in different ways. The poems cover a wide range of topics including; depression, anxiety, self-harm and suicide.

If I had read the poems individually, and at different times, the collection may not have had such an impact on me. But brought together and presented this way, I found the anthology powerful, inspirational and at times quite emotional. I can guarantee that there will be at least one poem included in this collection which every single reader can relate to.

It’s a strong and beautiful book. Thoughtfully and courageously edited by Isabelle Kenyon. The more I read, the more I appreciated the poets who contributed their words, emotions and bravery.

The opening poem ‘Battle’ by Bethany Gordon, highlights the unwanted struggle, and is a poignant introduction for this collection ‘Mental illness / is a battle I never agreed to fight.’

There are so many outstanding poems, to mention only a few seems to do an injustice to the others which I can’t fit into a single review. I enjoyed the strong imagery which runs throughout the anthology, and I found Angela Topping’s poem ‘Deferment’, about bereavement and personal belongings, particularly effective. ‘Grief is a cruel handbag – / its catch snaps shut like jaws.’ The poem makes us question how we deal with grief, and if we opened that bag what we might find. ‘…It cannot be thrown away. / Best hide it in the bottom of the wardrobe / an unexploded bomb.’

‘Black Rot’ by Andrew Barnes describes the onset and ongoing fight with depression. ‘She throws her arm around my shoulder, / pins me down until action weeps from me, / creeps back in the morning to stop me rising. // Depression is a friendly face, / she takes her time with me, / lets me shuffle on.’

‘On the Shelf’ by Jacqueline Pemberton is about escaping unhealthy thoughts and relationships. Emphasising finding inner courage and strength. ‘And I knew he’d got it wrong, / He was the damaged one / Made small with spite, / He wasn’t worth the fight.’

Some of these poems, by their very nature and subject, are a challenging read. However, you will also find some that they are inspirational, courageous and many have important messages about mental illness and societies’ reaction to it.

‘Blue Square with White ‘F’ in the Middle’ by Jade Moore is one of my favourites from this collection and details the impact and addiction to social media. The language used is direct and unapologetic, powerful and effective. The poem cleverly recognises our love hate relationship with social media, our desire to belong and our fear of failure. ‘There’s a button with the whole world on its face / and I click it and wonder if I’ve stopped the human race.’

I’m glad I read this collection. It was thought-provoking and inspiring.

Proceeds from the sale of ‘Please Hear What I’m Not Saying’ go to UK Mental Health Charity Mind.

You can purchase copies from:

www.flyonthewallpoetry.co.uk
https://www.waterstones.com/book/please-hear-what-im-not-saying/isabelle-kenyon/karan-haveliwala/9781999598600

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Please-Hear-What-Not-Saying/dp/1984006649