Dark Lady Poetry - Volume One, Number Eleven




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






Issues appear on a monthly basis, with new issues live on the fifteenth of every month.

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As always, thank you to our readers and contributors.

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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
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.


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





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,
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 !



I call out her name
at night
while she is asleep.

The reflexion of probability
is out of grasp
of my mortal soul
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
while she lolls
on the tombstone
in the graveyard




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.
the  life for them is about
waiting for the end.
Are they there yet ?




Kate LaDew





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




it hurts a little to know you’re out there
smiling at everyone
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
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 








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.