Volume One, Number
Eleven
August 2010
Dark Lady Poetry is an online literary magazine,
with a focus on poetry. With an eclectic taste, anything
goes, and we encourage up and coming writers in their
pursuit to be read. Good words are always
appreciated.
Number Eleven is
home to a notably diverse group of writers, all from
different parts of the globe, all unique in their style
and tone. It is an individuals ability to be anomalous
within the universe, that makes being human so special.
Conception of one's self becomes real with the delivery
of ones identity. Poetry does not hesitate to affirm this
idea.
In this sundry
issue:
Charlotte
Beard
Sabahudin
Hadzialic
Kate LaDew
Sunil P.
Narayan
Chen
Chengli
Enjoy.
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Charlotte
Beard
Fruit
Salad in the Back Galley
Below me- constellations with the
names of cities,
immaculate borders of farmland suited
top to bottom with particles: neurons, dust (saw and skin),
inescapable synaptic explosions:
The first time I tried mangos
Yvonne
brought them sliced, orange and steaming
the slippery insides of her zip-lock. I plucked one from the
bag
to smell before I bit into it.
I wondered at varieties, Tommy Atkins and Kent.
Over the twinkling cities I eat a
piece of mango sliced
the same way, long like an apple.
Below a farm boy scratches his head and stares at the
constellations
above,
remembering the first time his mother
handed him a lily to smell - the fragrant Stargazer.
A
Dream
Holding his rusted trombone,
my brother explained we were at
the bottom of the earth.
The rest of the world's oceans
were pressing down on our sky
and it sustained slightly
like an invisible, leaky dam.
In the narrow grey of the parking
lot
he smiled and played a children's song
told dirty jokes,
and watched the salty water's
pressured imposition
on our small atmosphere,
like the kinked hose
above an overhang in the dirty lot.
Tropism
Blown particles of thistle surf
the wind,
some laying down, others twirling upright
like delicate ropes being let go once wound.
White feathers trickled like snowflakes during the orange
twilight.
We watched airplanes.
The earth bent under our figures,
I turned to her,
face light as if the sun were inside her.
Sabahudin
Hadzialic
REALITY
FILMED
Dismal image
of my own imprint in
time
that’s real
inside the vision that-
isn’t,
is desperately in search
for
Her !
…
Queen Elizabeth,
Chatherine,
Nikolajevna,
Princess Dianna,
Fatima
Disappear in front of the
eyes
of wild hordes.
…
I remain alone
trembling with
trepidation
trying to figure out
what is it that they
want.
…
Virtual reality of a surreal
film-world
is nothing more than
a treacherous impersonation of a
real world
that deceives me
a Servile Servant !
..
She’s gone !
Will she ever come back
?
The question is swept by the
wind.
…
I’ll wait for the storm to
calm
and try to catch the mistral wind
to find a cove,
and search for the place where I
met her.
Barefoot and naked.
Back in the day.
On the stage !
… ETERNAL
DREAMS
I call out her name
at night
while she is asleep.
…
The reflexion of
probability
is out of grasp
of my mortal soul
because
Ariadna
spun a yarn
from a molten core.
…
My core!
…
I call out her name
at dawn,
while she is asleep.
She is strong in her
restraint
while she lolls
on the tombstone
in the graveyard
of
my…
…
Destiny.
DEVIL’S
PLAYGROUND
They understood !
They didn’t ask
…
…for anything else
but just a possibility to
survive
within the boundaries
of a precious vision.
Vision of world
without hatred and senseless
schemes
living in the minds of their
neighbours.
…
They understood !
They didn’t ask…
…
…for anything else
but just a hope
that a right to live
is a right of every
human.
And humanity
remained where it always
was.
…
Entrapped within the
boundaries
lacking identity.
Today
the life for them is
about
survival
and
waiting for the end.
Are they there yet
?
Kate LaDew
shopping
I hold my belly (because something
not small, something not flat, something not smooth,
something so not is a belly)
jangles like keys
like a distraction held up for children
I am not beautiful
barrier
it hurts a little to know you’re out
there
smiling at everyone
innocent
it hurts a little
like a scar
like that little scar between my thumb and index finger
nearly lopped it off
breaking that flower pot against the window to get back in
it’s only a little thing
but tough
raised
I can feel it like a barrier
keeping my hands from being beautiful
I press on it when I’m nervous
remember how cold that dirt was
how I sat for thirty minutes before I stopped bleeding
and you never came over
I knead it and it won’t go smooth
just keeps living in me like a smile I can’t forget
It’s not that I want you again
It’s not that I hate you
I just wish I could open the paper, find out you died and
finally be happy.
1000 thread
count
I want to be beautiful.
I want to wrap around like a strip of peach in an abstract
painting, abstract like thoughts
are abstract, abstract like God, abstract because what do you
name it? what is it supposed
to mean?
I call myself beautiful, like a
little girl with a florid name, a hopeful name, it means
God’s love, it means gift, it means you will be lovely, I name
myself and grow and grow
and look nothing like what my parents wanted, wrapping around
like a brush stroke
of dirty peach, like people standing back and saying hm? I
don’t know what you’re
supposed to mean
Sunil P.
Narayan
Pānchālī
Pulled into my husbands’ court by my uncombed
hair
Thrown onto the floor where
hundreds of feet touch their thick, red silk
The flowing carpet rises and
falls like the mist of my garden
I know you are immovable in your
rage Shákuni
Your
ego knows no limits, it is like a snake stalking a
mouse
Quietly without remorse in its
meager heart
All
eyes watch me cry in anguish as you pull my sari
To end of this room it flows like
the Gaṅgā
Shining with its thin, gold-laden
fabric
And crippled by your greedy
fingers
Dignified beauty you tossed with your
dice
Human emotions you sacrificed
with your heart
Bring your eyes to mine to see
one word: regret
Ha! You are the nectar’s enemy:
regret!
If
you took me then Kṛṣṇa will smite you right now!
His chakra a knife for your
spineless body
All
my fears that followed me at night with my friends
Nibbling on their black pearls
while I watched roses rise
They are you…a shadow that rapes
the moon
I cannot give you my body for it
belongs to Keśava!
My
life will one day be returned to his home
To live as a cowherd while
churning milk for his hungry lips
The boyish smile and curly hair
that barely touches his shoulders
His eyes so wide yet shaped like
the waning moon
Little specks in the corner of both eyes are
galaxies unknown to us
So far away other people exist
for whom Kṛṣṇa is their king
If I
am his then he is my king too
Shákuni, you are the drunken ego,
a corrupted seed for humanity!
My body is a vase holding the
virtues of Sūrya
He touched my spirit to give me a
bite of his own
Disrobing me in front of my husbands and all
the Āryas of their kingdom
is a sacrilege!
I cry to you to stop this great
injustice!
Can’t you see I have sunken into
a sea of distress!?
No, you are busy drowning my
voice with your wicked laughter
Brahmā gave you a boon that
protects your life from any physical or divine harm
Yet, has he no shame when seeing
this monstrous deed?
Ma!
You are Sarvāsuravināśā, come to my rescue!
Show your terrifying face to this
savage
Make him cower under your
crippling stare, ma!
Turn his limbs into brittle
sticks so he will stop treating my honor like a
toy
Yearning
of The Night
I am
the Mistress of the everlasting Night!
You, Sūrya, shall bow down to my
black feet!
If your eyes wander to side of
this grassy pathway…
If your lips kiss anything other
than my smoke-covered skin…
Know
my heart will not tolerate such laziness!
A noose to pull your light into
the copper jar
It makes me wonder if those poor
souls are worthy of your touch
You whore! To follow someone
other than my great beauty is a sin!
Is
my body not slim enough for your liking?
Adorned with the finest gemstones
of our Father’s heavenly paradise
Picked by fortunate servants who
worship my voice and reason
They pray for a kiss from my lips
yet you pray for release from the clutches of my
shadow
If
the sunlight is burned like the skin of a baby’s flesh from
being touched by a candle
It is no reason to whine like a
child
Whimpers and little tears are
reserved for the rain
But your sunlight…such a glorious
entity you are!
I
followed you after the birth of this universe
Our Mother created us for her
amusement
An inner joy filled her mind to
cause a smile
From that came her immortal
children, beings of raw light
We
were too hot to touch, so you became the sun and I became the
empty hole in your nightmares
My enemy from birth, the one who
tried to squash me like a cockroach!
I pulled you by the arms into my
embrace
The wind felt it and whispered to
us to merge into one creature
Sūrya, you sit down, waiting for me to show
you what true godhood is
The immeasurable weight of my
lust holds you to the purple sea of stars
I don’t moan but listen to your
own…the sound is the bells of our mother’s temple
It is sweet yet meager if
compared to my hunger when dawn joins me
Do
not feel inferior my love, even the thunder of the sky is small
to my ears
Can you see why I must subjugate
your tangible body?
Fire cannot be touched unless
someone wants to become a monster
But I can feel it in my hands and
yearn for your enticing kisses
You
run away if I look at you for a second
Maybe I engulfed your enormous
body too fast
The next universe already has a
sun, don’t make matters worse!
If you leave then my heart break
into pieces and fall to Bhūmī-Devī’s
mountains
Chen
Chengli
Birds—To Blood
Donation
Silver
beak in.
Red beak out.
Silver beak in.
Red beak out.
Bandages around
their arms,
One Jesus goes and another
comes.
(previously in Issue
#4)
My
Babe Monster
-To Thesis
I was a child unfamiliar to
life,
Married to my blind passion.
I was pregnant with you,
My invisible babe.
You had been sleeping all day
And growing up silently in my
brain.
You were a gluttonous babe,
Absorbing my train of thought
And my happiness and hopes
As your essential nutrition.
Hence I got a migraine
afterwards,
And fell ill with no fixed
schedule.
My heart broke each time I thought of
you,
My dearest babe.
When my youth was wandering on the
pages,
My dream could never escape from the hard
covers.
In the labyrinth of books,
How dazzling I was when I kept vomiting
words.
You were doomed to be
malnourished,
A fateful freak.
My babe monster,
I gave you birth under my
fingertips.
You, so unsightly, but do not
worry.
I would apply cosmetics on you every day
and night,
Until the venerable professors hold you in
their arms.
Yet I had to hold a public hearing for
you,
And disguised you as a hopeful child in
advance.
I would shout myself blue in the
face,
Until the stern judges throw an unwilling
smile to you.
Those Were the
Days
-To a Knowledgeable
Friend
We meet.
And climb.
15 floors high.
We chat.
We debate.
We smile.
We share movies, stories,
Theories, melodies,
And unforgettable memories.
We msn.
We email.
We click, type, and type.
Then we pause
And listen
To a final farewell.
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