An Idea Gone Wrong by Ron Olsen

golden-calf-paintings

An Idea Gone Wrong
by Ron Olsen

The green demon moves round and round
Nothing behind it
Just an idea
A medium of exchange
Separating the haves from the have-nots
Moving up and down
Mostly up
Transferred electronically
A whisper in the night

Impressions on a bitstream
X’s and O’s
The transfer of an idea
The impression of wealth changing hands
Happening so fast
You can’t see it coming
Or going
And when it runs out
There is credit
And when the credit runs out
We are done
And there is nothing
From an agreement that cash had value
When in fact, it had none at all
The only value was us
Our faith in one another
Not in Marx or Lenin or Keynesian flow
Or Neocon austerity
The simple truth was our trust
We were the value
The healing heart
Reason
Honesty
Giving power to money
Gone
Only when we abandoned faith in ourselves
And the demon came back
An idea gone wrong

The Victory Lap

Close game

Last second shot.

The losing team sits dejected on the bench.

The winners circle them,

poking fingers in their faces.

 

The winning crowd cheers,

taunts the losing crowd in the parking lot.

 

The losing team sits among

chants and laughing faces

poking into their space.

“We badass, you bad!

“We badass, you bad!

“We badass, you bad!

 

The losing team is

kicked and beaten

 

Their coach

smiles.

 

 

 

Escape. A Poem by M. A. Schaffner

 
 

Back to its roots the goose rambles

through the brambles to the golf course

and beyond. A green pond beckons

with an iridescent sheen it can smell.
 
 
It moves past. A twisting wooded road

goes up and down between the farms

that surround the camps and lodges

and empty lots where someone planned

to spend a life and then forgot.
 
 
Mottled with bottles the pond lies

forlorn between the secret parties

that every teen knows all about

and the goose waddles through, sensing

a river past barbed wire fencing

where the rest of the flock awaits —
 
 
the ghosts of a past predating

the clipped wings and special diets,

the tube between its liver and its mouth.

Its final dream is flying south.
 
 
 
 
MAS at the Furnace

 
 
M. A. Schaffner has had poems published in Shenandoah, Prairie Schooner, Agni, and elsewhere — most recently in Former People, Raintown Review, and Rock River Review. Long-ago-published books include the poetry collection The Good Opinion of Squirrels and the novel War Boys. Schaffner spends most days in Arlington, Virginia juggling a laptop, smart phone, percussion caps, pugs, and a Gillott 404.
 
 
 
 
 
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Transforming with Poetry. Owen Turner and Siobhan Mac Mahon

 
 
Transforming Finale with Owen Turner and Siobhan Mac Mahon at the Inkwell Arts Centre Leeds UK read their works in the final part of the evening November 12th 2016. https://www.facebook.com/siobhan.macmahon
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
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Announcement. The Poetic Bond 6 Release.

PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE PRESS RELEASE

POETRY THAT BINDS, POETRY THAT BONDS

THE POETIC BOND VI

ISBN-13: 978-1539334682 

The Only

ANNUAL INTERNATIONAL POETRY ANTHOLOGY

actively sought specifically from

New Media, Social and Professional Networking

 

Publication Date 5 November 2016

Making a Poetic Bond – the ethos behind putting together the anthology
 
 
Available at The Poetic Bond
&
Amazon.com The Poetic Bond VI
 
 
The process of selecting poems for publishing The Poetic Bond series is unlike any other in that there is no set plan as to what will be published. It depends on the themes which emerge from the pool of work submitted, or to put it another way, the poetic energy which comes together at this certain time and place. Where themes emerge, patterns of energy harmonize, form bonds, connections, and these in turn lead to interconnected chapters, and the creation of a holistic volume, deeply connected with humanity, nature, and the universe.

 

37 poets from 12 Countries

Canada, China, England, France, Greece, Hungary, Israel, Malaysia,

Netherlands, Scotland, Spain, USA, and Wales

“Poetry, both reveals and shares our humanity”

(Trevor Maynard, editor The Poetic Bond Series)

THE POETIC BOND VI

 

  1. Trevor Maynard, UK based poet and writer, manager of Poetry, Review and Discuss Group, a major poetry group on LinkedIn. His new poetry collection is GREY SUN, DARK MOON was published in 2015. He is also the author of several plays. Further information at http://www.trevormaynard.com

 

  1. The Poets of The POETIC BOND VI (2016) are; Amanda Eakin (Ohio, USA), Rebecca Behar (France), Belinda Dupret (West Sussex, England), Betty Bleen (Ohio, USA), Bonnie J. Flach (California, USA), Bonnie Roberts (Alabama, USA), Carey Link (Alabama, USA), Christine Anderes (New York, USA), Cigeng Zhang (Beijing, China), Diane Burrow (Oxfordshire, England), Diane Colette (Florida, USA), George Carter (London, England), George C. Robertson (Dundee, Scotland), GK Grieve (England), Greg Mooney (North Carolina), Hongvan Nguyen (Virginia, USA), Ian Colville (Bedfordshire, England), Jill Angel Langlois (Illinois, USA), Joseph J. Simmons (Maryland, USA), Jude Neale (British Columbia, Canada), Kwai Chee Low (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia), Lawrence W Lee (Arizona, USA), Linda Mills (Oregon, USA), Madalena Fine (West Sussex, England), Marli Merker Moreira (Sao Leopoldo, Brazil), Miklos Mezosi (Budapest, Hungary), Michael Melichov (Israel), Nana Tokatli (Greece), Neetu Malik (Pennsylvania, USA), Trevor Maynard (Surrey, England), Pushpita Awasthi (the Netherlands), Robin Ouzman Hislop (UK & Spain), Rowland Hughes (Bridgend, Wales), Swaizi Vaughan (Texas, USA), Wendy Joseph (Washington, USA), William DiBenedetto (Seattle, USA) , and Will Walsh (Florida, USA)

 
The Anniversary
 
The hand cocked at an effeminate angle
Holds the ashen tipped cigarette
This embering appears soft
It teases one to touch before it falls
Pompeii comes to mind
 
His hair is dirty white and cumulus grey
Accent Portuguese, hooded eyes
That famous olive skin bleached by
English pastures and pub lunches
“Zespezilly,” he intones “Thiz day!”
 
Another paper on the table, Shag available
His companion lilts ole Suffolk
“Truth is, I’s bored…”
He cusses, in that way that twists words
When they are not your Mother Tongue
“Every ******* day now”
 
She twirls her wedding band
He wears none; no tan marks either
“Do you agree?” He asks, leaning,
His shoulders rise and fall, ash burns her skin
“Does any of it matter?”
 
Vesuvius looms in their memory
Their betrothal, their wedding
But their emotions remained frozen in ash
Inevitably to drop like old skin
Fine idea it was, however familiarity bred
 
The hand cocked
The accents devilishly hinted passion
Loving not wisely but too well
Thirty years to the day
The innocence of youth left
 
“Can we remain friends?”
Sympathy undermines her sincerity
They both know this is so
But he is the more hurt, meaner
“Damn you and your English reserve!”
 
You see, it had simmered
Their intolerance of each other
Their mutual exoticism, passion
But in the end, hate is easier
It needs fewer syllables, less imagination
 
The last cigarette drops
They go to the hotel to fuck
Splitting up sex, divorce. He signs
The papers and leaves her sleeping
Too well in death and paper cuts
 
© 2009 GK Grieve. Published in The Poetic Bond III © 2013
 
 
 
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AMRITA SHERGILL MARG, DELHI & Poems by Deepanshi Balooni

I.
Laburnum blooms whisk sanity
away from the wind; past
is a shifting
cloud.

summer
is pastel yellow-green,
picking purples from jamuns
shedding over the jaded footpath.

II.

Colours descend at
night,
fragrance is a whore.

III.

Moon becomes all the words,
where there is no language.

You are the silence I seek.

IV.

Memories drizzle
in times of drought,

monsoon is still far away.

V.

There is no walking on this street.

Minds float like lighted lamps in the
river that desires,
transposing myths and reality.

VI.

The quest is for eternity,
yet time throws things
either changed or hewed,

for instance, that

proud, naked-branched tree
which used to be the muse
of our conversations;

a year is a testimony enough

MEDITATION

A bird circumambulates a cloud
in the distant sky,
like a solemn pilgrim
with obscure prayers
Noises become limpid, like those of
the vehicles clattering on the road, or
the air swooshing between flimsy curtains
and the adjacent window pane
I put my high-heeled shoes back
into the drawer,
withdrawing myself from becoming
and repose into being
The mind marvels at the flawlessness
of the blank page-
unblemished by the words and
sketches of past or future
Noises grow into a pious silence
May be, every moment is an epiphany,
if lived in the present

RAINS

Outside,
it rained all night.
Inside,
there remained a desert
of breaths and voices
and their sentiments, thereof.
The distance to the window
becomes irreconcilable;
some rains can’t get you
drenched.

HOW TO BUILD SANDCASTLES

The sand should be slightly moist,
like the remnants of the innocence
in your heart
and every touch of your hand
maneuvering between grip and tenderness,
just as those words that become
whispers in the acts of love
Do not care for the weather,
care for what you can do;
weather only loves to play
Pray for mind to imbibe endurance,
the task loses track of time
and toil; as for I can tell you
not all sandcastles are built on the beach
Some gets built in the dreams,
while others on the claimed or
unclaimed bodies of the people

 

jpg-file-deepanshi

 

 

Deepanshi Balooni is a development professional from New Delhi. She runs a poetry blog-https://unacquaintedsilhouettes.wordpress.com

 
 
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The Negro River Cries. A Poem by Author: Renee’ B. Drummond-Brown

The rivers run
through our veins
like the over flowing
blood
O’
Calvary stains.

Home of the Indian brave
land
plowed by slaves,
‘dawgs’
‘scent’ US
swimming for ‘dayze’
crocodiles
had their way
mosquitoes
were A OK.
Just had to wade,
wade in ‘dem’ waters’
‘children’s’
for ‘daze’
years,
months,
minutes.
seconds,
an
unto
this very day.
But
fo sho
‘we’ze’
‘KNOWS’
‘HOWS’
to wade!
(In His waters ‘chillins’)

One river flows
divided
into four,
for our blood shed
out of Eden
she watered
our garden
forever
and a day
no-more.
Pison
gave us that increase
to do His will
not as we please
for
she flowed
the whole land
of Hav’ilah.
Bdellium,
onyx
and stones
oh my~~~
Yeah
‘den’ ‘dear’
‘wuz’
‘sum’
rivers gold,
cries,
of ancient old.
True ‘dat’…
‘Dat’ escape route
‘wuz’ well-to-do
as foretold.
For certain,
THIS
we do know
‘cos’
‘dat’ word
say’s it ‘AIN’T’ so

Two rivers flowing
divided into four
for our blood shed
out of Eden
she watered
our garden
forever
and a day
no-more.
Secondly,
Gihon
flows
bursting forth
around
the grounds
of Cush
make no mistake
‘bout’ it~~~
hush,
hush,
they’re here
an
can hear
us
just the same
just
shhhh~~~
Someone’s ‘callin’ OUR name???
(It ain’t Jesus)

Three rivers flowing
divided into four
for our blood shed
out of Eden
she watered
our garden
forever
and a day
no-more.
The Tigris
flows eastward
like that babe’s Star,
we’d come
to later see
as we stride
rapidly
along side
‘dem’
‘nats’ an fleas.
Father forgive us
‘cept’
do not pass us by
PLEASE!!!
(Pass US not O’ gentle Savior)

Four rivers flowing
divided into four
for our blood shed
out of Eden
she watered
our garden
forever
and a day
no-more.
Euphrates
tarry on
till we come.
Sojourn
our waterways,
channel
fruitfulness
for our
children’s;
children’s
children’s
absolute bliss
gators ‘n’ snakes
share no tree o’ knowledge
‘bout’ this
an
no shadows to follow
‘wit’ a death
kiss
or
kiss of death
whichever it is

NO MORE
rivers flowing
divided into four
for our blood STOP shedding
out of Eden
when He watered
our gardens
forever
and a day
but He waters it
no-more.
(Edens tamper-proofed for sure)
We ‘gotta’ wade in the water children;
like never before.

A B.A.D. poem

Dedicated to: We ‘gotta’ wade in the water children; like never before.

“And a river went out of Eden to water the garden;
and from thence it was parted,
and became into four heads.
The name of the first is Pison:
that is it which compasseth the whole land of Hav′ilah,
where there is gold;
And the gold of that land is good:
there is bdellium and the onyx stone.
And the name of the second river is Gihon:
The same is it that compasseth the whole land of Ethiopia.
And the name of the third river is Hiddekel:
that is it which goeth toward the east of Assyria.
And the fourth river is the Euphra′tes”
(Genesis 2:10-14 KJV).

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“SOLD: TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER”
and
“Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight-I’ll Write Our Wrongs”

No part of this poem may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission from the author.
All Rights Reserved@ October 21, 2016.

 
 
renee-i
 
 
I, Renee’ B. Drummond-Brown, am the wife of Cardell Nino Brown Sr. and from our union came Cardell Jr., Renee and Raven Brown. I am the offspring of Mr. and Mrs. Peter C. Drummond of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. My siblings are Delbert D. Drummond and the late Pastor Shawn C. Drummond. I was born in North Carolina, at Camp Lejeune US Naval Hospital. I am a graduate of Geneva College of Pennsylvania, and my love for creative writing is undoubtedly displayed through my very unique style of poetry, which is viewed globally. My poetry is inspired by God and Dr. Maya Angelou. Because of them I pledge this: “Still I write, I write, and I’ll write!”
 
“Renee’s Poems with Wings are Words in Flight” is flown across the seas by God’s raven. There are several Scriptures that I love; however, this one speaks volumes during this ‘season’: “And he sent forth a raven, which went forth to and fro, until the waters were dried up from off the earth.” (Genesis 8:7 KJV)
 
 
 
 
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Press Release. Key of Mist. A New Volume of Poems Translated from Spanish

 
 
guadalupe-grande-2001
 
 
GUADALUPE GRANDE 
Madrid, 1965. 
 
She has written the following books of poetry: El libro de Lilit (1995), La llave de niebla (2003), Mapas de cera (2006) and Hotel para erizos (2010).
  
She has been translated into French in the book Métier de crhysalide (translation by Drothèe Suarez and Juliette Gheerbrant (2010) and into Italian, in the volume Mestiere senza crisalide (translation by Raffaella Marzano (2015). She made the selection and translation of La aldea de sal (2009), an anthology of Brazilian poet Lêdo Ivo, together with poet Juan Carlos Mestre.
  
Her creative work extends to the territory of photography and visual poetry.http://guadalupegrande.blogspot.com.es/

 
 
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
 
Amparo Arróspide (Argentina) has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento, as well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines. She has translated authors such as Francisca Aguirre, Javier Díaz Gil, Luis Fores and José Antonio Pamies into English, together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, who she worked with for a period as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, a Webzine. Her translations into Spanish of Margaret Atwood (Morning in the Burned House), James Stephens (Irish Fairy Tales) and Mia Couto (Vinte e Zinco) are in the course of being published, as well as her two poetry collections Hormigas en diáspora and Jacuzzi. She takes part in festivals, recently Transforming with Poetry (Leeds) and Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).
 
 
robin-portrait-july-sotillo-2016-by-amparo
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is on line Editor at Motherbird.com, Artvilla.com & Poetry Life & Times, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Poetic Bond Volumes, Phoenix Rising from the Ashes (an international anthology of sonnets) and The Honest Ulsterman. His last publications are a volume of collected poems All the Babble of the Souk & Key of Mist, a translation from Spanish of the poems by the Spanish poetess Guadalupe Grande, both are published by Aquillrelle.com and available at all main online tributaries. For further information about these publications with reviews and comments see Author Robin..
 
 
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https://www.amazon.com/author/robinouzmanhislop
http://www.innerchildpress.com/robin-ouzman-hislop.All the Babble of the Souk