Translation of Bill Cushing’s Poems by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

English Poems by Bill Cushing

French and Mauritian Kreol (Kreol Morisien) Translation
by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

French Translation

Crescendo

It is said when
on his death bed,
Beethoven lifted
his lion-maned head,
propped himself on joints
weakened by age,
and though
unable to hear
the thunder
rattling the casements
of those windowpanes,
shook his fists
and pointed at the sky,
glaring at the lightning outside
as if to chide God and His angels
to beware, for they were about to bear
witness to a new,
unhumbled essence —
and they
would hear him
express an eternal note—
bold and relentless
filled with the rumbling of kettle drums,
a blare of brass.

Crescendo

On dit que
sur son lit de mort,
Beethoven leva
sa tête de crinière,
se souleva par une mobilité articulaire
affaibli par la vieillesse,
et malgré
qu’il ne pouvait pas entendre
le tonnerre
cliquetant les châssis
de ces fenêtres,
menaça du poing
et indiqua le ciel du doigt,
aveuglé par la foudre
comme s’il voulait gronder Dieu et ses anges
à prendre garde, qu’ils seraient
témoin d’un nouveau phénomène ,
de nature impuissante –
et ils
l’entendront
créer la note éternelle –
audacieuse et incessante
emplit de grondements de timbales,
un vacarme de cuivres.

Dodoitsu for Sayah Esma

She is our well-born female,
born God’s exalted cargo,
adored and blessèd shadow
whose canto prevails.

Dodoitsu pour Sayah Esma

Elle est fille de bonne famille,
Navire glorifié divin,
Vénérée et l’ombre bénie
dont le chant triomphe.

Fallen Mighty

Once her beauty could pry
others’ eyes from a bride.

Then, she was forced to swallow
the pill of becoming human

as obligations, and her life
as a wife, tore down her facade,

stripping the illusion
of cosmetics to reveal

the person below the surface,
the one who was real.

Sacrée chute

Jadis sa beauté pouvait faire filer
les regards d’une jeune mariée.

Puis, elle s’était contrainte d’avaler
la pilule amère de devenir humaine

dès que les devoirs, et sa vie
comme épouse, la démasqua,

dépouillée d’illusion
du maquillage pour dévoiler

la personne tout au fond,
celle qu’elle était vraiment.

Owl Haiku

Hidden in a tree,
three grey owls, birds of prey, wait
for their hour to hunt.

Haiku d’hibou

Cachés sur un arbre,
trois hiboux gris, rapaces, attendent
leur tour pour chasser.

Mauritian Kreol (Kreol Morisien) Translation

Restraining the Beast Within

Crouching within my cranium,
its curved spine crammed within
my skull, having grown out of my
reptilian complex, tethered
to a binary plane where
thought reigns as our ancien regime.
Its fangs align with my nostrils
as if those flared voids might provide
hatches to make its escape.
Its left hand, claws out, pushes down,
then against my chin, perhaps
trying to create a portal
of my mouth. Its arms clog my ears,
diminishes the low hum
of others’ invading voices.
Reason tries to disrupt my life,
infuses calm to try and restrain
the brute residing in the brain,
locked behind a collar subdued
by a Windsor knot of virtue.

Metriz Mons dan Nou

Asize lor talon elegan dan mo krann,
so kolonn vertebral pran plas dan
mo servo, li finn forme par mo
konplex reptil, ankre
dan enn dimansion biner kot
mantalite gouverne kouma dan nou ansien regn.
So krok pwint an paralel avek mo narinn
kouma dir bann koler dan vid pou amenn
bann fason pou fer li sove.
So lame gos, tir grif, pous anba,
apre kont mo manton, Kouma dir pe rod
kree enn laport
dan mo labous. So lebra fer mo zorey sourd,
elwagn bann mirmir
lezot lavwa ki akapare.
Rezon sakouy mo lavi,
donn mwa trankilite pou sey metriz
mons ki res dan servo,
ferme deryer enn kol ekraze
par enn ne karvat drawtir.

The Bravery of Mercedes (from Pan’s Labyrinth)

She slices the captain’s cheek
from tragus to lip
with a willingness and skill
she gleaned from gutting pigs.

Her courage makes me want
to see how she saw,
feel what she felt,
but to do that

I’d have to endure the anguish
she suffered, watching a man
take joy in torture, slaughter
the innocents she tried to save.

Conscience rests on my chest
like a concrete pillow.
I feel the tickle of guilt
at the base of my neck,

like a guillotine blade
that cleaves my throat
and severs my head
from its body.

Kouraz Mercedes

(Inspire par Pan’s Labyrinth)

Li koup lazou kapitenn
depi so zorey ziska so lalev
avek enn volonte e metriz
ki li finn aprann avek ban koson masakre.

So kouraz fer mwa anvi
trouve kouma li finn trouve ,
resanti kouma li finn resanti,
me pou fer sa

Mo pou bizin sibir soufrans
li finn soufer, get enn zom
pran plezir dan tortir, abat
bann inosan ki li ti rod sove.

Konsians res dan mo leker
kouma enn oreye konkre.
Mo santi enn frinson koubab
anba mo likou,

kouma lam giyotinn
ki ser mo lagorz
e separ mo latet
depi mo lekor.

What’s Left Behind Hurts Most

Someone thumbtacked the moon too low
as well as off kilter tonight,
glimmering off the hermitage
she chose, wishing for the luck of
Thecla. She detected the patterns
before they could coalesce and
bloom into a sadistic scenario.
Now, sitting outside the market,
huddled in a cardboard box
like so many kittens or puppies,
squat the children she offers to give away.

Seki Finn Delese Bles Plis

Kikenn finn pik lalinn tro anba
e osi dekal li aswar,
briye lor lakaz ermit
ki li finn swazir, li swet bonn sanz
Thecla. Li finn detekte bann sign
avan ki zot kapav groupe e
grandi dan enn senaryo atros (efreyan).
Aster, andeor lafwar,
kwinse dan enn bwat karton
kouma bokou ti sat e ti toutou,
bann zanfan ki li anvi abandone pe akroupi.

Bill Cushing

International Dylan Thomas Day 2025 – Mauritius (Poets’ Collaboration)

Dylan Thomas – Portrait
by Gianpiero Actis (Italy)

Dear Poets/Poetry-lovers,

International Dylan Thomas Day is celebrated every year on 14 May.
As a representative of Immagine and Poesia (founded by the patronage of Aeronwy Thomas, daughter of Dylan Thomas) and upon the approval of the main organizers and consultants, UK,
I am conducting International Dylan Thomas Day 2025 online.

This year I am conducting a collaborative poetry-writing with a group of poets.
Each poet will contribute 3 -8 lines and we will create a single poem together.

I invite poets who are interested to submit a maximum of 8 lines to:

vatsfrankness@gmail.com

Theme : Poetic sea

First lines of poem:

Words-Waves

Amidst the sea waves
echo blue, green, orange, grey words
locked in seashells
carrying centuries
of inspiration born in a second,
grown gradually, dead- blurred momentarily
but phoenix-reborn singing poetry’s immortality
– Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Please submit your lines to continue the poem.

Deadline: 2 May 2025

The final poem will be published on my blog.

Looking forward to collaborating with you.

Thank you!

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Writer/Poet/Organizer

Translation of Lopamudra Banerjee’s Poems by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

English Poems by Lopamudra Banerjee

French Translation by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Letter to Myself

[A poem written for my birthday in August, reflecting on my four decades of life. First published in ‘The Space Ink’, October 2021]

Dear August-born,
Do not be the burning sage as you
Sit on the bed soaking in the morning sun
And the washed remnants of your dreams
Of the night gone by. Instead, just hang on
To your wrinkled sleepwear and do your laundry
Listening to the hollow whispers of the washer.

Dear August rain,
Do not hold on to songs in your head
That can never turn into a hopeful refrain
A delectable orchestra. Instead, bolt the doors
Carefully when the thunderstorm breaks open
Into your pastures, echoing your birth-name
That everybody forgot, including you.

Dear August-queen,
Do not forget that ‘queen’ is just a perfunctory word
And it gives you no privilege in a world where
You have floated in a dark, tepid sea of pettiness, betrayals

And there is the sweet, sacred ambrosia of love
But loveless evenings, lonely strolls in sidewalks gave you succor.

If only you can thank the August rain,
The road trips with false lovers,
The unflattering mirrors, the ditched playgrounds,
The old notepads of burnt poetry, the stench of abuses,
You can embrace your fire and ember.
You can be the revolution, the upheaval, the threadbare dance
You can be the defiant poem, the silence of ruffled nights
That you’ve always dreamt of being.

Lettre à moi-même

(Un poème écrit pour mon anniversaire en août, s’agissant d’une réflexion des quatre décennies de ma vie. Première parution – Space Ink, Octobre 2021)

Chère Native du mois d’août,
Ne sois pas la femme sage trop brillante quand
Tu te réveilles au lit berçant le soleil matinal
Et les étincelles brumeuses de tes rêves
d’une nuit achevée. C’est mieux si tu te réjouis
de tes tenues de nuit froissées et fais ta lessive
En écoutant les murmures vains du lave-linge.

Chère Pluie d’août,
Ne te laisses pas berner par les chansons
qui ne fleuriront jamais en refrains d’espoir
Un merveilleux orchestre. C’est mieux si tu verrouilles les portes
prudemment quand l’orage crie
dans tes prés, répétant ton nom (nom de naissance)
que tout le monde a oublié, ainsi que toi aussi.

Chère Reine d’août,
N’oublies pas que Reine n’est qu’un mot superficiel
Et il ne te privilégie guerre dans un monde où
tu t’es pataugée dans l’obscurité, dans la mer agitée de mesquineries, de trahisons

Et il y a la douceur de l’ambrosie sacrée de l’amour
Mais les soirées dépourvues d’amour, les balades solitaires sur les trottoirs qui t’ont sauvée .

Si seulement tu peux remercier la pluie d’août,
les trajets avec les amants imposteurs,
les miroirs insultés , les terrains de jeux abandonnés ,
les vieux carnets de poésie brulés , l’abus toxique
Tu peux accueillir ta flamme et la braise .
Tu peux être la révolution, le bouleversement, la danse démodée
Tu peux être le poème révolté, le silence des nuits ébouriffées
dont tu as toujours rêvé .

A River Within Me

[First published in the anthology titled ‘Reverse the Rivers’, edited by Geetanjali Dillip]

A river within me knows all my high tides and low tides,
The sun’s birth, descending on my banks and the sundown
Melting my fiery skin into dark forebodings of death, and rebirth.
A river within me knows my light, motion of time
And my fallen moon at night, the hungry, volatile dance
As I spin around my moist, sacred space, like a child
Spinning inside the womb, waiting to be born.
A river within me is the smell of my elemental lust
As I become the ruthless watcher, my bank made soft
With tears of throbbing life, of funeral pyres.

With the river within me, where do I go?
Converge with the sea of garrulous memories, shrink or grow?
Take in all the fish coming up for air, all red embers
That turn to grey ashes? The river gushes right in,
Settles within, slowly, with its waning moonlight, its eager darkness,
Its placid body, its secret, superfluous chatter, its keen onlookers.
The river scampers, smells inside me, I lose myself
In its body like daily offerings of poetry and surreal passages.
A river within me fills up and swells, and I become
Its wind and melody, its continuum flow, like birth, death and rebirth.

Une rivière au fond de moi

( Première parution dans l’anthologie, intitulée Reverse the Rivers, éditée par Geetanjali Dillip)

Une rivière au fond de moi connait les hauts et les bas de ma vie,
Le soleil levant, descendant sur mes rives et le soleil couchant
Fondant ma peau brûlante en sombre pressentiment de la mort, et de la réincarnation.
Une rivière au fond de moi connait ma lumière, l’écoulement du temps
Et ma lune vaincue durant la nuit, affamée , danse fugace
Comme je tourne autour de l’humide, l’ espace sacré , comme un bébé
se tournant dans le ventre maternel ,attendant sa naissance.
Une rivière au fond de moi est l’arôme de mon désir élémentaire
Dès que je deviens l’observateur impitoyable, ma rive devient sensible
par les larmes vibrant la vie , des bûchers funéraires.

Avec une rivière au fond de moi, que signifie cela ?
Se confluant dans la mer de souvenirs loquaces, se rétrécissant où se grandissant ?
Prenant tous les poissons en quête d’oxygène, toutes les braises rouges
qui deviennent des cendres grises ? La rivière jaillit tout droit,
se refuge, lentement, avec son décroissement de rayons lunaires, son obscurité curieux,
Son corps serein, son secret ; sa conversation superflue, ses passants attentifs.
La rivière se détale, sent au fond de moi, je me perds
dans son corps comme des offrandes de poésie et d’extraits irréels.
Une rivière au fond de moi se remplit et se gonfle, et je deviens
ses souffles du vent et sa mélodie, sa continuité, comme la naissance, la mort et la réincarnation.

Author bio:

Lopamudra Banerjee is an author, poet, translator from Texas, USA with nine solo author books and six anthologies in fiction, nonfiction and poetry. She has received the Journey Awards (First Place category winner) for her memoir
‘Thwarted Escape: An Immigrant’s Wayward Journey,’ the International Reuel Prize for Poetry (2017) and other honors. Her poetry has been published in renowned platforms including ‘Life in Quarantine’, the Digital Humanities Archive of Stanford University. Her recent notable books are ‘Life in Quarantine’, the Digital Humanities Archive of Stanford University ‘The Bard and his Sister-in-law’ (translation) and ‘We Are What We Are’ in collaboration with Priscilla Rice, which has been 1^st Prize winner (category: poetry) at New York Book Festival 2024.

Biographie :

Lopamudra Banerjee est auteure, poétesse et traductrice de Texas, USA.
Elle est auteure de neuf recueils de poésie et six anthologies de fiction,
non-fiction et de poésie. Elle s’est vue discerner les prix ; Journey Awards pour ses mémoires Thwarted Escape : An Immigrant’s Wayward Journey, The International Reuel Prize for Poetry (2017) et d’autres prix littéraires. Ses poèmes ont été publiés sur les réseaux de grand renom, tels que Life in Quarantine, the Digital Humanities Archive de Stanford University. Ses derniers œuvres sont intitulés The Bard and his Sister-in-law (translation) and We Are What We Are écrit en collaboration avec Priscilla Rice, 1^erPrix (catégorie Poésie), New York Book Festival 2024.

Lopamudra Banerjee

Translation of Linda Imbler’s Poems by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

English Poems by Linda Imbler

Translated into French and Kreol Morisien by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

French Translation:

Sonder

Each person you pass on the street,
holds the strange beauty of a strange life

We all breathe the same air,
and will die without it.

Avoid narrow-tipped assumptions causing you to fail
to invest the time to know
peculiar characters, rough hewn and angular,
who enjoy the talents
of spontaneous, unplanned actions.
Some leading a saintly life on reverent missions,
others bearing subdued pain kept inside.

Many individuals have skeletons in their closet
that dance for them.

Indeed, your own closet also bears your tales.

Sonder (Constatation profonde)

Chaque personne que vous croisez dans la rue,
porte une beauté étrange d’une vie étrange.

Nous respirons tous de l’air en homogénéité,
et mourrions tous privé de cela.

Evitez des idées restreintes vous sombrant
de mieux connaitre
les êtres uniques, grotesques et cultivés,
qui se réjouissent des qualités
naissant de la spontanéité, des actes libres.
Certains menant une vie sainte berçant des missions bénies,
D’autres refoulant la souffrance au fond de leur cœurs.

Nombreux sont ceux qui ont des séquelles dans leur placard
murmurant qu’à leurs oreilles.

Bien sûr, votre armoire y cache vos histoires aussi.

Bird Landscape

We enter walls fortified by
disillusionment that belongs to us all.
A distressed area,
where portable gravestones lie prone,
and the silence indicates signs of fatigue
from trying to conceal the purpose of this place,
a retreat into wretchedness
while listening to artless stories from the gravedigger.

But, place bird roosts atop these same walls,
and watch the spirits being placated,
observe the enriching effect as time goes on,
as an amazing array of coloring bursts forth,
birthing new keen awareness of these surroundings,
as if seeing this environment for the first time,
projecting a new view of white marble.

View this space as it becomes a living landscape,
a remarkable place,
where birds, hopes, dreams, and prayers can fly.

Scène d’oiseau

On pénètre les murs ancrés
d’illusion qui nous appartiennent.
Un quartier déprimant,
où les pierres tombales portables demeurent susceptible,
et le silence démontre les signes d’épuisements
en essayant de masquer le but de ce lieu,
Un refuge en désespoir
en écoutant des histoires simples racontées par le fossoyeur.

Mais l’oiseau du voisinage se perche sur ces murs,
et regarde les âmes apaisées,
observe l’effet enrichissant (profond) au rythme du temps qui s’écoule,
comme un mélange de couleurs s’émergeant ,
créant l’enthousiasme d’explorer ces environs,
tout comme découvrant ce milieu pour la première fois,
projetant une nouvelle scène du marbre blanc.

En accueillant cette espace comme un paysage vivant,
un lieu captivant,
où les oiseaux , les espoirs , les rêves ,et les prières peuvent s’envoler.

For Teri With Regard To Bill

She always speaks to him.
Tell me how you’re doing she says.

It’s claimed there is no return journey.
It’s stated that time only flows in one direction.

Then why does she hear something other than surf
when she listens to seashells?

Pour Teri au sujet de Bill

Elle lui parle constamment.
« Dis-moi comment vas-tu » demande-t-elle.

C’est déduit qu’il n’y a pas de retour.
C’est spécifié que le temps s’écoule dans un sens.

Mais, pourquoi entend-elle d’autres bruits que celles des vagues
en écoutant aux coquillages ?

Kreol Translation:

My Crowded Bed

Every night I fall asleep with them:
The living, the dead,
all old friends, family.

They come when my dreams call them,
or they show up uninvited
on the front porch of my mind,
where they knock or ring until I answer.

Some have been there for so long.
These feel so comfortable
just making themselves at home, settling in.

I can spread my limbs out
as much as I want,
but the bed is still so crowded.
I’m surprised the mattress has not grown saggy.

Yet, for all my complaining,
I hope they keep up the knocking,
and the ringing
because they are the ones I love,
and they help me endure the dark.

Mo lili ankonbran

Touleswar mo andormi antoure ar zot:
Bann vivan, bann mor,
tou bann vie kamarad, bann fami.

Zot vini kan mo rev apel zot,
ou zot aparet kan zot anvi
lor lantre mo lespri,
e zot tape ou sone ziska ki mo reponn.

Ena ti la depi lontan.
Sa rekonfort zot
kan zot santi zot ansam kouma dan zot lakaz.

Mo kapav repoze
komie mo anvi,
me lili la touzour ankonbran.
Mo etone ki matla finn vinn las.

Mem si mo fer repros,
Mo swete ki zot kontinie tap laport,
e sone
parski se sa bann dimounn la ki mo kontan,
e zot ed mwa fer fas lanwit nwar.

,

A New Day

Upon the broken shapes
of dying sunbeams,
there is reflected the promise of a new day.

I am discovering
the stability of petals.
Where there was once heatstroke and thorns,
there’s now sunshine and roses,
growing from the promise of a new day.

It can be hard
to realize one’s true orbit,
to stand next to silver banners
that only occasionally fly,
but I’ll throw myself into maximum effort
toward the promise of a new day.

Enn nouvo zour

Lor bann form kase
reyon soley febli,
ena reflexion lespwar enn nouvo zour.

Mo pe dekouver
stabilite petal.
Kot ti ena sesres e pikan,
aster ena soley e roz,
ki pe grandi avek lespwar enn nouvo zour.

Li kapav difisil
rekonet nou vre plas,
debout akote bann banners arzante
ki zot fer anvole parfwa,
me mo fer mo zefor maximum
pou akeyir lespwar enn nouvo zour.

Linda Imbler

Women Poets read – March 2025 (Online)

Hello Poetry-lovers!

I’m a writer/poet and an artist and I’ve been into poetry -writing for more than 30 years with 18 books published.

I have launched Women Poets read in August 2024 . The aim of this online reading event is mainly to encourage women poets to voice out through their poetry.

I will be conducting the first session of Women Poets read for 2025 in March.

Details of the poetry reading session are as follows:

Title : Women Poets read

Date : 8 March 2025

Time : 19h00 (7PM) Mauritian time
10 AM EST

Venue: On Zoom (online)

Fee: Free/ No fee

Theme: Feminine Strength

Poetry style : Any , provided decent language is used

Number of poems to be read : 2

After the event the poems read by each poet will be published in written or video formats.

Links to join the event will be e-mailed to each poet upon acceptance of invitation.

For further details please e-mail me to:
vatsfrankness@gmail.com

Thank you!

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Host/Organizer /Poet

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Translation Services 2025 by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Dear Authors/Poets,
Hope you are all doing well.

I’m back to my translation services for 2025

If you wish to have your poetry chapbooks, poetry books, children’s books (prose and poetry) translated from
English to French
French to English
Mauritian Kreol to English
English to Mauritian Kreol
please feel free to send them to :

vatsfrankness@gmail.com

Translation Fee: U.S $0.08 (Rs 3.73 Mauritian currency) per word

Translation of Individual poems may also be considered. Please send 5-12 poems if you wish to have a small number of your poems translated. Those poems will be published on my blog.

Payment Method: PayPal

Looking forward to working with you.

Thank you in advance,

Kind regards,

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Women Poets Read – November 2024 (Online)

Hello Poetry-lovers!

I’m a writer/poet and an artist and I’ve been into poetry -writing for more than 30 years with 15 books published.

I have launched Women Poets read in August 2024 . The aim of this online reading event is mainly to encourage women poets to voice out through their poetry.

I will be conducting the second session of Women Poets read in November.

Details of the poetry reading session are as follows:

Title : Women Poets read

Date : 16 November 2024

Time : 19h00 (7PM) Mauritian time

Venue: Online through Zoom/Google Meet

Fee: Free/ No fee

Theme: Any

Poetry style : Any , provided decent language is used

Number of poems to be read : 2

After the event the poems read by each poet will be published in written or video formats.

Links to join the event will be e-mailed to each poet upon acceptance of invitation.

For further details please e-mail me to:
vatsfrankness@gmail.com

Thank you!

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Host/Organizer /Poet

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

August 2024: Writer/Poet of the Month – Richard Doiron

Richard Doiron, Canada’s Peace Poet, bilingual (English-French) has his works in print over 60 years. His poems have been published in hundreds of paper books, anthologies, periodicals and personal collections. He is also the author of novels, biographical works, essays, and lyricist (several songs recorded). He is a graduate in journalism and is a Certified Lifeskills Coach.
His work has been read at the United Nations University for Peace, Costa Rica and published alongside a dozen Nobel Prize Winners by invitation, including the Dalai Lama, Nelson Mandela, and Desmond Tutu. His works have been translated into all major languages, UN 2000.) His writings have been showcased at the John Lennon Peace Tower, Reykjavik, Iceland. He is a participant in local, national, and international literary festivals He has been awarded 2012 Lifetime Achievement Award ,winner with World Poetry; 2017, Lifetime Achievement Award with Pentasi B World Friendship Poetry; 2017 nominated for “There is a Winner in You”, Lifetime Achievement Award with ARTeryUSA, nominated by James Pasqual Bettio, former senator in the California Senior Legislature, twice nominated for the Governor-General’s Award and Canada’s prestigious Griffin Poetry Prize, nominated to the Order of New Brunswick, Canada 2019. He was also nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize, 2019, via Dr. Epitacio Tongohan, the Philippines. Named LAUREATE OF THE IVAN AIVAZOVSKY INTERNATIONAL LITERARY AND ART PRIZE 2022 (Ukraine- USA-Germany). He has posted poems online daily for 23 years in a variety of groups around the world, showcased in media on an ongoing basis on radio, television and in print. His most recent recognitions have been July 2024, Yugen Quest Review: WE Illumination Award 2024 (Poetry, Participation, Inspiration).

Here are three poems and a short story by Richard Doiron:

Prophet Tears

Were we attuned to prophet tears
for what they are when one appears,
a mantle worn like none before
because, by God, there’s always more
for us to learn, the truth revealed,
in increments, therefore to field
such deep design, as field the few,
no doubt we’d weep like prophets, too!

Ancestors Dance
(Sonnet #5100 in series)

Ancestors dance upon each blade of grass
the fields alive for everyone to see
and dreamers dream to see paraders pass
their eyes now cast upon that family tree.

Ancestors dance upon the mountainside
the hills alive for steps upon the stone
and dreamers dream such dreams as coincide
with things that are (if are too little known).

Ancestors dream whereas the rivers run
the streams alive for gurgling that is heard
and dreamers dream the dream has just begun
as will be dreamt forever afterwards.

Ancestors dance upon the dashing dawn,
let dreamers dream the dream is dancing on.

You Dream a Dream

You dream a dream of sunny days
of butterflies while music plays
of loving arms that hold you tight
of roses red and starry nights
and memories made that take you there

You dream a dream of precious things
of promises and wedding rings
of kisses sweet like vintage wine
of chemistries when they combine
from heaven high an answered prayer

You dream a dream of something more
of tranquil times an end to war
of poetry and works of art
of loving words that touch your heart
with not a place but there’s a friend

You dream a dream of peace on earth
of minds that merge for all they’re worth
of kindness done in every deed
of famine gone for all we feed
with thoughts like these that never end

The Day Habib Picked Fariba Roses

Where the roses grew unimpeded and in fields far-flung in their abundance, Habib, the son of Mohab and of Moraza, picked with a most exuberant zeal the six choicest roses his eyes chanced to focus upon. Not far in the distance Fariba, beloved of his heart and soul, would soon enough accept from him his gift of roses. This she would do with as much reverence as if she were the grateful recipient of a poet’s most sacred and celebrated offerings…

“For you, my dearest Fariba, the six roses the field of plenty have surrendered unto me,” said the jubilant Habib, his heart racing feverishly, his eyes gleaming with the light of love, his mind reeling in the realization that the accepting hand was the hand of manifest destiny. As for his soul, it was now soaring across the eternal realms of majesty and mystery.

“Oh what joy, Habib! What utter joy you have infused into my heart this very day, this day whereupon the angels sing as if there were no
tomorrows in heaven!

“Be it known that in these roses I perceive rainbows and rain, as I likewise perceive the gracious wings of butterflies and bees, sharing with those their eagerness for the heady brew which permeates the field, that very field whereby your hand so eagerly plucked this bouquet now assigned to my board. Oh Habib, from off my board, from out that earthen vase, now holding your gift of roses to me, there now emanates the soulful song imparted to the ambassadors of love by the summer wind when it springs across the valley in the fullest heat of summer.

“And of this very room itself, truly has it become as the shaded sanctuary that affords the giant cedar when the sun is ablaze overhead, and the body is in need of respite. My eyes briefly closed, I hear in this, also, the gurgling sounds of the spring which sprouts forth from the earth to quench the thirst of the weary wayfarer.

“Oh, Habib, what more might I, Fariba, daughter of Rahullah and of Keshvar, say to you, my dearly beloved, with regards to these flowers?”

That day, Habib, son of Mohab and of Moraza, had his many thoughts, and flashed his many smiles, as likewise did his beloved Fariba. No, he was not a poet, no more than was his beloved Fariba a poetess. And yet the two lived their glorious and golden moment, as lovers have forever done and forever will do. But that day, as destiny would have it, it was the poet, Pouya, the searcher, who was a witness to it all. And it was he who lived their loving thoughts and he who assigned the gleam in their hopeful eyes and the smiles upon their loving faces to the pages of tomorrow and of all the tomorrows that ever might follow.

Richard Doiron

Online Poetry: Women Poets read

Hello Poetry-lovers!

I’m a writer/poet and an artist and I’ve been into poetry -writing for more than 30 years with 15 books published.

I will be launching Women Poets read in August. The aim of this online reading event is mainly to encourage women poets to voice out through their poetry.

In each session , I will be inviting 4-5 poets from different countries to read 2 of their poems and share their views about poetry.

Details of the first poetry reading session are as follows:

Title : Women Poets read

Date : 10 August 2024

Time : 19h00 (7PM) Mauritian time

Venue: Online through Zoom/Google Meet

Fee: Free/ No fee

Theme: Any

Poetry style : Any , provided decent language is used

Number of poems to be read : 2

After the event the poems read by each poet will be published in written or video formats.

Links to join the event will be e-mailed to each poet upon acceptance of invitation.

For further details please e-mail me to:
vatsfrankness@gmail.com

Thank you!

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Host/Organizer /Poet

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

World Music Day 2024 – Reza Dulymamode /Belizean Diving Resort (duo music band)

Reza Dulymamode / Belizean Diving Resort
Mauritius/France

Here are 2 songs sung by Reza Dulymamode , singer of Belizean Diving Resort
(Duo music band):

Hours of Abstention

Song for Karine

About the music band:

Belizean Diving Resort is the musical project of Reza Dulymamode and Thomas Grimaux who have been friends since their teenage years in Pessac, near Bordeaux (France).
Their songs represent a lo-fi, minimalistic form of folk music focusing on emotion.