Excerpt for Our Chains, Our Dreams – Part Two by
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Our Chains, Our Dreams

Part TWO



Fabrizio Frosini

&

Poets Unite Worldwide

~*~

Poems by

Alexandro Acevedo Johns, Chile

Kasiviswanathan Balakrishnan, India/UAE

Abhilasha Bhatt, India

Tom Billsborough, UK

Judith Blatherwick, UK

Daniel Brick, USA

Ammar Butt, USA/Pakistan

Fabrizio Frosini, Italy

Majid Gaggi, Iraq/USA

Dimitrios Galanis, Greece

Negar Gorji, Iran

Simone Inez Harriman, New Zealand

Nosheen Irfan, Pakistan

Seema Jayaraman, India

Chizoba Vincent John, Nigeria

Tapera Makadho, Zimbabwe

Kenneth Maswabi, Botswana

Sarah Mkhonza, Swaziland/USA

Bharati Nayak, India

Sarah Louise Persson, UK

Lendsy Salcedo, The Philippines

Anzelyne Shideshe, Kenya/Germany

Pamela Sinicrope, USA

Robert Murray Smith, New Zealand/Australia

Petra Soliman, Egypt/Qatar

Udaya R. Tennakoon, Sri Lanka/Switzerland

Markus Zielinski, Germany



~*~

Editorial Project by

Fabrizio Frosini

~*~

Cover by

Udaya R. Tennakoon

~*~

Editorial Board:

Fabrizio Frosini, Pamela Sinicrope

~*~

~*~

Our Chains, Our Dreams

Part Two


By Fabrizio Frosini and Poets Unite Worldwide


Published by Fabrizio Frosini at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 Fabrizio Frosini


Editorial project by Fabrizio Frosini


Anthology of Poetry

Poems by:

Fabrizio Frosini, Alexandro Acevedo Johns, Kasiviswanathan Balakrishnan, Abhilasha Bhatt, Tom Billsborough, Judith Blatherwick, Daniel J. Brick, Ammar Butt, Majid Gaggi, Dimitrios Galanis, Negar Gorji, Simone Inez Harriman, Nosheen Irfan, Seema Jayaraman, Chizoba Vincent John, Tapera Makadho, Kenneth Maswabi, Sarah Mkhonza, Bharati Nayak, Sarah Louise Persson, Lendsy Salcedo, Anzelyne Shideshe, Pamela Sinicrope, Robert Murray Smith, Petra Soliman, Udaya R. Tennakoon, Markus Zielinski


Cover by Udaya R. Tennakoon


All rights reserved

ISBN 9781370906574


Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the Authors, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for respecting the work of the Authors.

~*~



«We wanted to confess our sins but there were no takers.»





Czeslaw Milosz, 'At A Certain Age'



~*~

Table of Contents

Opening Note

Acknowledgement

The Poems

Poets Unite Worldwide

Other Books Published

Where to find us

~*~



«We soared a bit from the earth,

We flew a bit





Yehuda Amichai, 'We Were A Good Invention'



~*~

Opening Note

As I did for 'Part One', I prefer to skip a formal introduction. In its place, I've chosen a poem written (again) by Daniel J. Brick —you can read it just below this note—. It is a poem that speaks volumes about the feelings that constitute the basis of this book, too.

I also have to mention that the arrangement of the poems in this collection does not follow the usual alphabetical order (according to the poets’ names): in effect I’ve been delighted to accept Pamela Sinicrope’s proposal for a different order. Her words give the right guidance:

«I ordered the poems in our collection according to the following loose guidelines:

1. Start and end with a short strong poem;

2. Mix poems by short and long;

3. Link the poems to each other by a word or a theme.

This was a challenge, but fun. I enjoyed seeing where poems linked to one another. Some of the links were truly surprising

Have a nice reading!



(Fabrizio Frosini, Firenze, March 2017)



~*~



The Muse: Her Presence



This morning, in the gray light

of early winter, I was promised

a poem. "It's waiting for you,"

she said softly. "Look for it

in familiar places near home.

Not that distant home of your origins,

but the one close by, that has served

you so well, in these years of endeavor."

And she had departed, in the middle of

a thought. It's almost a routine by now:

she is summoned by another poet, perhaps

like myself, perhaps not. I don't know –

How many poets does she attend? How does

she determine her visitations? Does she

check names – This is useless and unworthy.

I'm acting like a cast-off lover, a jealous

one, a hurt one... I will soon fulfill

this morning's promise: the poem, already

half written, lies face-down on the table.

What else is there to consider. Oh, yes,

it is the lingering scent of her presence.



(Daniel J. Brick)



~*~

Acknowledgement

A heartfelt thanks to all the poets who have contributed to the realization of this book: twenty-seven poets (representing twenty-three countries), belonging in the free Association 'Poets Unite Worldwide', have taken part in the present Anthology.

My co-editor, Pamela Sinicrope —born on the East Coast, bred in Texas, living in Minnesota— edited the poems and ordered them; Udaya R. Tennakoon, from Sri Lanka, but living in Switzerland, created the book cover. It is with their excellent help that this book can now be added to our collection.

~*~



«Overhead, pelicans glide in threes—

their shadows across the sand

dark thoughts crossing the mind.»





Natasha Trethewey, 'Vespertina Cognitio'





~*~

The Poems

Tom Billsborough, 'Creative Force'

Daniel Brick, 'Seven Windows: A Tale of the Future'

Fabrizio Frosini, 'Voices of the Wind'

Fabrizio Frosini, 'Le voci del Vento' (Italian text)

Seema Jayaraman, 'Dance With Me'

Sarah Mkhonza, 'When Will It Rain'

Tapera Makadho, 'Doors'

Dimitrios Galanis, 'Sisyphus'

Dimitrios Galanis, 'Σίσυφος' (Greek text)

Simone Inez Harriman, 'Porcelain Perfection'

Pamela Sinicrope, 'The Kiln'

Petra Soliman, 'Rose'

Sarah Louise Persson, 'Becoming One'

Lendsy Salcedo, 'The Living Muse'

Abhilasha Bhatt, 'An ode to canvas'

Anzelyne Shideshe, 'Come Online'

Nosheen Irfan, 'From the Diary of a Poet'

Majid Gaggi, 'To you, O'

Ammar Butt, 'Change'

Alexandro Acevedo Johns, 'The End Of Our Era'

Alexandro Acevedo Johns, 'El Fin De Nuestra Era' (Spanish text)

Robert Murray Smith, 'Coexistence'

Markus Zielinski, 'I am'

Markus Zielinski, 'Ich bin' (German text)

Udaya R. Tennakoon, 'Evening Walk'

Kasiviswanathan Balakrishnan, 'Memories about the Sacredness'

Bharati Nayak, 'A Day For Myself'

Kenneth Maswabi, 'Sickness'

Judith Blatherwick, 'Moonstone'

Chizoba Vincent John, 'Moonchild'

Negar Gorji, 'The Scale of Love'

~*~

«TITYRUS:

Yet here, this night, you might repose with me,

on green leaves pillowed: apples ripe have I,

soft chestnuts, and of curdled milk enow.

And, see, the farm-roof chimneys smoke afar,

and from the hills the shadows lengthening fall!»





Publius Vergilius Maro (Virgil)

Eclogues, I. (MELIBOEUS, TITYRUS)



~*~

Tom Billsborough

Creative Force





The miracle of Life

Lies in our dreams,

The randomizing seeds

Which energize compulsion

A dark creative force

Beyond our comprehension

Forcing us to sing.

We have no option

But to fashion it in words.

We cannot stop their flow.

I am but a violin

Continuing on its score

Until the final note is played

And the melody is complete.

But I do not decide.

No, I do not decide!







~*~



Tom Billsborough, UK



— I was born in 1943 in Preston, England, and currently live in Kirkham, North Lancashire. I'm a retired chartered Accountant. I write poetry in English & French, and translate from French & Spanish.



~*~

Daniel Brick

Seven Windows: A Tale of the Future





Seven windows face us

as we eat at our host's table.

They let in the gray light

of an early spring day,

a dry, cold, dusty light,

still tarnished with winter.



Seven windows face us,

like sentinels with bad

intentions, guardians of

someone's declining fortunes.

We eat the spare diet of our

host and drink his pale wine.



Tall candles provide sparse light,

and smear a yellowish tinge

over our dry faces...

No light reaches our eyes.

It pools in the broken

faded tiles of the floor.



The window glass might have

been a mirror but the dim

light was too shallow to find

any reflection shining within:

instead of transparency,

the light further stains the glass.



We are seated at a banquet

table, spaced far apart to prevent

conversation. Not that we

feel an urge to talk. It would

only bruise our pride

more grievously than being here.



Our host displays only

courtesy. He speaks inaudibly

to his two female servants.

They are old and wizened

like him. Only once has he

addressed me: "Thomas, more wine?"



Our host is Augustine, once

the dictator of our city,

who ruled with stealth and

cunning. Now he is a corpse

rotting slowly in solitude.

His subalterns stole



his power six years ago.

They rule from a block

of concrete in the city center.

Augustine lost his wife

and three daughters to

the renewed SARS epidemic.



He has nothing to show

for his life on earth. No

monument, no heir apparent,

no public document recording

his service. He must be

lonelier than the ghosts



of those he killed. Someday

I swear I will stand in

the public square where

the executions happened

eleven years ago. I will

stand and wait, silent



but stretched to my full

stature, no hobbling with

a cane, no kowtowing

to their authority. Let

them drag me off to prison

for six months or a year.


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