Poems for Dylan Thomas - 2 -

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - Each individual poem is copyrighted - Tous droits réservés


TUTTI I DIRITTI RISERVATI. Il copyright di ogni poesia appartiene ad ogni singolo autore


The poems are published in order of arrival

Poesie pubblicate in ordine di arrivo

Les poèmes sont publiés par ordre d'arrivée

Quotes from Dylan Thomas: ‘© The Dylan Thomas Trust’



 My liquid world

(amid winds of war)

to Dylan Thomas


This ashen day in March

opens with dancing shadows -

images carved in the air

of the Spring still too far.

An insidious mist enshrouds me

in crescendo.


Among echoes in subtle vibration

teach me, Dylan, to take shelter in

my liquid world


teach me to feel the pulse

of the tides that ceaselessly

ebb and flow


And while time and space dissolve

in the primordial roar of the ocean


teach me to fly away, with you, from

the void ... of this bewilderment  of that insanity*


* from: Although through my bewildered way


Lidia Chiarelli, Italy




Lidia Chiarelli (Turin, Italy). Writer, artist, translator, founder with Aeronwy Thomas of the literary-art movement Immagine & Poesia  (2007). Six nominations for the Pushcart Prize (USA). Awarded with the Literary Arts Medal (NY) 2020. Sahitto International Grand Jury Award 2021. Poetry Star, China 2022. Coordinator of DylanDay in Italy. Her poems are translated in many languages and published in several countries around the world. https://lidiachiarelli.jimdofree.com/


Cleansing Water



They maybe teardrops from heaven,

Soothing the Earth while it

Splashes on the ground,

Dewey raindrops from the sky

Nourishing the floras and faunas around.


Cleansing water,

Purifies the soul

Calms the spirit,

As you witness the setting sun

While walking barefooted on the shoreline,

With waves dancing 

Amid crystalline waters.

Cleanses a weary heart,

Washes away the tears on your face

Gives life to a dying ember

Provides solace and a warm embrace.


Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo, Philippines





Elizabeth Esguerra Castillo (Philippines) is a muliti-awarded International Author/Poet/Visual Artist. She is the author of "Seasons and Emotions" and "Inner Reflections of the Muse." Elizabeth is the co-author of more than 100 international anthologies and her works were already translated into 13 languages.



(for Patricia Holt)


Down below my mountain refuge,

down below in the crest of sea,

black storm waves bellow,

crashing upon frothy shores.


And in the cliffs at the shore’s edge,

in the darkest caves,

where no human enters,

rest the cold night birds

behind folded wing.


Seldom does a cry escape

their ancient stone-made caves.

Seldom can they be seen

as they huddle together for warmth.


Tonight a storm is riding the wild wave’s mane

and the wind gives the trees a rush,

but the seabirds remain hidden

from the storm,

their cries unheard, their wings folded

as they rest in their damp mossy caves,

holding dear to the promise 

of a morning sun

obscured for so many days.



 Carolyn Mary Kleefeld




Carolyn Mary Kleefeld (USA) is an American Artist and Poet. Author of twenty-five books, her writing has been translated into over 15 languages and three of her books are available in bilingual and trilingual editions. Her art appears worldwide in galleries, museums, and private collections. www.carolynmarykleefeld.com, www.alchemyoracle.com

You Are Great...

(poem for Dylan Thomas)


তুমি মহান..
সব্যসাচী নজরুল

তুমি জলের দান,
তুমি সমুদ্র সন্তান,
সমুদ্রের মতই বিশাল তুমি
বিশালতায় পূর্ণ তোমার প্রাণ।

ডালন টমাস
তুমি সমুদ্র সন্তান,
সমুদ্রের শাসন তোমার পদতলে
সদলবলে সব অপূর্ণতা শূন্যতায় যাক না চলে ;
তুমি মহান, তুমি মহান।

স্বর্গ থেকে একফোঁটা জল
এসে সমুদ্রে মিশে যায়;
পবিত্র উৎসব, অবগাহন, গোসল সে জলে।
কতো পাপ-পঙ্কিলতা কতো জঞ্জাল প্রতিনিয়ত এসে,
সমুদ্রে মিশে যায় শেষে,
তাতে সমুদ্রের কিইবা যায় আসে!

প্রাণীকুল শান্তিতে লুটাই, ঘুমিয়ে পরি সে জল গায় মেখে
কে সে মহান, কে?
ডালন টমাস তুমি সে,
তুমি সমুদ্র সন্তান
তুমি মহান, তুমি মহান, তুমি মহান..



You are the gift of water,
Child of the sea;
You are as big as the sea
Your soul is full of vastness.

Dylan Thomas
You are the child of the sea
The rules of the sea are under your feet.
Don't let all the imperfections go into emptiness;
You are great, you are great.

A drop of water from heaven mixed with the waves of water of the sea,
When it..
Holy Festivals, oboghahon, bath into the sea.
The fifth of sin is constantly coming into the sea,
What in that,
there is no insult to the sea!

The Animals roam in peace, fall asleep and drink water
Who is he?
Dylan Thomas you are he,
Child of the sea,
You are great, you are great, You are great...






Bangali English Poet SABYASACHI NAZRUL is a bilingual global poet, motivational author, prolific writer, presenter. His works have been published in National Newspapers, Magazine's of Bangladesh and also published in various literary journals, magazines in different countries.

Рубиновый Дракон на изумрудном поле
Сквозь голос твой, исполненный печали,
Колокола валлийские звучали, 
В них Джерард Менли Хопкинс слышен мне…
Драконом красным на зелёном поле
В родном Суонси с ним наедине
Общался Томас на своей волне -
Под очень крепкий виски и стихи,
Пока кричать не стали петухи
О Дилана стремительной юдоли –
С Драконом красным на зелёном поле…
С Драконом красным на зелёном поле
Родившийся в Суонси мистер Бран
Меня знакомил по незримой воле
Того, кем был фаб Ллир Манавидан!
Кармартеншир, Суонси, Камелот
И голос твой, исполненный печали,
Там, вдалеке, где средь огней и вод  
Колокола валлийские звучали…
Вас, жителей Суонси, Дилан, Бран –
Поэт упрямый и моряк упорный,
Под грохот вод настойчивый и вздорный,
Сопровождает через океан
В объятьях пены и разводах соли -
Дракон рубиновый на изумрудном поле.
Ruby dragon on an emerald field
Through your voice filled with sadness,
Welsh bells sounded
I can hear Gerard Manley Hopkins in them...
Red dragon on a green field
In his native Swansea alone with him
Thomas spoke on his own wave -
Under very strong whiskey and poetry,
Until the roosters crowed
About Dylan of the swift vale -
With a red dragon on a green field...
With a red dragon on a green field
Swansea-born Mr Bran
He introduced me by an invisible will
The one who was fab Llyr Manavidan!
Carmarthenshire, Swansea, Camelot
And your voice filled with sadness
There, in the distance, where among the fires and waters
Welsh bells sounded...
You people of Swansea, Dylan, Bran -
A stubborn poet and a stubborn sailor,
Under the roar of the waters, persistent and absurd,
Escorts across the ocean
In the arms of foam and stains of salt -
Ruby dragon on an emerald field.
Eldar AkhadovAzerbaijan
Eldar Akhadov (Azerbaijan) is an honorary member of the Union of Writers of Azerbaijan, a member of the Union of Writers of Russia, a member of the South Russian Union of Writers, a member of the Geographical Society of Russia, the author of 67 books of poetry and prose.




J ai passé la nuit en supplication

Je chantais la mélodie des vierges

Depuis toujours…

Je remets en question

L’esprit de Minerve

A propos de l’élixir de vie

Et chanter la mélodie

Eau de pluie... eau de pluie…

Je souhaite que tu viennes

Sure, sécurisée et sécurisée

Tu as une présence en esprit

Comme c'est beau notre plaisir
laver nos péchés

Eau de pluie... eau de pluie...

Nous crions chaque matin

Peu importe où tu vas

Sur les verges du corps

Et nous relisons

Signes de nouvel an

Nous renouvelons le vœu

Et nous regardons un amour profond

Eau de pluie… eau de pluie...

Tu demeures l’énigme des poètes

Et le refuge des cœurs brisés

Oh.. comme je t’aime.. !!

Tu dissipes mes soucis et mes pensées.






WARDA ZERGUINE : née a Guelma (Est Algérien), elle est écrivaine , Poète , Journaliste.

Elle a participé aux plusieurs festivals en ALGERIE et a l’étranger, et a reçu des prix.






Mas tenho medo de ti

És lindo

Mas não confio em ti

És sereno, és manso

Mas eu duvido de ti

És grande

És vasto

És tenebroso

Assassino impiedoso

Mas mesmo assim


E tenho medo de ti!!!



M. Clara Costa, Portugal




Maria Clara Andrade Soares Pedro da Costa nasceu na Amadora, Portugal, em 1940. Integra uma Tertúlia Poética, “Tertúlia Sempre Acontece Poesia”, que lançou quatro Antologias, onde tem diversos poemas publicados. Tem 22 crónicas, de viagens em Portugal e no Mundo, publicadas na Revista Fugas do Jornal Público. Editou em 2020 o Livro “E O Mundo chama por mim”. Participou em diversas Antologias. “Estórias e Vivências” da Academia Cultural Saudação, “Palavras da Alma” da Editora Brial, “Songs of Honour” de Noble House Publishers Poetry Division.


Between the blue sky and shear endless mass of clouds
Boats skim along the sparkling waves and swirling floods,

Thoroughly piercing around for the strongest wind.
The sailing boat most experienced in that, wins!

A rare whirlwind can render them problems to fail!
As quick as lightning they tempt to take in their sails

And adjust to all the changing of wind timely,
With their eyes fixed on their pennants seriously!


But does a racing whirlwind strike a boat fully,
Then their pennant rotates like hell from misery!
Sails had possibly better be lowered at sight,
As for getting out of its way, time is too tight!

As a most severe bump in the road, this feels then,
But with hoisted sails, that does not take long again!
The boat starts flying around in a swirling way,
If tough stories are not just cheating us today!


Of course, such boats are not built to bear such tricking,
And their sails shred to pieces against the rigging.

The sailing boat then drops down in many pieces,
And the crew has to swim hither else it deceases.


Let all these dangers now not keep us all afraid,
From sailing with pleasure on our beautiful lakes.
As without relaxing we get far too frantic,
And do we mangle each other too fanatic!


 Maurits Christian van Holtz, Netherlands




 Maurits Christian van Holtz lives in the Netherlands. His study of aeronautical Engineering at the Technical University of Delft since 1970 ended with a lot of mysterious, often educative air disasters. In 2013 ornadomirakel Stichting got founded at Rotterdam to publish it. https://mcvholtz.wixsite.com/tornado-enterprises





... is reflected in the sinkhole near enounced

my home located. In the old

house I live in, next to the city park;

all the moisture from the city in this

place gathered. How am I to e-

nounce about this weird place,

my habitat, or destiny,

or expression of my spirituality

unstable. Covered in the bed

(which is actually sofa) I lie,

I hear the rain from the window

how it hits and drips; tired

I am opening my soul in front myself,

because I have nobody else. Clearly

I am still aware that

like this it will last until the end, this life

of mine sterilized, tied to

this bed improvised. I have

no one, and as so it should have

been. I have myself, nobody I

liked. In vain I speak ascended,

I have (when I have) only bodily pleasure.

This contagious ascension heartlessly

has been transmitted to me. You are like that too

like me, aware that I have you,

because you have me too. Otherwise

constantly I do not have. I live since I cannot

quit myself. I'm starving also

while feeding myself, because I know I al-

ways do not have. So and now I'm thinking

of you, right, even though you are dead, but

for me always so alive. One thing

is to have nothing, other nobody.

And you are like me,

I know I have you though

I have nothing. I had you when you were

alive and now when you are dead.

While raining you were coming to me

always, to be my victim.

Never to my karma,

but to my curse - misfortune

immeasurable. She was very cautious

with the crystal in the furniture, as well as important

as a teenager danced not enough on

midnight party. I now know that not

the same to you is about everything, as it was not

the same to me. You are getting clos-

er to me while sitting on the sofa

and some reproductions of paintings

we were looking. I know you loved

those moments my dear, as well

I loved you and your closeness.

We had mutual respect, exactly

because it was not all the same to us. We wanted

the rain never to stop and we looked at each other

ascended. We wanted to continue

with our dull existence,

since to both of us is not the same.

Now too I know it's not the same to you, so in the past

tense I do not speak. As if you are still

alive, for me. Close to the window I am ap-

proaching. I feel like flying over,

not getting out of bed. Towards the day

gray and beautiful I am looking. Every woe

by the rain is suffocated. I feel

a muffled cry in my soul. As it

was yesterday when you called me that

you are sick and that soon you'll

leave me. But exactly from that

I knew you would never leave,

because you called only me.

You were my only soul, as

I was for you. And you are of my

kind, I know I have you, and now when

I have you dead. You are unique, you

are not anything; I know I'm the same

for you. As now, we were standing by the window

and we could watch the gray lake in the park.

I was everything to you and you were my only one,

we had that sight - reduced beauty.

I know there was never for us

anyone to say something, but so

we wanted. We hated the creepy world

together, that surrounds us. Each of us

deserved more, but not here!

I feel we are connected even now,

although from different worlds: male

and female equal to death and life.

You are lying now in the park lake; too heavy

nightly thoughts in it are gathered. And you are

shining in the underwater night, because you are

moon. I can really see

that your dead body is soaking in those waters

so cold of that lake. Moon- your

skin immersed in its whiteness.


Igor Pop Trajkov, North Macedonia




Igor Pop Trajkov (North Macedonia) is renowned writer and film director, multidisciplinary international artist as well. Igor Pop Trajkov’s journalistic and social writings are very popular and influential. He won the first place at the Day of The Poetry poetic contest of the literary magazine The Poet   (2021)   for   his   poem   Unimaginable   Spaces;   was   one   of   the   winners   for   The   Best Christmas  Message Contest (2020) organized by American Corner Struga. This year he was the winner of the best poem contest of Healthy Options Project Skopje, for the Day of the Fight Against the Drugs, with his poem Body Double .https://pyramidusd.wordpress.com/







Más allá de mí mismo

en algún lado aguardo mi llegada

Octavio Paz



No meu lembrar encontrei um azul

de mar e pisei com pés sedentos

na areia rosada de Búzios.

Vejo na transparência seu fundo,

reflexos de ondas serpenteiam a água

morna, o sol doura e o vento musiziert

crescem os penhascos e seus fulcros.

Daqui de cima vejo o solo azul e líquido

e uma raia voa nesta imensidão salgada,

cardumes de peixes escapam das redes

jogadas pelos barcos pesacadores espalhados.

Rochedos atingem seus fastígios e passeio

em seus pensamentos. O que será que os

rochedos pensam? Passeio sobre

pensamentos montanhosos e vejo ao longe

as ilhas afastadas, encostadas no horizonte.


O que fazer para quê

o vento do esquecimento não passe

e desmanche como castelo de areia

esta reminiscência?

Eu querendo me evaporar

para depois me solidificar em rocha

encosta, para ficar perpetuamente

olhando o mar e as ilhas banhadas

em claridade

e sentir as ondas

ininterruptamente me transformando.


 Viviane de Santana Paulo, São Paulo/Brazil






Viviane de Santana Paulo (São Paulo/Brazil), lives in Berlin. She is poet, translator, essayist and novelist, author of the books Viver em outra língua (novel, Solid Earth - Berlin 2017), Depois do canto do gurinhatã, (poetry, Multifoco publishing house, Rio de Janeiro, 2011), Estrangeiro de Mim (short stories, Gardez publishing house! Verlag, Germany, 2005) and Passeio ao Longo do Reno (poetry, Gardez! Verlag, Germany, 2002).

Regina dell'universo.



Scorri sinuosa

Tra strade di terra

Di laghi o fiumi

Scendi tra le gole di chi ha sete

Arrivi come pioggia

Per dare cibo ai mortali

Abbracci la strada dell'arcobaleno

Dai vita a tutto il mondo.


Sei la madre di tutti

Non fai disparità

Disseti gli uomini

Gli animali e le piante

Sei danza tribale

Nelle notti d’autunno

Ti nascondi nei ghiacci d'inverno

Per scioglierti a primavera.


Popoli ti anelano

Bimbi ti aspettano

Con bacinelle in mano

E lacrime in viso

Ti aspetta la terra,

Ti imprigionato i potenti

Vogliono farti diventare di loro proprietà

Ma tu sei tutta per noi, non hai padroni

Ma solo figli da soddisfare e far vivere.


Accarezza oh madre

I nostri corpi

Rinfresca le nostre membra

Cancella tutto il male

Che esiste nel mondo

Acqua, Regina di tutti

Mamma amorosa

Figlia di Dio

Costruisci per noi

Quel ponte di vita

Tra strade aride e piene

Di morte.


Emanuele Cilenti, Italy






Emanuele Cilenti, nato a Messina, Italia, nel 1981,  è: poeta, scrittore, attore, autore di canzoni, film maker.  Ha pubblicato undici libri: “Un filo d’erba che solletica il cielo”, “Viaggi onirici della mia anima”, “Sono solo un incubo”, “Percussioni violente”, “Sussurri celesti”, “Petali d’infinito”,  “Echi immortali”, “Lacrime d’inchiostro sul volto del cuore”, “Aiuto! Ho due mummie in casa”, “Quella scia di luce e di bellezza” e la silloge in tre lingue: (Inglese – Italiano – Spagnolo) dal titolo: “La strada dove abitano i sogni”.


Almond Moon Shore


(For Dylan, Son of the Sea)



Dear Dylan, it is October once again.

You breathe in the salty air you know so

well once more, cemented on a grainy

sparkling shore, whilst seagulls moan and

preach your most sacred dreams.

The secrets you whispered to them

now drifting on ancient winds

ever higher to a foretold heaven.

Your fears long since buried on

the almond moon shore where

your treasured poetic echoes and

utterances flow down the amber

waterfalls of time sublime and

you live again each high tide

evening as your lexical jewels

glisten each starry rush of wave

 after wave, like horses rushing

once more to proclaim your precious

words and utterances in memory of you -

Come, wake up and forge once more your

immortal words on the rocks of truth as the sea

swells and walls of water protect your literary

lamentations. Just now, a heron called out your name

from sea to sea all the way to Swansea, preaching

of your lasting blue halo for us to bask in as we salute

your word weaving tenacity still reverberating in global

cities celebrating your timeless achievements, as we float

on your words soaring ever higher. Even an albatros allows

you to sing its solitary melancholy story of patience and

loneliness on gentle winds whilst looking down on a silver

shore, where candy foam light up the sunset glow and an

ocean symphony carries you over liquid verses

quenching our thirst for your words

immortalised on a glowing

 almond moon shore…


 Don Beukes, France







Don Beukes (France) is an Ekphrastic Writer, Poet, Blogger, Podcaster, and Reviewer at The Poetry Café. He is the author of ‘The Salamander Chronicles’, ‘Icarus Rising -Volume 1 (ABP), ‘Sic Transit Gloria Mundi’ (Concrete Mist Press) and ‘The Girl in the Stone’ (Imspired).



Mai mare potrai tu spiegar

A chi in mar acqua sol vede

A chi non ama onda sua che tace

A chi incendiar tramonto fuoco cieco

non vede che sol che muore 

e non giorno divenir notte e brace..

Mai mare potrai tu spiegar

A chi dolce baciar non sente

D'una salata brezza che fènde

Labbra e silenzio in cuor,

tender muta la mano sogna

D'un'onda che avanzar lenta

La quiete portar piano

Mar che m'ami e rapisci

Amor d'infinito e abisso

Mar che mai senso spiegar non riesci

Solo a chi silenzio ammirar tace

Solo a chi tua spuma, è vita e pace


Andrea Cacopardo, Italy




Andrea Cacopardo (Italia). Classe 1977, per diversi anni chitarrista attivo all'interno di diverse rock band, attualmente si dedica alla scrittura con passione e attingendo a una musicalità irriverente e giocosa.
Ha pubblicato con l'editore Libereria le raccolte: "Filastrofe Musifoniche", "Filamenti Metaforici", "Anamnesi d'enfasi".




Living between water and no water

Life is running on water 

Life is running short of water 

water! water! water! Everywhere

water! water! water! but no where 


Existence is running with water

Over, above, against and with water

Life is starving for the water 

Without single drop of water 

water! water! water! everywhere 

water! water! water! but no where 


Life is searching for water 

Life is penetrating in the water

Water is flooding the life

Flooding homes and malls 

Flooding the emotions of life 

water! water! water! everywhere

water! water! water! but no where


Nature is flooding with water 

Nature is starving for the water

Greenery is flooding with water

Greenery is fading away with no water

water! water! water! everywhere 

water! water! water! but no where 


Muhammad Azram, Pakistan




Azram, Muhammad (Pakistan) Poet and Author Muhammad Azram hails from Pakistan. His literary work and books continue to be published widely and his poems reside in numerous international anthologies and magazines. His selected work has been translated into Italian, Spanish, French, Serbian and other international languages. https://www.facebook.com/muhammad.azram.79


































Not to sleep, the forest on the shore casts the mature smell of trees!

The sound of laughter, the simple words of friendship in the past!

On the beach, singing deep into the shadow of the sun


Let’s dance and give your playmates a wonderful life

Under the turmoil of the white waves, catch the breath of the wind

In the old days, the simple prayers on campus

With the sunset, the chorus of rose clouds

A poem waiting for the sea


The hull in the distance is sliding

Inhabits between seaweed and starfish

Seagull's wings are blanching


Scratch the delicate skin of the beach!


The sea breeze, the unforgettable breath

Burn the eternal seeds between us

With the faint sunlight, the shiny sea

The ridgeline of the beach is raised in the distance

A young heart bursts with youth like a vine sprout


If so, my friends!

The past ten years have only been full of floating flowers

In this warm spring season

On this beach with waves

Let us cherish it, this gathering again


 Tzemin Ition Tsai 蔡澤民博士




Prof. Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai(蔡澤民博士) comes from the Republic of China (Taiwan) His literary creations specialize and expertise in the description of nature, the anatomy of emotion and humanity, life writing, cross-domain writing, and so on.









Hừng sáng ánh dương trên mặt biển

Soạn hành trang vôi vả lên đường

Anh luôn có đức tin được nhiều cá

Như đã từng trời ban lộc thường.


Nghĩ đến biển anh càng gắn bó

Với tình yêu biển như con trai

Quen rồi bão táp cùng giông tố

Biển dạy anh gian khổ với đời 


Anh yêu biển cũng như yêu mẹ

Nên chẳng khi nào phụ biển khơi 

Mẹ cũng cho anh ghe ngập cá

Hơn bao ngư phủ ỏ trong đời.


Anh tự cho mình con của biển

Hừng đông trước lúc bước lên ghe

Anh cầu nguyện mẹ như hằng bữa

Ban phúc cho anh có nghiệp nghề


Anh với biển tình con với mẹ

Biển yêu anh chẳng khác con trai

Suốt đời theo mẹ là nguồn sống

Mẹ chẳng bỏ con trai một ngày


Sóng to gió lớn, ghe yên ổn

Mẹ bảo vệ con trọn một đời

Tình mẹ bao la như biển cả

Con trai của biển là đây thôi?





When the sun shines on the sea

Prepare his luggage to hit the sea

He always has much faith in fresh

As he used to be, the sea  blessed.


He thinks of the sea with all his affection

With a love for the sea, he is like a son

He gets used to stormy rain and storms

The sea tells he bears misery in any form


He loves the sea as loves his mother

So he never betrays the sea as ever

The mother also fills the boat with fish

More than many fishermen, indeed.


He considers himself as the son of the sea

At dawn, before he gets on the boat, you see

He prays to his mother every day

Bless he can keep career as pray


He and the sea are like a son and mother

The sea loves him like a son than ever

He follows his mother the source of his life

His mother doesn't forget her son any time


Big waves, windy rain, his boat is in peace

His mother protects him for a lifetime indeed

His mother's love is as vast as the sea

The son of the sea is here, do you see?


HNC@All Rights reserved




Ho Chi Minh City


Her true name is NGUYEN CHAU NGOC DOAN CHINH. Her Pen name is HONG NGOC CHA. (Vietnam)- She is a member of the Association of Writers of Ho Chi Minh City (Vietnam), Admin of W.U. P (World Union of Poets), the level of GENERAL COUNCILOR of the World Union of Poets with COORDINATORS SILVER MEDAL International Ambassador of the Cercle of the International Chamber of Writers & Artists...




(Based on Mumbles Sea)




The sea


Foggy and tall 


Across the tea


Wrapped up shawl


Griding close to her




Knee. Many have fell


With no tales


left to tell


Across that stretch


of pier




They fell


Into a deep 




Left as dead


These heads




That remain


Lost at sea


Like a bee


No-one left 


to sea.



Samantha Mansi, UK





Samantha Mansi (UK) is studying masters in creative writing with the open university and is in her final year. She has been doing open mic poetry since 2018.



I drown my feet,

the toes wiggle at the soft touch,

the soles float.


The water lifts the dress around my knees,

fallen leaves like a restless boat while rocking its sides,

the moisture raises my elbows above the head, I dream.

I grow out of water.


In the silence that fills my ears,

with questions open,

I immerse my head and chin.


The subconsciousness is breathing, looking for the answers.


Vesna V. Maksimović, Kragujevac, Serbia

 Translator: Katarina Denic, Kragujevac, Serbia





Vesna V. Maksimović is a Serbian poet and artist born in 1972 in Kragujevac. She is a silk painter and the author of four collections of poetry. She participated in numerous art exibitions. Her poems have been published in various literary magazines and blogs.





Go slowly into love's cold night

slowly into the water that has travelled across the smoke of Caerfyrddin  


Slaughter thyself 

into the hills

into the valley storm of the Pheasant's 


blood and feathers

in the welsh black bull's weather


where a 

mother and her calf




In their loneliness ∞


because Love, it cannot live in the woods

nor in the Wren's wooden waves 

of Laugharne


In the white boiling clouds 

That hunt you 


In the wooden thunder shack

That Slaughters you


Into a Saint's torrent loneliness

So the 


Cormorant cries


the lament of Gráinne Mhaol 

with its bronze eyes turning gales 


Into the Boathouse of Laugharne


And Slaughter thyself into the waves of the whistling 



Of a lonesome boatman


Oh my Oxford Geranium

My salacious pearl 


latched upon the cold milk horizon

where the tall-stemmed yellow dogs go to 



by Caerfyrddin


In the horns that are your Father's love

Slaughter thyself 


into the whistling winds of the bull of Laugharne 


Oh, my Oxford Geranium

My salacious pearl

still the silent green hale of days 


that would haunt you, into the Wren's silent stare


The Abattoir


In the Boathouse of Laugharne


...for Dylan Thomas 



 Alan Patrick Traynor, Ireland

April 26th 2022





Alan Patrick Traynor is a Poet from Dublin Ireland. He is the author of SEVEN DAYS OF ASHES, a poetry book written on the spirit of the Holocaust.

It has been said that his poetry is the mystical galvanic paint that sets the fields of Provence on fire.

Leaving and coming back
From sky to sea 
and from earth to heaven 
with perpetual and circular motion
I challenge squalls and winds 
and I never retreat. 
I am small and flexible,
I adapt to the current
I can't twirl like a snowflake, 
nor will I rattle like a hailstone.
 I am the outburst of the clouds, 
I am the manna 
through the plowed fields,
I am the desire of young sparrows 
in the heat of August. 
I am a mosquito bite for the angry stream,
I am a nun among other ones in the placid river. 
Deft I walk down to the sea 
and there I dance between the waves and the rocks 
thinning myself one day and embracing the sky.
Leaving and coming back 
otherelse I couldn’t do.
Claudia Piccinno, Italy


(Published in the poetry book The ceiling, La lettera scarlatta, 2014)

Claudia Piccinno (Italy) is a teacher and a poet. She has a degree in foreign languages and literature. Present in over one hundred anthological collections, she participated in literary competitions, obtaining numerous awards. She is a continental art director for World Festival Poetry in Europe. http://www.claudiapiccinno.weebly.com


“ under invisible umbrellas stout ladies dressed for the male and immoral sea”


from ‘Holiday Memory’ by Dylan Thomas  1954  ‘© The Dylan Thomas Trust’



Day Out in Swansea                         


Seagull shriek cuts the aimless blue

of a summer sky

into pieces of long ago

when on another day

the family stayed

to loll in deck chairs,

easy in that breezy balm

about a picnic growing limp,

and the sunhat left

at the holiday farm.

You see them drift

on the scent of sun cream,

and the sound of the lift

and huff of little waves

slipped slapdash on the sand.

You hear them rise

with groans to find

their seagoing clothes.

Auntie Gladys and Uncle Ron,

Steve, Ellyn, even Mam and Poll.

Feel the excitement.

They are all going to meet

the hurl and grasp

of the mischievous sea.


Slippery as eels these pictures fall,


until caught

in the time-shaken net


You still hold.


      Carole Jacobs, Wales UK




Carole Jacobs and her husband, Allen, have lived on a small farm in West Wales, UK, for over 40 years.
In between looking after animals, gardens and family she has written short stories and poems.
“Journey Coat” a collection of poems about the Welsh heroine, Nest, written as part of Carole’s MA in Creative Writing, was published, as was her collection of Christmas poems, “Twelve Narratives”.
She continues to be inspired by the Welsh countryside around her.

Before the Flesh Called and Opened Me...
Before the Cali of the Lord of the Waters 
I was water,  earth,  bones,  skin 
Silent mortar where a life can gestate. .
That's why I knew the heart of all  messages
Soluble deliriums of my shell,  my armour,  my mind 
Fluid of summers and winters inhabited by millions of stars:
From there, I knew the temptations of wealth and love.
Grown them in battles solid as the wind.
The spirit asked accounts to the traces of mortality.
Leaning the last decisions in the inmaterial world 
Where the specter of betrayal was deposited 
Inside a sacred bowl that always accompanied me.
Paraprhases. Thomas Dylan. Bob Dylan.

Pedro Licona, Colombia
Pedro Licona (Colombia).  Poet and writer has published 60 titles,  like: Travel Foot to Akasha (poems) 1991, Sambapalo (novel). Meeting (bilingual poems) 2019.  Rolling Uphill is Prohibited (bilingual poems), 2022.

"The rivers runs free" by Hanna Supetran


The River Runs Free


I am the river, come flow with me

Let me show you how magical life can be

Close your eyes and float endlessly

Leave what you need leave lovingly


Discover the joy of today’s journey

Run wild me with me, let’s explore eternity

Let’s dance with the wind’s changing directions

Let’s see ourselves in the north’s reflections


I am the river, come flow with me

There is beauty all around us I invite you to see

The trees, the mountains, the rocks and the bees

Oh what a bountiful world I present to thee


I am the river, come flow with me

There is nothing to fear, I am here to set you free

Relish the bliss and taste sweetness of the day

Let’s watch the rising sun, invite her to play


I am the river, come flow with me


I have come to see you free…


Hanna Supetran, Philippines




Hanna Supetran (Philippines) is an internationally acclaimed award winning abstract artist and poetess. Her poems and quotes are extensions of the paintings she creates. Lyrical in style, she has been published in numerous journals and art periodicals. https://www.hannasupetranartgallery.com/home


 Sea Surge


A knowing poet, a gnostic

initiate with ancient secrets,

trees of knowledge

in his back pocket,

of earth serpent energies,

ritual caves of necessity

where riches oh so deep



his own heart and mind,


not mirrored outwardly

in this unloved landscape,

dull lifeless streets—

one of those rickety suburbs

of post-war East Bay boom.

Not like those green be-cottaged

Berkeley avenues where

poems grow wild on trellis vines,

but the parched monotone

liminal spaces of modest means,

where the working class

that keeps the wheels turning


where poetry struggles to

take root and thrive…


No elegiac romantic ethos

of bohemian North Beaches

to be found there nor

ancestral White Horse Taverns—

From where did that inner fire arise

in a petrochemical landscape?

What tidal surge from a higher power

fueled his transcendent visions?


And even further away

from the mantic zone

of the divine omphalos stone

of Delphi—

Skid Row life of Los Angeles:

the seedy red vinyl bars,

the piss and vomit alleys,

the phantom needle parks


poetry goes to slowly die.



above any broken street,

the black raven nights!

The streak of meteorites!

And beneath that street:

the labyrinths of necessity

the infernal core

the sea fire

and tidal surge inside

where riches oh so deep

sometimes sing

the dark lyre

of the forgotten

underground ones.


Ron Myers, USA






Ron Myers (USA) began taking writing more seriously after befriending former Beat Hotel resident Harold Norse in the 1980s in San Francisco.  He studied creative writing at Indiana University and Studio Art and Geographic Techniques at San Francisco State University.  http://www.facebook.com/ron.myers.7587 

Touched by a Mermaid


The glimmering Aegean Sea,

kissed by the silent sun,

sheds millions of shimmering stars

and delights my eyes.


Warm sandy beach greets my feet.

I stride in the cool water,

take a deep breath and dive

into the cool chamber of antiquity.


The sea gathers me in its fold,

caressing me like a lover.


I swim for a while, then

float among the stars 

that coat the calm blue sea.


The sun lulls me to sleep.


I dream about Alexander the Great and

Thessaloniki, his half-sister, the mermaid.


A howling wind erupts my cocoon.

Thessaloniki’s hands grip my feet

pulling me down, and

I sink quickly.


Struggling to be free from her grip,

I cry out Alexander lives! He lives! 


She lets go and swims away as

the tip of her tail flashes

among the frothy waves.


I awaken to the soothing sounds of the waves 

that lap the shore.


It must have been a dream.


I float along the calm water,

among the sea’s glimmering stars,

kissed by the sun that sees everything

and says nothing.



Ipatia K. Apostolides, Greece/USA

April 2022




Ipatia Koumoundouros Apostolides is a Greek American author and poet. She has published four novels and a poetry book. Two of her novels have been translated into Greek. Several of her poems have been published in poetry journals. She is the Director of the Hellenic Writers’ Group of Washington DC and is editor and contributor of the poetry book Glimpses of Our World, a bilingual anthology of Greek and American poems by the Hellenic Writers’ Group of Washington DC. www.pattyapostolides.com


Siren song


A queen of water

Infinite power

In the guise of wet


Wraps you in her arms

And cradles your strokes

While demanding respect

You feel protected but beware

You will never be a match

For the queen that wraps you

In her arms may never let you go.


Andie Petrides, Greece

April 28, 2022






Andie Petrides. Born in the Middle East to Greek parents, Andie grew up eloquent in four languages (English, French, Greek and Arabic) and was exposed to diversity at an early age. She is a writer and a proofreader. She writes for children and likes to use poetry for personal expression.


How to Make a Rainbow


You’ll wait

until that moment

you think the sky

can’t get any darker –

A child running through

grass, waist-high,

scrabbling over potholes

a deer’s hoofs have made.

Years later, you’ll look

at photos of that

morose sky, heavy

with impending rain:

‘Apocalyptic, it was!

Never seen one so dark…’

But right now, all you

can think about is

the need to get away

from the storm

you know is coming –

You know is coming,

but can’t outrun.

Even though, years later

you’ll look back

on that moment,

knowing what

came next –

The triumphant arc

of love and light –

Right now, all you can see

is the gathering Dark

And there,

Right there –

Refract light

through tears –



Rebecca Lowe, Wales UK





Rebecca Lowe born in England, currently lives in Swansea, Wales, just around the corner from Cwmdonkin Park, where the famous Welsh poet Dylan Thoma played as a child. She studied Theology at Oxford University, working as a professional copywirter and editor for agencies in Londen and Bristol, and sub-editor for South Wales Evening Post.


When I Need to Pray

When I need to pray
I go to the Words
While my shadows are swimming
Into the Water 
And I feel a good moment in my crazy mind
For a reason to live.
I love the Words
I love the clear images coming to me 
From the Caribbean Sea
A great sea, occupied in the dance of all shores.
Are many thoughts pushing 
To construct a new order 
Where the children appearing through the walls 
Like the wind after the sunmer.
 Pedro Licona, Colombia  

Pedro Licona (Colombia). Es poeta, novelista, cuentista y editor.  Numerosos libros de poemas publicados, entre ellos: Receta para llamar el amor, 2006; El toque del tiempo, 2009; Cuarto creciente, 2010; Danza del celo en París, 2012; Alma serrana, 2014; En otra calle, 2016. Novelas publicadas: 7 y 45, 2007; Samba palo, 2011; Tiempo de gracias, 2014. Libros de cuentos publicados: Lámparas de mi tierra, 1983 y Campeón de sueños, 1984.


The Colour of Water


Water carried diligently 

Elegantly, meticulously 

In pitchers on women 's heads ,

Across not only 

Deserts, and all the arid 

Parts of this world 

But in big towns 

And cities 

Where for some 

Water flows shamelessly 

Through taps and showers

Ceaselessly, unstoppable 

Like there wasn't and won't 

Ever be a dearth!


The river takes a deep sigh 

And within it is

The sigh of all of its tributaries

Together they pour into the sea

The colour of which 

Is less blue, each day! 

Overwhelmed, together they ask

A simple question

How do we get the blue back?

Our Colour blue? 


Blackened by dust?

Human pollution ?

Why should we forget our colour blue?


The water of this world 

Far more precious 

Than any liquid 

Black gold, oil 

Or gas! Needs urgent attention!

Cleansing, purification!

All have replacements ! 

Except water 

Blue water! 



Pankhuri Sinha, India





Pankhuri Sinha (India) is a poet, writer and translator. She has published several books. Multi-award winning writer. She currently teaches in the department of Hindi and History, at undergraduate, graduate and post-graduate level in a govt. college in Bihar, India, as guest faculty. http://atoopowerfulword.blogspot.com/p/pankhuri-sinha.html





It touches me

the immensity

from which I came.


Under the wing

of the Tintagel's gulls

I opened on the Ocean

a window of light.


Behind the backwash,

the moor

and sun-faded heather

burnt by salt.


On the reef of the cormorants

the fables of the wind

that bends the stems

and burns the young moss.


Fictions of clouds and play of flowers,


in the indigo and golden sunset

in the magic of Cornwall.



Maria Fiorenza Verde


Tintagel, Summer Holidays




Maria Fiorenza Verde (Italy) was born in Bosco Marengo (AL). She graduated from the Faculty of Education in Turin where she became a teacher of Humanities at the Secondary School. She developed her passion for poetry and participated in numerous competitions, winning prizes and awards. She had the opportunity to personally meet Aeronwy Thomas, the daughter of the poet Dylan, also a poet and an excellent connoisseur of the Italian language, who appreciated and translated into English some of her poems. 



“Soy la herida y el cuchillo

la víctima y el verdugo”



Te pusieron Dylan, firmando sin saberlo

la condena del mar que te extasiabas a contemplar

en aquellos años lejanos

cuando los ojos aún no estaban empañados de tanto dolor.


Las colinas de Swansea resguardan las huellas de tus pisadas.

La brisa pasea todavía tus sueños con que embriaga

a inexpertas, cándidas y juveniles almas humanas de aceite,

condenados a ser mañana tan solo de cera.


La mar te deseó más que a cualquier otra cosa y te amó sin medida.

El líquido acuoso te arrebató lo que llegaste a amar más que a tu propia vida

porque la mar anhelaba que la volvieras a admirar como

en aquellos años lejanos

cuando eras tan solo un pajarillo curioso

con el alma de un sabio y la lucidez de la más brillante estrella.


La sal de tu cueva arde y se inunda buscando la capilla perdida.

Quisiera dilucidar la génesis de tu propio apocalipsis,

contar en tu núcleo, cual en un tronco milenario,

los incisos que el arma cortante de un tijerazo

selló en anillos sajados la fugacidad de tu luz finita,

en aquellos años lejanos

cuando inspiraste el primer soplo de vida,

mudada hoy en luz de luna indeleble porque ya resplandeces

desde el lugar donde habita la luz,

dejando atrás el túnel y

el camino colonizado por las fuerzas

de la negra oscuridad.


Bajo el bosque de leche ha acallado una voz para siempre.

Llaregyb se ha quedado desierto de sueños e íntimo pensamiento,

quedan solo los gestos de lo cotidiano

y las máscaras de ceremonias ignoradas.


Dieciocho poemas te vieron nacer y dieciocho copas te verán fallecer

en aquellos años lejanos

cuando emergiste y viviste como un universo desconocido y rebelde.

Te tacharon de salvaje peregrinando hacia el hospicio,

de ebrio, de irracional e indisciplinado, de bruto e inteligible

ignorando los doctos por completo que

la evolución nace únicamente de la deconstrucción.

Olvidando que en el cosmos de idiosincrasia existencial

siempre actúan las fuerzas de mutación.


El hijo del mar se convirtió así,

habitando las agujas del reloj atemporal,

en el sastre del sudario

de las momias que aún seguimos aquí

transitando la tierra.

Muertos en cuerpos vivientes que

hemos dejado la primera cárcel del útero,

acuñada en el ombligo de la cáscara llamada cuerpo,

para caminar firmemente hasta la liberación de la tumba,

soñando como lo hiciste tú en el túnel

la génesis del todo y de la nada,

el color de la gloria

y el de la pluma de la muerte.



VELI BOGOEVA, Bulgaria/Spain





Veli Bogoeva. (SOFÍA, BULGARIA 1987) Ciudadana del mundo y amante ferviente de las letras y el arte como poderosas armas pujantes y fuentes inagotables de deleite para los cinco sentidos.  Es escritora para la editorial colombiana Papel y Lápiz en cuya plataforma online se pueden leer varios de sus relatos publicados. Escribe poesía, relatos cortos, narrativa más extensa y artículos de opinión.

Estimada invisible


A trenc d'alba,
les ombres circulars
despertaran la consciència
damunt la sorra torrada.

Sense destí per desxifrar,
recordo les teves carícies,
els teus misteris,
les teves respostes sense pregunta.

Vaig aparèixer en la teva bombolla,
amb un futur incert, amb un passat desconegut.
Em construïes amb un amor silenciós em banyaves amb els secrets de la vida.

Movies la sang invisiblement
per tots els racons del cos.
Filtraves les impuritats externes,
com pessigolles innocents.

M'has purificat la pell de toxines humanes,
tacades per un vent galopant.
M'has netejat la ment d'inútils xerrameques,
amb esquitxos del sol de la tarda.

Curaves mals de cap
dels pecats irresistibles,
dels instints incontrolables
de la puresa de l'animal.

Quan el cansament em consumia,
remullaves les emocions plaents.
Quan desitjava el poder,
ofegaves el cor amb lleis.

En el divorci obligat,
comprenc que sense tu,
no hi ha vida...
no hi ha mort…


Xavier Panades I Blas, Catalunya



Xavier Panadès i Blas (Catalunya) was born in Barcelona. He is a writer in Catalan, printmaker, musician and performer. He has produced numerous books of poetry and recordings of his music and has exhibited his artworks widely across the UK. He currently lives in Swansea. www.xpan.bandcamp.com




Con occhi di pesce

hai fissato

le bolle del tempo, a palpebra aperta,

e hai guardato

il nodo d’alga sepolto nell’oceano bruno

dei tuoi silenzi senza plancton.

Hai squamato

la cute dei tuoi pensieri levigata

dal risciacquo di bassa marea

e liberato le branchie d’ombra

per bere memorie disciolte.

‘Chi sono?’

Hai provato a dire, ma la parola

è andata in risacca, sulla riva muta,

tra grani di sabbia e polvere d’ossa.

Nelle reti aperte i coralli

amoreggiano con i serpenti,

sangue con erba, mentre il coltello

s’affila sul limite del guscio

e sulla lama ostende la perla.

Il segreto opale scivola

e si sperde,

perché terra è ora flutto,

umore liquido di sonno in veglia.

La voce schiuma

il vagito d’inizio, nostalgia acquea

d’eterna sorgente.


Cristina Costantini, Italy





Cristina Costantini (Italy) è professore associato di diritto privato comparato presso l’Università di Perugia. Oltre ad essere autrice di numerose pubblicazioni scientifiche, scrive poesie e racconti. Sue è la silloge Oblique Trasparenze (LuoghInteriori, 2022). Cura il proprio blog personale https://cristinacostantinicc.wixsite.com/mysite


Tears on the Desert


Love is immense when winter is ending

Warm spring has arrived in here, hasn't it?

Rustically the desert is blending

So arid that all waters cannot fit?


Oh that desert of love isn't a cup

Who on earth really knows its dimensions?

All the tears in the world can't fill it up

Does it need water from all the oceans?


How can all of the tears be adequate

To just cry out of pain for a jailed heart?

Is the philistine body so out of date

That makes the spirit a dadaist art?


Can all the fogs there extend far enough

So as to cover all sand dunes of lust?

And how can desertedness be wrapped through

So sear lips are free from stammering dust?


Too much fog certainly switches to rain

Do you think those drops are tears of heaven?

Can rain wash away a bleeding heart's pain

To drain familiarities even?


Who demandingly needs all seas' water

To stamp out the fire of love from the sky?

Lust's blazes keep flaring up in fierce manner

When will they be extinguished on the sly?


How many oceans will a fairy need

For cooling her blistering heart fully?

And how many drops of passion indeed 

Will placate a true believer truly?


Dang Than, Vietnam




Đặng Thân (Vietnam) is a bilingual poet, fiction writer, essayist and critic, based in Vietnam. There he is regarded "the typical figure of Post-Doi Moi Literature" and considered "the best humourist ever" and even an "awesomely brilliant  genius"

Đặng Thân's poetry has been translated into many other foreign languages

So far his poetry has garnered prestigious international prizes. https://peoplepill.com/people/dang-than


per  Dylan Thomas day celebration

 May 14




muoviamoci per sgranchirci un po’ le idee

come te ho bevuto 18 whisky 18

per seguirti nei tuoi mille tentativi di aprire

un alfabeto gonfio di alcool

parole immaginate

parole fantasma

come fantasma è il gobbo

incravattato chic dentro al parco

per dirla facile

trasporto anch’io un macigno di ovatta

su un cuore scattivato :

è il colore del dire

un tentacolo di piovra


Lella Borghesi, Italy





Lella Borghesi Godard (Italy) è nata a Villanova di Bagnacavallo (RA).

Vissuta quasi trent’anni a Parigi, è ora tornata al paese natale dove scrive e disegna

Moglie del fotografo francese Maxime Godard.Ha fatto alcune mostre e pubblicato dei testi in riviste letterarie cartacee. 


 A Dylan Thomas


Se viene el respiro infinito

con los aguaceros caminando nublado

el agua como torrentes sanguíneos

la lágrima camina hacia el sur

la gota del gran océano hacia tu suelo

el mito sumergido entre celestes

tu poesía que  emana desde

las profundidades de la oscuridad

de los oceanos terrenales

donde se despegan los paridos

por el mar, la sal y las olas

siempre llegaran a la orilla.


Las sombras de mil poetas

que merodean en la habitación

un taciturno entre tu pluma

se viene la lluvia en caída espontánea

los charcos celebran los caminos.


El agua destilada es convulsa

que se sumerge en la narrativa

y se pierde en la poesia

de una voz desconocida

y me ahoga la saliba embriagada

de versos compuestos en la noche.


En el rincón de un hotel

una silla en una esquina

declara las largas horas

de un cuerpo descompuesto  

descansando en ella.


La palabra viene llena de agua

y la tierra solo pide una dosis

de vida en su caída

para sembrar la semilla.


Los cielos lloran la muerte

entre la caida del alba

el invisible roció llega en el amanecer

como palabras multiplicadas

en ritmos desconocidos

en voces celestes

en silencios inexistentes

la cabeza se golpea una y otra vez

contra una hoja de papel

¡Porque los poetas se hacen inmortales!


 María Magdalena Herrera Reyes (Guaremala/USA)





María Magdalena Herrera Reyes [1986, Huehuetenango, Guatemala]. Caminante, mujer,  madre, actriz de teatro, poeta, activista, reside en Los Ángeles, California. Su trabajo ha sido publicado en varias revistas, antologias y lecturas en espacios literarios de varios paises.



Albatros d’intenti

vita di sgomenti

d’amore e tormenti,

voli marini

pindarici e cristallini

su acque dorate

di sogni affollate

senza confini o barricate.

Spingiti oltre

anche su spiagge fosche,

la tua penna salirà,

creerà e fantasticherà

vortici e virate

tra ventate e ondate.

Nel vento oceanico

viaggerai prometeico,

nel fuoco poetico

attraccherai sentimenti

in porti latenti,

sconosciute aurore

diventeranno nuove dimore

nel mare dell’esistenza

notti di parvenza

ascolterai il tempo

compagno ed esempio

spesso lontano e fievole

ti perderai tra stelle e nuvole.


Barbara Rotta, Italy




 Barbara Rotta (Italy), artista, storica dell’arte, ha collaborato con numerose Gallerie d’arte e Associazioni culturali piemontesi, con artisti emergenti ed affermati, quali Mauro Chessa, Francesco Preverino, Francesco Casorati. I suoi studi e scritti sono pubblicati su cataloghi e riviste d’arte. Ha scritto Il colore dell’inganno per Yumebook. Docente in Lettere e Storia dell’arte continua il suo cammino di ricerca e scrittura di poesie e di romanzi all’insegna della sua passione per l’arte.




 Penelope's curse




Одисеју немирном пред пут довикујем:

Понећеш мој лик преко,

У велико море усућеш ме

Да израњам где год станеш.

Белеге за мој пут далеки

Стављаћеш куд кренеш,

Док спутана клетвом чекам,

Узама тајним везана,

Да разгрнеш таму и осветлиш ми траг

Да спадну негве дана,

Да Велики Планер каже:

Чаме промину време,

Искушење би избављење.

Час је за Излазак

Мојсије да склони брану,

Велика Вода да стане,

Да пређеш преко – тамо где реч те чека.

Преко воде, преко тамнаве,

Кроз глинен прстен дана

Прострељена оком ти,

Кунем те што јеси

На бојишту ко зна ком,

Нек Свеприсутни да

Да ти се срце свеже за бедра ми,


Очи за мој ум, чежња за стопе ми...

Што ти срце зажуди – од тебе да бежи,

Што оком погледаш – да затамни

Што душом усхтеднеш – у смрт да ходи

Не умакао јој, што те већ нема,


Што не дођеш?!


Milica Jeftimijević Lilić, Serbia





Milica Jeftimijević Lilić  (Serbia) è nata a Lovac, presso Banjska, nel Kosovo e Metohija, in Serbia. 

Ha pubblicato  29 libri, poesie, prose, saggi... Presentata e in  numerose antologie, è vincitrice di molti premi nazionali e interazionali. Sue opere sono tradote da 30 lingue straniere.Vive e lavora attivamente a Belgrado. Era vicepresidente dell’Associazione degli Scrittori.





As if it were summer

It's raining I'm walking on the beach

my umbrella is blowing in shambles

grey and turbulent the sea

A little later I hear about the shipwreck, again.

The waters are filled with death.

I want my islands back.

These seas will forever carry their heavy burden.

fish knocked up evil

glass eyes will stare at the reflection of dead dreams.

And the dark skin on the shores a rejoicing guilt.

And not being able to hold your hand on the edge of the dry field.

Lover of distance, of train tracks and flight paths. 

You fooled me when you played the lover of green.

In grey markets you are exhibited

In frozen squares you wander

the day is blackening

Mourning the unknown.


(First publication in the Poetry Collection "The Age of Touch", Shakespearikon Edition, 2016)

 Koula Adaloglou




Kyriaki-Koula Adaloglou was born in Veria, Greece.

She studied Modern Greek Language and Literature at the Aristotle University in Thessaloniki. She obtained an MSc in Applied Linguistics from the University of Edinburgh and a PhD in Language Teaching from the Aristotle University of She has published eight poetry books. 


JA JA-díjas költő verset ír, a tengernek háttal

(JA JA award-winning poet writes poetry with his back to the sea)


And the birds watch him.

And the angels watch him.

At times they change places.


 Sándor Halmosi, Hungary





© Translated from Hungarian by Elizabeth Csicsery-Ronay



Sándor Halmosi  (Hungary)  is a poet, literary translator, editor, publisher and mathematician. He attaches importance to promoting poetry and cultural dialogue, as well as the interconnection of literature and fine arts. He published 11 volumes in Hungarian, and in February 2020 a literary manifesto, with the title Ora et labora. Crying-out for Pure Literature.  

Lake and Torrent


This eternal strife

between the smooth

surface of the lake

and the bubbling torrent

spitting froth all around

yet both pretending



Antje Stehn, Germany






Antje Stehn, Germany. Poet, visual artist, art curator, German PEN Zentrum. Co-editor of poetry Magazines TamTamBumBum, Los Ablucionistas and Archer, member of the directive committee of Piccolo Museo della Poesia, Italy.She is curating the art-poetry project “Rucksack a Global Poetry Patchwork“ which involves more than 250 international poets.

  My dream




My dream is coastal,

You call me into the distance...

with you, rebellious,

I'll fly away - meet me!


The most gentle,

Rose petals

You will shower the road into the distance,

To that land of magical dreams.


In the rays of dawn

The sea surf will shine again.

I'm waiting for an answer:

Will you be with me?


The most gentle,

Rose petals

You will shower the road into the distance,

To that land of magical dreams.


Take it with you

And let me go where paradise is.

You have become a dream,

And dream with me.


  Irina Shulgina, Krasnojarsk (Russia)






Irina Shulgina (Russia). Poet, composer, singer and vocal teacher.  Academician of the Petrovsky Academy of Sciences and Arts.  Academician of the International Academy for the Development of Literature and Art.

 Author of more than 300 poems, songs in different genres and hymns.  Representative of the Federation of the world community of culture and art of Singapore. 


The bard's harp



High on the cliffs of Wales

the bard's harp

marks the rhythm

to the breath of the sea,

melts the slow song

into the wind,


the wind that brings

from far-away lands

scent of salt

and whispers of lovers.


Of a whispering fairy

the charming voice

calling to unknown

the bard who’s singing

the story of the time

he's listening to

deep in his soul.


The bard returns

through times

the harp vibrates in the wind,

the song melts

in whispers of lovers

the seductive voice

that calls from afar,

from the mystery of sea.


Claudio Chiabotti, Italy






Claudio Chiabotti (Italy) is a CEng, but aside of his work as consultant manager, he writes sometimes History papers, or some critical essay of Philosophy. He published  an essay on the counties of Piedmont in the Middle Ages, including stories and fables living even today, which was quite successful. The only poems he wrote were those when he was living in England: here is one of them. 


Heavy rain Broadcast


Tomorrow, it will be raining,

they said.

It will be raining in the town, too.


With every downpour

the streets get flooded,

drainpipes become waterfalls,

and people run sopping wet.


It will be raining tomorrow -



Well, I remember


those nights we were counting the drops

that were shining on the window sill  -

sliding away like the time

we were having together.


When storms are coming,

look at the nocturnal light!

Under the streetlamp

water comes to life.


Maybe it will be raining

those same old raindrops.


You will immediately spot them.


They dance and drown together.


  Lina Vatantzi, Greece





Lina Vatantzi (Greece) is an ELT teacher and she owns a MEd degree. She writes poetry both in Greek and English, and has published a collection of poems in 2018. She is also contributing to poetic anthologies, magazines and web sites, as well as presenting her work on social media. 

Rainy agreement


It's raining outside,

I am walking in the rain,

I want to scream.

I don't care

If they hear me

If they see me


In the mud

I don't give a damn,

They don't know anything

They don't care

They never knew

you -

you who gave me

the best

the warmest




Anastasia Ioakeimidou, Greece




Anastasia Ioakimidou (Greece) holds a BA in Human Development, U.S.A (2000), an MA in Psychotherapy and Society, England(2003) and a Specialty degree in Special needs in Education, Greece(2008). She completed a writer’s workshop by “Alati” publications in Greece(2021).



The Womb of the Sea


(To Thomas Dylan)



You gaze at the sea


For centuries now


the womb of strange words and verses


She raised you


She's the one who made you travel


serene and wild


She rocked you to sleep with her lullaby


Mesmerizing the elements of nature



And you all the sea


You became rain and you enchanted her


How could you with your little drops


 wound her pride



You were the farmer who tamed the field


releasing hidden voices


and the seeds of memory



You became the river


who loved the road and the clouds


And now you return to the womb of the sea


transparent and beloved



Chrissa Mastrorodimou, Greece




Mastorodimou Chrissa is working as a teacher at primary school. MSc: 1. Literature and language. 2. Special Education. She is writing articles at several literature magazines and has published two anthologies of poetry and one novel. She lives to the town Larissa of Greece.






Strength or weakness

To be accessible as

Huge tit

Which the world drains?

Question written

In children's drawings

Transformed into

Paper boats

Thrown into the waves

Sailing leisurely

In seas of jellyfish

And other monsters

They strike wounds

Without rebellion

Undermining denial

Harnessing power

Instigating wisdom

Undercutting laziness

Supporting freedom.




Poppy Aroniada, Greece




Poppy Aroniada (Greece) contributes to literary magazines, poetry anthologies in Greece and abroad. She has composed six poetry collections, a novel and a series of short stories is currently under publication. She is the Secretary of the Poets' Circle in Athens and member of PEN GREECE.




The thirst of life in my chest


flood of cleansing water


in rivers that mirror love,


and sweep into the abyss


all the waste that pollutes my soul.


Water in the waterfalls of salvation


washing away the stains of my mistakes


seeking the purification of my being


-rapid and absolute purification.


cleansing water, cleansing thoughts and sins,


-deeds and misdeeds purifying.


Cleansed, drenched, baptized.


I start fresh to looking forward to eternity.



Dinos Koubatis, Greece

Translation by Xanthi Hondrou-Hill




Dinos Koubatis (Greece)  was born in Athens. He studied Theater, French Philology and Journalism. As an actor and director he has worked in Greece, and abroad and has won many international awards,  founded many International Theater Festival and is distinguished as a writer, essayist, poet and novelist.






Clouds I will cast again today into the flamming embrace

Clouds as heavy as iron I will cast to the hearts the heat to erase

I seek you, I want you, I desire you, like my breath and like a sigh

I seek you, I want to find you in my own precious way.


Clouds I'll cast clouds again into the fiery embrace 


I extinguished the passion I didn't live, in the tears of guilt

I felt the end but I didn't descend with the suns that wilt ...

I seek you, I want you, I desire you, like a breath like a sigh

I seek you, I want to find you in my own precious way.


I extinguished the passion I didn't experience in my tear of guilt


Sung in Greek by Maria Farantouri on music by Zulfu Liveneli, in 2003.


Agathi Dimitrouka , Greece

 Translation by Xanthi Hondrou-Hill




Agathi Dimitrouka (Greece) lives in Athens, Greece, writing poetry to be sung and literature for

children, and translating from Spanish into Modern Greek. She has been honored as “Poet in

Residence” in the Center for Hellenic Studies at Harvard University (2019). Awards: BookIll

2018 (Serbia), White Raven 2019 (Germany) and National Award 2019 (Greece)



memory of seascape


drowning in the green of the horizon

the mountain tops sinking

in the desolate plains

victims of primeval human sacrifices

in those old days

when the voice of the trees echoed in the canyons

and mingled with the eagles' cries

how much you were missed

then, when the borders between earth and sky were burning

And you, the only renegade, were raining a dream


who stayed to feed the sea


How much more blue could swallow you


Eleni Nestora , Greece





Eleni Nestora  (Greece) was born in Naoussa in the North of Greece. She has studied paedagogic and is a teacher. She is involved in writing as well as web & publishing and is part of the editorial team of the literary magazine APIKO, which constists of four members. (https://apikomagazine.gr/)



The Sea Monoceros


When you pollute the sea

You’ll find it in the salt.

And I’m curious to see what you will do if

The seawater streams

Bring the oil spill

To our yards… Then I would love to see

how you would have the nerve

to be the first who casts the ballot which sentences

To death those responsible for

This catastrophe…

Let he who is without sin eat the first


“A Crocodile savaged a Journal-

List when he leaned over the lake

To wash his hands” (of the news

That jump out, uninvited, from the screen

When you don’t get inspired and you type-



Dr Konstantinos Bouras, Greece






Dr Konstantinos BOURAS (Greece) was born in Kalamata in 1962. He has studied mechanical engineering at the National Metsovio Institute of Technology in Athens and has been working in this field since 1985. Hehas also graduated with honours in theatrical studies in the School of Philosophy at Athens University. Post graduate studies in theatre (D.E.A.) at Paris III (La nouvelle Sorbonne), in Paris. In 2019 he obtained his PhD (with honours) in Literature, Foreign Languages, Translation and Theatrology from the Ionion University in Corfu. Visiting Professor at the University of Athens.  https://konstantinosbouras.gr



 Dylan Thomas Day 2022



Unraveled expectations

In the hot August afternoon

Hang from the masts

Of the boats with the white flags

That in the middle of the sea

Preserve the remembrance



The sea treasures 

On the scalloped shores 

Of our happy times 

When we were young 

And naïve 

And carefree 

Turned into crashing waves 

Against a life that 

By mistake 

Was born in the forts 




I painted the sea for you 

You dipped your finger in the paper 

And disappeared in it 



Poems hide 

Behind your closed eyelids 

Hades will not take us 

As long as there is love 

And the sea 

Open your hand  

I know what you’re hiding 

Give me a slice of your sun 

To quench my hunger 


Maria Karametou, Greece




Maria Karametou (Greece) is originally from Athens, Greece, and lives in the U.S. She a mixed media artist, writer, and professor with an international exhibition record that includes numerous museums and galleries. Her creative writing is published in several poetry anthologies. She currently directs the Drawing Division at the School of Art, George Mason University, and is an affiliate faculty member of the Department of Women and Gender studies. website: mariakarametou.com





Soy el hombre de una historia que nadie contará

un caminante sin destino ni gloria eterna

humillado por muchos, enterrado con merecimientos

en la tumba gélida del olvido y el oprobio

un luchador sin lucha, un sonador sin sueños.


Soy los desperdicios de una sociedad fetichista;

invisible, inservible ignorado por todos me siento.

Soy la materia putrefacta que se arrastra

por aquellos recodos fútiles de la compasión,

lamentando eternamente mi paupérrima realidad.


Soy el hombre que nadie llorará

sobre mis miserables huesos blanquecinos

roídos por el doloroso efecto del abandono

y sus patéticas ideas de un mundo mejor.

Soy lo que queda de la absurda lógica.


Soy el hombre que no conoces o no quieres conocer,

que amó y no fue amado, que sirvió y no atendido,

aquel que construyó con irrisoria utopía

su triste final sobre el horizonte de la nada.

Soy lo que estorba, lo que debe desaparecer.


Gozas sin reparos de mis miserias, maldices de mis alucinaciones

fustiga mi racionalidad con la oquedad de tu alma

destruyes lo que soy o lo que quiero ser

me destrozas con tu mirada despiadada.

Soy el hombre que muere cada vez que te vas.


Me embriaga esa excelsa figura

y la rebeldía siniestra con

la que tocas mis labios,

tomarte es prodigarme libertad.


Tienes todo lo necesario

para hacerme volar al infinito

mientras me hundo en tu regazo profundo

y de mi pesada carga me libera.


Me diluyo entre tus sabores

amarga y dulce bella

oscura y clara tu presencia

fulgurante amante, eterna e incondicional.


Sin ti es imposible vivir

apaciguas mis pensamientos frustrantes

sacias mi sed de huir

de mis temidos demonios.


Tienes la combinación perfecta:

agua, cebada y lúpulos unidos

que me complacen a cualquier hora.

Pagaré complacido tu inigualable condición,


serás mi eterna compañera.



Aaron Parodi, Colombia






Aaron Parodi (Colombia). Cree fehacientemente que, a través del arte se puede lograr un mundo con justicia y paz. Escritor casual. Hombre incansable y contestatario decide fusionar sus pasiones: la Lucha Social y la Literatura al crear, en 2020: Papel y Lápiz Casa Editorial. Proyecto que ha reunido a más de cien talentos latinoamericanos y europeos. Las expresiones literarias de ellos son difundidas internacionalmente a través de la página web de la organización, además de crear espacios para dar a conocer en otros países vida y obra de cada uno de los escritores.

The ‘Dull One’


The ‘dull one’?

“We cannot call him that,” his mother objected,

Predicted him choking on the Big Apple –

His plum voice stuffed with Brinnin’s dollars;

A tour that would have killed a rock star,

before a single star had imploded.


They played cards on his coffin,

passed him through the parlour window,

held aloft by the village fool,

the only sane man there;

later framed for murder.


And for years; a solitary cross,

It is that, and his genius

that has impressed us the most.


Tony Webb, UK




Tony Webb (UK) was born and bred in Swansea, Wales, UK. His collection 'Down A Sparrow Lane' is available from the author.