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COLLABORATIVE POETRY
PICNIC IN THE YELLOW WOOD
Vanessa Proctor (AUS) 1, 4, 7, 10
Hanne Hansen (DEN) 2, 5, 8, 11
Patricia Prime (sabaki) (NZ) 3, 6, 9, 12
blackberry picking
the children’s lips
stained with juice
picnic in the yellow wood
searching for mushrooms in vain
secluded path
a fantail leads
along the river
a long soak in the bath
after a hike in the mountains
New Years evening
reindeer meat and Glühwein
ten below zero
gospel singers’ voices
echo in moonlight
into the pothole
the gush of water
in an underground chamber
tiny leaves on the chestnuts
swans pairing up on the lake
spring cleaning
an anniversary dinner
planned for the evening
the man on the mobile
never stops talking
once hour of running
once a week in the big park
the beauty is gone
night-blooming jasmine gives
heavy fragrance to the air
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DE GEUR VAN HYACINTEN
de zuidenwind brengt
de geur van hyacinten
van de buurvrouw
de dagen krijgen weer wat
fine fleur van langer rekken
de dorpsstraat gestremd
door een stretch limousine –
hun zoon is terug!
de helft van de schoolmeisjes
verliefd op de buschauffeur
een afspraakje
in dezelfde jeugdherberg
een halve eeuw later
zicht op een muurschildering:
Alex ”Hurricane” Higgins*
de mistige maan
boven het touwbruggetje
van Carrick-a-Rede
loopt er iemand overheen
deze herfstavond?**
op het zebrapad
een platgereden egel
nog niet ingedroogd***
het prikkeldraad pronkt
met plukken witte wol
vanuit de keuken
het pikante aroma
van varkensgebraad
te vroeg ontsproten bollen
behoedzaam toegedekt
* vredig in memoriam dat contrasteert met soortgelijke uit die periode van IRA en Unionisten slachtoffers van de Noord-Ierse onlusten
** ter ere van Bashō, die schreef:
het pad door de velden
niemand die erover loopt
deze herfstavond
*** met dank ontleend aan Simon Buschman, Kalm op de vleugels, Lemmer, 2008, p. 17
Verzen 1, 3, 5, 8, 10 & 12: Marianne Kiauta (sabaki), de overige: Paul Mercken, beiden NL |
THE SCENT OF HYACINTHS
the south wind carries
the scent of hyacinths
from the neighbour’s wife
the days receive again
some fine peak of lengthening
the village main street
blocked by a stretch limousine –
their son is back!
half of the schoolgirls
in love with the bus driver
having a date
in the same youth hostel
a semi-century hence
view on a mural:
Alex ”Hurricane” Higgins*
the foggy moon
over the rope-bridge
of Carrick-a-Rede
does anyone walk on it
this autumn evening?**
a squashed hedgehog
on the zebra crossing
not yet dried in***
the barbed wire sporting
tufts of white wool
from the kitchen
the pungent aroma
of roast pork
prematurely sprouted bulbs
covered with caution
* peaceful memorial contrasting with similar ones of that period of IRA and Unionists victims of the Northern Ireland troubles
** in honour of Bashō, who wrote
the path though the fields
nobody walks along it
this autumn evening
*** gratefully borrowed and translated from Simon Buschman, Kalm op de vleugels, Lemmer, 2008, p. 17
Verses 1, 3, 5. 8, 10 & 12: Marianne Kiauta (sabaki); the other: Paul Mercken; both NL |
SKIPPING STONES
Peggy Bilbro
Terri L. French
Christina Nguyen
Kathy Nguyen
eavesdropping
on private conversations
fireflies
the moon and I
waxing poetic
text messages
paint the night
with short strokes
paper swans in the birdbath.
his last love letters
hearts in the sand
out with the tide
flipping the hourglass
I forget to turn
the clock hands back
nobody listens
to the rain puddles form
my ujjayi mantra
caught midway
in the candle's shadow
(verses appear in the order of authors' names)
Graphic by John M. Bennett and Jesse Freeman
THE FORCE THAT THROUGH THE GREEN FUSE DRIVES THE FLOWER
-- Dylan Thomas
Giselle Maya
Jann Wirtz
a sprig
of almond blossom
in the empty honey jar
flakes of rose- pale snow
come forth from iron
horsehair
woven into a bird's nest
soft breeze before spring
a moth-winged buzzard
slips across the sun
first violet
folding up sweaters
and darned socks
further North
thermals still in use
spiralling kites
the grandparents play
bored children text
squirrels hide their walnut caches
will they find them again
after snowmelt
in a clearwater stream
the lost wedding ring
forming new heartwood
the ancient wind-swept oak
rising from sleep
with the leaves and the bluebells
Green Man of the woods
bookworm on a mountain top
what a view of wild lands
melon moon
dream of a cedar garden hut
not yet, not yet
with her bells, beads and prayers
the old hermitess
lingering cold
almond blossoms still closed
a pink sheen
a soft mist of buds
on the greening trees
a brief visit
sparks fly in the kitchen
over tea and rice
ganders fighting in the yard
and on the hill the boxing hare
spring fever
the cat in search of a mole
and i clipping moss roses
searching seed catalogues
for colourful vegetables
gardener¹s delight
snowdrops pierce
the cold earth
blackbirds listen in the grass
as worms turn
magician
of peculiar powers
the poet
alchemy of words
refined at her window
tracery of trees
bursting with leaf and birdsong
still this bitter wind
the almond blossoms
can bear the morning’s frost
the trickster winter
now you see him
now you don’t
he hides in snowpatches
within the frozen earth
last to feel the sun
that line of frost
along the woods edge
the path to Merlin’s hut
where owls court
soon swallow days and starry nights
the great plough turns
the year again
restored by the earth
I plant snowpeas all in a row
planting by the moon
one phase for roots
one phase for leaves
one phase for fruit
one phase for flowers
the oakwarden
his rasping voice and blue flash
through the misted woods
full moon ringed with spring haze
rabbit pounding sweet rice
ever wandering
between sky and earth
shape-changing clouds
dog-otter nights
from stream to sea's edge
from the shed
a cracked clay pot to hold
a pale yellow peony
a small sip of nectar
for the earliest bee
red peony shoots
rise gently into this spring dawn
their green fuses alive
from earth to bluebell
pale indigo meets the sky
started end of February 2012
finished March 21, 2012
WINGSONG
Autumn Noelle Hall
Claire Everett
black caterpillar
making a mad dash across
the highway~ ~ ~ ~ ~
what is it we believe lies
on the road’s other side?
whitethroat perched
on dew-prinked nettles,
the caterpillar
to which you cling is what
keeps you from your song
hornworm’s munching
jaws on the tomato vine
drowning out the breeze—
why such reluctance
to be whispered into wings?
will I ever
get through... get through to you?
clickety-clack
on the crazy paving
a song thrush with a snail
inch-by-inch
measuring the world in your
tentative strides ./\. ./\. ./\.
why not reach feathered feelers
to tickle the full moon?
chasing the light
on dragonfly wings
one last breath of fire
before the hobby
plucks you from the blue
windhover
quivering pinions fanning
the fading sunfire
how my heart flutters...then
drops as you plummet
insect-shimmer
so many words
to choose from...
taking their fill of summer
swifts on the wing
rasping cicadas
their resonance rounding out
the cottonwood...
you and I are chanting
the circle song, too
eye spots
the peacock butterfly
returns my gaze...
from chrysalis to wing-dust
this life of dreams
Graphic by John M. Bennett & Jim Leftwich
MOTHER MAIDEN CRONE
Autumn Noelle Hall
Claire Everett
the waxing moon
a sickle in the eye
of the lake
Her waters undisturbed
by its curved silver blade
a glimpse of Her
on the heels of dawn...
the Huntress
with her deerskin quiver
of fast-fading stars
the brush of footsteps—
trails through dew-laden meade
beckon
the lure of honey-scented air
following in Her wake
scent of clover
even as we drink
She fills the cup. . .
our days but travel-stain
on the broodcomb
blossoms breath
waxed against this wintering,
the sweets of youth
as the moon grows gibbous
Hebe’s pitcher ever full
round in Her belly
pollen on Her fingers. . .
summer's sweet voice
humming apples
into the tree
woodland voles,
their borrowed burrows
between its roots,
clock the season
in velvet pups
where foxgloves spill
their thimbles of dew
in hip-high grasses
the doe licks clean
two speckled fawns
and you, Milady,
courted by Common Blue
butterflies,
weave a crown of clover
for your bonny child’s hair
these wings of light
with their dark undersides
and darker shadows...
where now, the Gatekeeper
with her keys to the meadow?
She has flown
with thistledown
from the heath
lost to these swirling mists
and the full moon’s wane
between fingers
soft, Her hair’s fading hue
goldfinch song
where teasels comb the breeze
gossamer, burnished, gone
rowan berries
now wrinkled and dried
clinging to the branch
one last taste of magic
for this crested waxwing pair
leaf-fall light
red and gold on the roe rings
where the doe traced
a path of infinity
her mate on her heels
at dusk, She travels
dim-lit path by memory,
wit and walking stick
called by the throaty summons
of a patient Great Horned Owl
last sliver
still, the call to hunt
in the wild cat’s eyes...
at dawn, the lure of earthshine
as Her tracks become snow
EVER HIGHER
mw = Marcel van de Weghe, NL
pm = Paul Mercken, NL (sabaki & translator)
pp = Pat Prime, NZ
mk = Marianne Kiauta, NL
fm = Fokkina McDonnell, GB
ever higher
the buzzard circles –
wings steady mw/pm
open-air concert
children play taiga drums pp
the weather turns dark
rattling of hail
and loud yelling mk
the museum garden
large white marble spheres fm
threaded between
the city’s high-rise buildings
moon shadows pp
he sweeps the fallen leaves
and smiles at passers-by mk
bring-and-buy fair
a dozen copies
of the book club favourite fm
billets doux mark the pages
of their après ski reading pm
young lovers
snuggle before the fire
with a cheap wine pp
a nosey Nelly keeps staring
ignores her mother’s calls mk
daffodils, tulips
under the striped awning
and a dozing cat fm
in the fresh green valley
distant cowbells pm |
STEEDS HOGER
mw = Marcel van de Weghe, NL
pm = Paul Mercken, NL (sabaki & translator)
pp = Pat Prime, NZ
mk = Marianne Kiauta, NL
fm = Fokkina McDonnell, GB
steeds hoger
cirkelt de buizerd –
vleugels recht
openluchtconcert
kinderen op taiga drums
het weer verdonkert
roffelende hagel
en luid geschreeuw
de museumtuin
marmerbollen groot en wit
geregen tussen
de binnenstadstorenflats
maanschaduwen
hij veegt de bladeren aan
en glimlacht naar passanten
ruilmarkt
een dozijn exemplaren
boekenclubtopper
billets doux als bladwijzers
bij hun après ski lezen
een jong paartje
knusjes voor het vuur
met een min wijntje
nog staart nieuwsgierig Aagje
hoort niet haar moeders roep
narcissen, tulpen
onder het gestreepte zeil
en een lome kat
in het frisgroene dal
koebellen ver weg |
NAHEINANDER
Heike Stehr
Ramona Linke
Lauer Sommerabend
unter hohen Tannen
reifes Springkraut
zur Perlenhochzeit
endlich – Kanada!
Ankunftshalle –
in der Hand des Au-pair-Mädchens
zittert das Foto
zwischen den Stelen
Oktobersonne
Windmond
überm Kartoffelfeuer
komm bei mich bei
naheinander
Spaghetti all’arrabbiata
nach der Premiere
die Blicke
des Taxifahrers
irgendwo schluchzt
ein Akkordeon
zugeschneit …
das letzte Kaninchen bezieht
sein Kellerquartier
hinter Glastüren
Embryos in Formalin
Maiglöckchenduft___
sie schaltet
den Computer aus
im Hundertmorgenwald
Amselduette
CHEEK BY JOWL
Heike Stehr
Ramona Linke
tepid summer evening
beneath tall fir trees
ripe touch-me-nots
pearl wedding
at last – Canada!
arrival hall
the photo is trembling
in the au pair’s hand
between the steles
October sun
harvest moon
above the potato bonfire
come ‘ere by me
cheek by jowl
spaghetti all’arrabbiata
after the premiere
the glances
of the cabman
somewhere
a sobbing accordion
snowbound ...
the last rabbit moves into
its cellar room
behind glass doors
embryos in formalin
lilies of the valley–___
she switches off
the computer
in the Hundred Acre Wood
blackbird duets
Graphic by John M. Bennett & Reed Altmus
SLOW RAIN
Patricia Prime
Owen Bullock
on my wedding day
Dylan performed his first concert
in Britain –
half a century later
my son listens to his songs
looking our at Tuhua
blades of grass that yesterday
were blowing in the wind
are still as my body,
as the surface of my skin
your txt comes
from Franz Josef glacier
I think of you
wearing that absurd fur hat
in the bleak icy landscape
walking the hills
in Western Clare
late blackberries
peppering the road
sweetening the distance
in the South Island
he sees all those insects,
birds and animals
he’s only heard about: weka,
kea, albatross, and penguins
the cry
of the kakariki
the surprise of the kaka
so close, watching us
with real curiosity
received in the post
his ‘scrap-paper’ poems
written in pencil
his hand-painted card
of red polls in winter sunshine
sharpening
my most prized writing tool
so simple
the hand-washing sways
this side of the cow paddock
Graphic by John M. Bennett & SW
HOLES IN THE SAND
Patricia Prime
Owen Bullock
curved
into the river
whitebaiter’s net
thoughts of oil
drifting
looking seaward –
above a cruise ship
bleached sky
watering the garden
some part of me wakes up
the veined body
of a Monarch butterfly
in the spring classroom
slow rain –
the marking pile shrinks
looking for oil
I pick up
holes in the sand
with its cleansing scent of ozone
the ocean gleams in twilight
SOMMERVÖGEL
Helga Stania
Ramona Linke
Wilde Kirschen
die ferne Glut
der Sterne
am Fuße des Uluru
ein Gewitter abwarten
"Oh Lord ..."
Janis Joplins
unvergessliche Stimme
hinter dem Wandschirm
vage Schatten
sammeln
bis Mondlicht
die Pilze versilbert
wo die Mauer war
schweigen
Morgenläuten –
an den Händen
Brotteig
ein Jäckchen stricken
fürs ungeborene Kind
leichter Schneefall
im Altenheim feiern sie heute
Verlobung
eine Dame löst den Ring
vom erfrorenen Falken
Kaffee und
Dürers Federzeichnungen
zur Blauen Stunde
John Donne—
seine Meditation lesen
Insel unter dem Wind
Nächte verschrieben
dem Voodoo
bis zur Mondschale
Hyazinthenduft
per Wurmloch
nie geahnte Dimensionen
durcheilen
Gruppentherapie –
den Tremor ignorieren
Nebel ...
Der Sektenführer trägt
'ne Bill Haley-Locke
Andropause.
Seit Tagen ist er nicht erreichbar
auf dem Campingplatz
das Vorzelt belagert
von Glühwürmchen
die Wasser des Todes;
Gilgamesch im Stocherkahn
neben dem Stuhl
des Anglers warten
zwei Katzen
Wolken jagen
zur Walpurgisnacht
speed dating –
der junge Magnolienbaum
blütenübersät
Richters Fenster
durchströmt Osterlicht
SUMMER BIRDS
Helga Stania
Ramona Linke
wild cherries
the distant glow
of stars
at the foot of the Uluru
waiting for a thunderstorm
"Oh Lord ..."
Janis Joplin's
unforgettable voice
sketchy shadows
behind the folding screen
to harvest
until moonlight
silvers the mushrooms
where the wall was
silence
morning bells -
the hands
in the bread dough
knitting a coat
for the unborn child
faint snowfall
at the retirement home
engagement party
a lady detaches the ring
from the frozen falcon
coffee and
Dürer's pen drawings ...
Blue Hour
John Donne—
reading his Meditation
Windward Island
nights devoted
to Voodoo
up to the moon bowl
fragrance of hyacinths
rushing through
never guessed dimensions
by wormhole
group therapy -
to ignore the tremor
dense fog...
The sect leader wears
a Bill Haley-Curl
Andropause.
He is unreachable for days
at the campsite
the awning
besieged by fireflies
Waters of Death;
Gilgamesh in the punt
the fisher's chair
flanked by
two cats
chasing clouds
towards Walpurgis Night
speed dating -
the young Magnolia
strewn with blossoms
Easter light flows
through Richter's window
Graphic by John M. Bennett, Baron, & Jim Leftwich
WHERE THE WALL STOOD
DOUBLE RENGAY
Claudia Brefeld and Helga Stania
EAST WIND STEPPING STONES
divided street –
my foot pauses
at the cobblestone line |
behind wall remains
the old cherry tree …
lost dreams |
a little bookstall
the Capital worn out |
craftsmen market --
a woodpecker hammering |
between bars
faces looking
from „over there“ |
overgrown
stepping stones up to
the cellar hole |
east wind freshens
wearing a piece of balloon silk
as a talisman |
a female fox
guides her whelps
into the light |
torch fire, hot tea
at that time in Leipzig … |
between thorns the sweet
of childhood |
May night.
Masur conducting:
Ode to Joy |
beech logs
in the datcha
expanding warmth |
CB 1/3/5 CB 1/3/5
HS 2/4/6 HS 2/4/6
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