Poems for Dylan Thomas 2022

Words from Dylan Thomas

The lunar silences, the silent tide...

The heavenly music over the sand...


(from: We lying by seasand)

‘© The Dylan Thomas Trust’

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’

The sea blues


The night is falling over the water,

turning the view into a black curtain

with golden dust.

I am loosing my mind over old reflections

of the moon, dispersing the fears

like the golden rust.


Life is slow here. 

And the air is humid

so tears often go unnoticed,

and the words get lost 

in the waves,

sent from Poseidon in protest.


I slowly die in your arms,

I drink the wild air

like I used to drink wine.

I toss and turn in 

grave of olives,

waving to sun that never shines.



 Aleksandra Vujisić, Podgorica Montenegro









Aleksandra Lekić Vujisić (Podgorica, Montenegro) is a professor of English language and literature, and a passionate writer of prose and poetry for children and grownups. She participated in poetry festivals and competitions and her work has won prizes and acknowledgments in Montenegro and worldwide.

Aleksandra writes in her native language and English, and her stories and poetry have been published several times and translated into Italian, Spanish, Polish  and Chinese language.



A wild wind is blowing under his pen

shaking words asleep on the seaside

of his mind watching the colors of lands

while the open sea and its fierce tides

are lapping the silence on the strip of sand

awakening his words and spelling the colors

of the river sides along the mountains

in the greenland of his dreams 

Huguette Bertrand, Canada








French-Canadian poet and editor, Huguette Bertrand has published 39 poetry books. Her poems were published in printed and online international journals and anthologies and translated in many languages.

http://www.espacepoetique.com                                     https://www.facebook.com/huguette.bertrand.9



“. . .  those who bathed in the dew

were believed to become immortals.”

    —Robert Payne, The White Pony


They say that those who bathe

in the morning dew become immortals.

Thus, I leave my plate outside

waiting for the rise out of the grateful earth.

Each dawn, the dew returns the rain to the sky

so that the clouds can form again and fly to all

dry spots of earth, and spill their load.

Thirsty, the earth drinks in the offering of sky

and new shoots spring out of the saturated dark.

Then, each time the last star appears beside

the golden moon, and the shafts of sunlight

begin to strike the earth, the dew comes up and up,

flying like a string of kites, up and up into the sky.

Catch the morning rise, bathe in it, drink it—

become immortal as a kite slipped from its tether

becomes part of the clouds which come from the earth

and inevitably returns again and again to its mother, the sky.


—Stanley H. Barkan, USA

(9 November 2001, on the Yangtze River)

*[Published in Performance Poets, Volume VI, 2002.]




Stanley H. Barkan (U.S.A) Poet and Publisher, Stanley H. Barkan’s latest books include, Crossings, translated into Russian by Aleksey Dayen; Brooklyn Poems and Sutter & Snediker (2016); and Gambling in Macáu and No Cats on the Yangtze, both translated into Chinese by Zhao Si (2017).  In 2017, he was awarded the Homer European Medal of Poetry & Art.  American Representative of the art-literary Movement Immagine& Poesia.






His eyes

turned amber

with fiery fear 

I saw

the trembling child

within him

My Odin . . .

He softly kissed 

my silver tears away 

stopping the salty streams

of my pain

dead in their tracks

on my trembling cheek

I tasted 

my sadness

on his lips

A familiar flavor

He took it all away


I closed my eyes

I saw the dawn 

of a new day

the violent storm clouds

parted and cleared

The deep cold 

violet void

of darkness


The sleeping sun 


and smiled 

upon us 

in a warm embrace 

over the salty sea 

of our tears

Illuminating our hope 

and kindling our happiness

filling in the broken cracks

of our worn and torn spirit 

with pure gold

joining us as one 

melting into each other

Entangled in a dance of colors

we became Bifrost 

the aurora borealis

the northern lights 

born to sparkle 

and ignite the night sky

for all eternity


Mia Barkan, USA

July 6, 2021



Mia Barkan is an Artist, Art Therapist, Educator, Poet, and Author of Freya’s Tears, Tea with Nana, and My Sacred Circle Mandala Journal.  Mia's works have been published and exhibited worldwide.  Mia is the mother of two daughters residing on Long Island, NY. 


St. David’s Day
(for Dylan Thomas and all the bards of winter)
Lusty Saint David of the seething sea
roar out your waves of spring to me,
shake the locks of winter-gate
set the story-tellers free.
All your bluster excites me,
patron of tumultuous waters,
metamorphised ice, reborn rivers,
the storm inside us all
raging against mortality,
longing to spring-mate forever
with the laughter of life,
sun-warmed and new
as fresh earth upturned
by harrowing March.

Katherine L. Gordon,  Canada




 Katherine L. Gordon.

Poet, publisher, author, judge, reviewer, internationally awarded, writes from Guelph Ontario, Canada, to promote poetry as a force for unity across the planet.

The Sea


The sea tells me about you

How its drops

Pearl your feet

And their kiss makes them alive,

Ready to run to new shores,

To meet true happiness.


The sea tells you about me

How your hands

Were freed from the anchor

And the fury of your waves

Awakened colours

Tempering my flesh with love.


The sea tells me about you

How the white foam

Of your life craves freedom

Between my rough rocks

And your tongue of sand

Becomes light in my towers.


The sea tells you about me,

How my warm song

Mingles with the waves,

Living notes earthly and divine,

Modulates verses and wishes

Forever inhabited by you.


The sea tells us

How the tempest

Of our souls,

- Reeds bent to the winds -

Subsided in the arms

Of the infinite white moon.


Elisabetta Bagli, Italy/Spain



Il mare


Il mare mi racconta di te

di come le sue gocce

imperlano i tuoi piedi

e il loro bacio li rende vivi,

pronti a correre verso nuovi lidi,

a incontrare vera felicità.


Il mare ti racconta di me

di come le tue mani

mi hanno liberato dall’ancora

e la furia dei tuoi flutti

ha risvegliato i colori,

temprando la mia carne d’amore.


Il mare mi racconta di te

di come la spuma bianca

della tua vita anela libertà

tra i miei impervi scogli

e la tua lingua d’arena

si fa luce tra le mie torri.


Il mare ti racconta di me,

di come il mio tiepido canto

si mesce alle onde,

vive note terrene e divine,

modula versi e desideri

per sempre abitati da te.


Il mare ci racconta di noi

di come la tempesta

delle nostre anime,

- giunchi piegati ai venti -

si sia placata tra le braccia 


dell’infinita bianca luna.


Elisabetta Bagli, Italy/Spain



Elisabetta Bagli è nata a Roma e vive a Madrid. È traduttrice, scrittrice, poetessa, saggista, editorialista, inviata radiofonica, organizzatrice di eventi, rappresentante di numerose associazioni culturali spagnole, italiane e internazionali. Il suo lavoro ha ricevuto premi internazionali ed è stato tradotto e pubblicato in diverse lingue. È autrice di libri di poesie, raccolte di racconti, una fiaba, articoli e saggi per giornali e riviste. È presidente e membro di giuria di concorsi letterari italiani e internazionali. È stata insignita di molti premi per le sue opere in Italia, in Spagna e nel mondo.





Поднималась над морем святая заря.

Море дивное, древнее, вечное, мудрое...

Море -  слёзы невест, 

Море мститель, страж грозный.

Море знает ответы, море слышит вопросы,

В море слёзы солёны, в море ноженьки босы.

Ты прислушайся к морю: 

Что волна - то янтарная россыпь,

И совет! 

В нём вся мудрость веков и небес.

Словно вздох его всплеск.

В море тонет всё небо, высота облаков,

Оно есть колыбель всех на свете Богов,

Оно кладбище тайное вечных грехов.

Море - тайна! 


Море - мудрости блеск!

Так внимай всем советам заморских ветров,

Океанов, морей! 


Слушай таинства всплеск!


Натали Биссо - Natalie Bisso, Russia




The Sea


A holy dawn was rising over the sea.

The sea is wondrous, ancient, eternal, wise...

The sea is the tears of brides, 

The sea is the avenger, the terrible guardian.

The sea knows the answers, the sea hears the questions,

The sea has salty tears, the sea has bare feet.

Listen to the sea: 

What wave is an amber scattering,

And advice! 

It has all the wisdom of the ages and the heavens.

It's like the sigh of a splash.

In the sea all the sky and the height of the clouds sink,

It is the cradle of all Gods in the world,

It is the secret cemetery of eternal sins.

The sea is a mystery! 


The sea is the brilliance of wisdom!

So listen to the advice of the foreign winds,

Oceans, seas! 


Listen to the mysteries of the splash


Natalie Bisso, Russia




NATALIE BISSO, Russia, is a poet, novelist, essayist, and songwriter. Author of 8 original and more than 80 international collections in 28 languages of the world, more than 100 lyrics. Honorary Figure of World Literature and Arts. Academician of the International Academy for the Development of Literature and Art and the Academy of Russian Literature; Advisor to the international publication of Chinese literature (Federation of Literary and Artistic Circles of Hubei), member of the Jury of international competitions. Member of several writers' Unions. Multiple Grand Prize Winner and Laureate of competitions. Multi-awarded poet.


"Message de paix à la mer" par Mokhtar El Amraoui, Tunisie  





Aux mensonges des étoiles,

Je réponds par ma fertilité de sémaphore.

Dans les ondes glacées

De mes mues de batracien,

Pendu aux larmes de mon chapelet de rêves,

Je broute, au crépuscule,

Les moissons de mes vertèbres,

Arcs d’espérance.

Je traîne, dans les rues nues

-Il n’y a plus de nues-

Mes flambeaux

Vers les pèlerinages de l’incinération fatale.

Je marche, sur l’ombre visqueuse

De mes pas gluants,

Dans la carapace noire

De mes cris enflammés.


Dans l’étau gelé des quatre dimensions !

La cinquième,

La sixième

Et plus loin encore,

Celles que je revendique de toi,

Celles que tu revendiques de moi,

Les vautours les ont emmurées,

Dans ta peur planifiée,

Dans tes lots d’angoisses quinquennales.



© Mokhtar El Amraoui, Tunisie  



Mokhtar El Amraoui  est poète-artiste d’expression française né  le 19 mai 1955 à Mateur, en Tunisie, d’un père algérien et d’une mère tunisienne. Il a enseigné la littérature et la civilisation françaises pendant plus de trois décennies. Passionné de poésie, depuis son enfance, il a publié quatre recueils. Le premier, en 2010, s'intitule "Arpèges sur les ailes de mes ans", le second, en 2014, "Le souffle des ressacs" et les troisième et quatrième en 2019, successivement   « Chante, aube, que dansent tes plumes ! » et « Dans le tumulte du labyrinthe ». 


(for Robin V. Robinson, photographer)


Water can be so tender,

As calm as a curious child

Looking in a mirror,

Or an old woman

Pondering the story of her life 

As she looks through a window.


It can sprawl out as quiet

As a crocodile in the sun,

Be as still as a small pool

Immobilised by ice.

It can sleep in the dream

Of its transparent self.


Water can shiver along

In the shape of a snaking stream,

With its memories

Of losing itself in a river

That will lose itself 

In the slow gulp of the ocean.


Water can be so powerful,

Thrashing the night body

Of a coastal landscape,

Crashing the genesis of its weight

On the black spine of a mountain,

Avalanching its anger


To the shaking corners of its night.

Water can be so weak, half hearted

In its being, and yet so strong

When it stirs the heavy terror

Of its flood-hauling fury.

Water can be so tender,

Like a raindrop clinging

To the clear face of glass,

Or a tear trembling

For a moment in an eye,

A full stop of grief,

A tiny globe containing


The ‘eternal note of sadness’.


Note: ‘eternal note of sadness’ is a phrase from Matthew Arnold’s poem Dover Beach.

Peter Thabit Jones, UK




Peter Thabit Jones (UK) has authored sixteen books. He has participated in festivals and conferences in America and Europe and is an annual writer-in-residence in Big Sur, California.  Further information: www.peterthabitjones.com



Figlia delle acque

Ho cavalcato le onde del mare
in un sogno trepidante e burrascoso.
L' attesa dell'arrivo
nelle vene palpitava poderosa.
E mentre sento il corpo ballerino abbandonarsi alle sacre onde
sempre piu' vertiginose,
mi sveglio nel cerchio munifico delle acque.
Volonta' assopita e rapita
dai palpiti che il gemere ha donato
al suo ormai docile navigare.

Antonia Petrone, USA/Italy 




Antonia Petrone (USA/Italy) was born in the United States in 1965. She lives and works in Italy as a translator, interpreter and teacher of her mother tongue. She writes poems in English and Italian and publishes in Italy and worldwide. She loves to declaim poems in English and has received international merits. http://autori.poetipoesia.com/antonia-petrone/


Вода – весна, мир.

Water is spring, peace.


Те тління,  то –  не квиління - Успіння…

Коли згинається Творець, аби пройтися головами,

Коли на нашім вимішенім званні єдиний топірець – Кохання.

Не все стається чистотою, коли навзамін носимось з юрбою,

Як з битим яблуком…

На трапезі вінець. Не всім кінець,

не всіх купець захоче виміняти в гріш.

 Не всяк мастак, що носить більш,

Ніж той останній…

Залишилися очі – прозорість неба, чистоти,

Залишилось кохання ,

Весна,  вода і Ти,

Той юний хлопчик із піснями,

Той світлий Свічник із книжками, куди злітаються усі світи,

Куди залишимось  рости  до стежки спільної…

У строї сонячнім  усі тепер на Ти.


Тетяна Грицан-Чонка, Ucraina



Тетяна Грицан-Чонка. Український письменник із Закарпаття.

Автор 11 поетичних збірок та  роману-есе " Живі двері, або Я спіле Яблуко віків...Я-Жінка"

Премії ім П. Куліша, ім Ф. Кафки, "Золоте перо"( Ажербайджан) та ін.


Tetiana Hrytsan-Czonka(Ukraina)

Tetyana Vasylivna Hrytsan-Chonka is a Ukrainian writer. Author of 11 collections of poetry and a novel-essay. Coauthor in 57 international anthologies and almanacs. Winner of international and All-Ukrainian awards and winner of many competitions. She is member of the National Union of Writers of Ukraine.




Saudações filho do mar 



Dylan Thomas, vistes a Luz primigênia, nadando

 na transparência de um ventre morno,

que te amava e protegia.

Filho do mar, filho de Netuno, 

fostes boêmio e vagabundo,

tivestes muitos amores, a maioria passageiros, 

como uma aluvião.

Com tua voz cativante,

atraías a centos de espectadores

 aos teus recitais poéticos...

Miramos ao horizonte e lembramos 

que tens o mar como morada.

Hoje, as marés que medem o tempo, 

chegam na praia trazendo teu nome.

Lembrando, momentos idos.

Emocionados lemos teus versos,

que navegam na superfície ...

As últimas águas recebem nossas lágrimas

em busca de paz.


Márcia Batista Ramos, Brasil





Márcia Batista Ramos (Brasil), brasileira. Graduada em Filosofia-UFSM. Gestora cultural, escritora, poetisa e crítica literária. Sua obra está traduzida a mais de 14 idiomas e publicada em 32 países.





Two worlds, united by optical illusion:
the scaled grey of the sea
appears as inscrutable
as the curtain of mist

which weighs on earth and reaches
up to the horizon, taking
from the eye the sight to farther range,
a remaining riddle and mystery.


Exactly before the water’s edge
and the ochre-white of little houses
rushes in either way
the tinplated toys of men, 

leaving behind
hardly more than exhaust fumes
and unfulfilled desires.

Germain Droogenbroodt, Belgium
Translation by the author and Stanley Barkan




Germain Droogenbroodt is an internationally appreciated poet, translator, publisher and promoter of modern international poetry. As founder and editor of POINT Editions (POetry INTernational) he has published more than eighty collections of mainly modern, international poetry. Germain Droogenbroodt organised and co-organised several international poetry festivals in Spain.  http://www.alittlepoetry.com/droogen.html


A Greek Island Vacation 

On Corfu Island’s town of Ipsos, the sea is clear, 

and clean, an aqua temple for tourists eager  

for some rest, for swimming, and eating seafood. 


New patrons arrive on Saturdays by ferry from  

the east, the Greek mainland, or the west, Italy. 

As they step on its ground they don’t realize 


Odysseus may have stepped right there himself. 

They swim, suntan, then eat octopus, or a gyro wrap, 

drink Ouzo. But if they get tired of the sea and just resting. 


for a change they go into Kerkyra town, go shopping 

just because...or look at Orthodox churches, 

or go on a tour of the forts, the old and the new,  


one built by the Venetians, the other by the British. 

Visit sites where the Durrell brothers played and wrote 

their travel pieces, recquried reading from me in college 


of which I just remember lots of cicadas mentioned, 

and now hear them everywhere here all the time.    

Then maybe even take a drive uphill for a tour of Achilleon,  


the villa, once owned by Elizabeth, Austro-Hungarian,  

much beloved queen, imagine the elaborate balls 

that took place here, gazing at the view of the island below. 


But I also took my son on a small boat ride across 

from the main city, the island of Vido, to see  

where a hundred years ago Serbian soldiers 


embarked after fleeing form the German army, 

walking for weeks with torn shoes or barefoot, 

starving, in the middle of winter through snow, 


contracting typhoid and then landing on Ipsos 

where we now came to swim, unaware. Thousands 

of soldiers died on this tiny desolate island, then a hospital, 


now a tomb with all their names inside lined up 

with the names of their divisions, their hometowns. 

We search for my mother’s uncle who may have died here. 


That was then, now we are here to remember them. 

Then take a cruise to see other little towns,  

dive through caves, then buy our olive carvings,  


the cumquat liquor, candied cumquats 

and jam, the obligatory island souvenirs, then 

head back to our lives, refreshed, and changed.  


Biljana D. Obradović, Serbia/USA






Biljana D. Obradović (Serbia/USA), a Serbian-American poet, critic, editor, translator and Professor of English, Xavier University of Louisiana, has published four collections of poems, most recently Incognito (Cincinnati: WordTech Press, 2017), translations (Milanović, Gery, Kunitz, de Rachewiltz, Weigl, Osundare, Karanović), an anthology of poems, Cat Painter: An Anthology of Contemporary Serbian Poetry (New Orleans: Dialogos Press, 2016). 


Listen to the boats the powerboats powering above flooded streets

            but rowboats too


& rafts & inner tubes inflated pulled toward higher ground & the rain

            record rain pelting


rain as the hurricane lingers slowly moves off into the sea will return

to the stricken population


inundated coast the cities of misery cars & trucks & buses & trolleys

 being swallowed


dams collapsed no food power out schools & industries shut down

 snake bites


the rhythmic litany of pain despair bafflement death … as boats search

            isolated neighborhoods


as churches cannot comfort or even reach the sick the lost the forlorn

            shops homes subside


whose hope subsides no it doesn’t there’s still hope in voices calling to us

            from the boats.



William Heyen, USA




 William Heyen (USA) is the American author or editor of more than forty books. He was a Senior Fulbright Lecturer in Germany, was a National Book Award Finalist, and has won Guggenheim and other fellowships. He lives in Brockport, NY.



Woman in the Tub


In one hand she holds a brush;

the other curls the shower bar.

Air bubbles cling like frost

to the hairs on her pubic crest.

Under the water her flesh

is grey, her skin numb

from soap and scrubbing.

Beneath her body

The porcelain hums.

Water ripples in thin high notes

around her thighs

like whale song plumbing the depths

of the tub.

She raises one leg over the side,

and nipples navigate her breasts.

her mischievous daughters.

In this private ocean of her bath

she is creator and created,

wrapped in the largesse of her limbs,

her bones content with a memory

of floating in dark water.



Mindy Kronenberg, USA




Mindy Kronenberg  (USA) is an award-winning poet, writer, educator, and critic. She is the editor of Oberon poetry magazine and the author of Dismantling the Playground, Images of America: Miller Place, and Open, poems and images.

Her work appears world-wide in print and online,  and has been featured in various art installations.


"Peinture Arctique" par SAB, France



Peau aime


L'Amour, tout triste

s'est jeté

dans le Pacifique

pour oublier sa belle Amazone

qui a Bordeaux, a fait escale

le temps d'une pluie

le temps d'une vie

le temps d'ici

pour une flûte de trop

elle s'est perdue dans les roseaux.

L'Amour ne s'en est jamais remis

son idylle bucolique

sous le grand Aulne

lui a été fatal.


Si vous voyez un jour une île

c'est qu'il remonte à la surface

pour voir dans le ciel les couleurs de son Cœur

qui s'entremêlent.


Artiste SAB, France





SAB (France), artiste plasticienne, poète française vit et travaille dans la région Aquitaine.


Era di velluto il mattino 



Nuota tra le nuvole Venezia

appena oltre le finestre di casa.

Il suo albeggiare è mancanza.


E il mormorio di un cielo sgualcito,

acqua che appare e scompare

reclamando il suo vuoto.


Ad ali aperte un volo altro, o forse

un rimpianto, mela acerba 

da addentare dopo che al bivio


hai scelto di andare.

Era di velluto allora - al primo

apparire sopra Venezia -


il mattino.


Donatella Nardin, Italy



Donatella Nardin è nata e risiede a Cavallino Treporti-Ve. Appassionata da sempre di scrittura, soprattutto poetica, ha ricevuto per questa sua attività numerosissimi riconoscimenti in diversi Premi Letterari. Sue poesie e racconti sono stati inseriti in raccolte collettanee di diverse Case editrici e in antologie di Concorsi Letterari, in alcune riviste di settore anche straniere, in siti web e in lit-blog dedicati. Alcune sue liriche infine sono state tradotte in inglese, in francese e in giapponese. In poesia ha pubblicato per le Ed Il Fiorino la silloge In attesa di cielo e la raccolta di haiku  Le ragioni dell’oro, per Fara Editore Terre d’acqua e  Rosa del battito.   



The vast amount of clear blue water

flows nonstop

in full force and great abundance.


The water, the color of jade,

tumbles round the rocks

and makes deep pools here and there.


Rafters in lifejackets scream through

the rapids around the rocks--

screeching with primordial joy and fear.


Where is this vast amount of water

coming from and where is it going?


The water that flows

non-stop and without let-up.


Only the blessings of God

would overflow like this.


Flow water, flow,

into my eyes

into my ears

into my soul

until all the blood in my veins

turns to clear blue water,


deep clear water!




---Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards, South Korea/USA




Kyung-Nyun Kim Richard (South Korea/USA) is a poet, essayist, and translator of Korean literature.  Her latest publication is Vision Test (2016), Korean/English Bilingual Poetry Series 2, by Cross-Cultural Communications and Korean Expatriate Literature. 



High noon and springtime when no man cast a shadow

The gull high above and the worm in the cove

Wind blowing the dragons flying over the village

I stood at the cliff overlooking the stones

The destination of currents in the salted air

There on the black rocks below the ledge

Sat the young man from Swansea who was talked about

Fire red locks the aura surrounded him

Pen in the right hand, bottle in the left

Black Mountain wool, the fabric of his cloak

Raised in the language of the ancient kings

And whispering the tune of Myfanwy

In time as the bottle was emptied and dry

The pages as full as the ocean before him

The young poet sat staring at the border of home

To the sound of the infinite thunder of waves

It was then I foresaw what was to occur

The parchment rolled and into the flask

Re-corked and kissed with a solemn salute

This athlete of words gave a mighty heave

As if a log he was tossing forth

While the pipes were lamenting a loving loss

Now both disappeared, the boy and the bottle

Into time and space their trajectory led them

The poet into hearts and history dwelled

The bottle a mysterious carrier of dreams

To this day I am haunted by the lot of this treasure

Does it float on the surface between the worlds?

Does it lie on the floor of the echoing sea?

Was it rescued by a young lass strolling barefoot in the sand

And read through her tears broken hearted and forlorn

Not realizing the source of such energy released?

I share with you this story, anonymous no longer

As true as the book you now cradle in your arms

That the Son of the Sea gave back to the water


The secret of the poet and the bottle green


Joe Kidd, USA




Joe Kidd is a working, published poet and songwriter.  Touring North America and Western Europe. In 2020, published The Invisible Waterhole, a collection of spiritual and sensual verse.  He has been awarded by the Michigan Governor's Office and the US House of Representatives for his work to advance Peace, Social Justice, and Cultural Diversity.  Joe is a member of National & International Beat Poet Foundation (USA), Angora Poets (Paris France), and 100,000 Poets For Change International.

Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/Joe-Kidd/e/B089QYDXSM

Official Website:  www.joekiddandsheilaburke.com

Pensavi al pane (a Dylan Thomas)


Pensavi al pane

prima frumento bambino poi al vino

sangue estivo tra le viti

all’allegria spinta nel vento

rovesciata da mani inesperte in cui la fede si spacca

per troppe grida per troppa furia di mare

ma nulla potrà vincere sull’amore finché la luce

lotterà contro il morire del sole e delle stelle

anche se la tenebra è pur sempre vita

e tu non hai più parole per dire alle cose

che si è simili in tutto

anche alle gesta delle stagioni smarrite,

nessun battesimo di resina alla porta.


Michela Zanarella, Italy





Michela Zanarella (Italy)

Giornalista pubblicista - redattrice di Periodico Italiano Magazine

Presidente della Rete Italiana per il Dialogo Euro-mediterraneo (RIDE-APS)

Presidente A.P.S. "Le Ragunanze"

Extraordinary Ambassador for Naji Naaman’s Foundation for Gratis Culture 



Stepping into the Sea



You let me, your new mother,

Take your hand to walk

into the surf, let

the slippery seaweed

wrap around your ankles

like emerald leather.

Head into lacey waves

like butter on hot skin.


Queen of the Ocean, Mother,

Yemaya, savior of sailors,

Spirit of moonlight

used to protect you,

now she eludes us.

I implore her to return.

Pin a benevolent picture

of her on my bulletin board,

so she will know where to find me,

then, I will lead her to you.


I study guides to Santería.

to pray for you, for me.

Long, lean in silver drapery,

she shows up in New Orleans hoodoo,

In Brazil, her wizened face, a walnut,

In Venezuela, I find

a child-size likeness of her,

but am afraid to bring it home,

its eyes too lifelike.


Your mother taught you to fear

Yemaya, said the goddess would drag

you to the deep sea of your ancestors.


We weave our fingers together,

sink into the sea floor

sandy and firm underfoot.



Maria Lisella, USA




Recently awarded a Poet Laureate Fellowship from the Academy of American Poets, Maria Lisella is the sixth Queens Poet Laureate 2015-2018. Her work appears in Thieves in the Family (NYQ Books), Amore on Hope Street and Two Naked Feet. She co-curates the Italian American Writers Association readings, and is a charter member of brevitas . A travel writer and editor, she contributes to La Voce di New York,  The Jerusalem Post  and Never Stop Traveling.




Due enormi stelle, ruotavamo l'uno intorno all'altra,

pieni di segreti celati nell’anima,

sprofondavamo nella creazione di canti appassionati.


Dopo esserci congiunti in un buco nero appena formatosi

Andammo a nasconderci dal resto dell'universo come un tutt’uno.


In quell'immensa unione, sperimentammo una vita rinnovata,

poesie di nuova creazione arsero al calore di una sola pietra.


I corsi dei nostri fiumi, confluendo tra sponde fluttuanti

celarono universi incogniti che scorrevano rapidi

tra parole e pronomi di fresco conio.


Il silenzio divenne il nostro custode,

la nostra anima ormai unica si appagò dei vini novelli

che provavamo per la prima volta.


Sotto le ali di un puro disordine termodinamico

le increspature da noi prodotte si propagarono nel cosmo,

offrirono gusti ignoti a labbra assetate in ore stemperate

alle galassie che volteggiavano fuori di noi,


ai dervisci roteanti alla ricerca dell’armonia.


Sultan Catto, USA

Italian translation by Prof. Angelo DiCuonzo




Sultan Catto (USA) is a professor and director of physics at CUNY Graduate School and at the Rockefeller University in New York, and is a poet. His latest poetry books include Bonding (2018); Lost In Layers of Time (2020); So Many Ifs (2021), translated into Chinese by Chen Zhang. In 2018, he was awarded the Homer European Medal of Poetry & Art. In 2019 EASAL, Eurepoan Medal for Arts, Sciences, and Literature. In 2021 Cross-Cultural Communications Medal for poetry. 

 Dylan Arising

 Water flowing
 Soft and gentle.
 Water drifting
 winding its way
 back to the oceans.
 Back to its source.

 Every day, I sit
 by my bay window,
 looking out
 over the calm  blue waters,
 watching foamy waves
 as they wash up
 upon the shore.

 Oblivious to time,
 I watch the waters
 Unaware of time,
 I count not the falling sands
 of the hourglass.

 It has been decades
 since I last saw him
 Rising out  of the waters
 one  cold winter day,
 in  such magnificence
 and  splendour.
 A vision thats burns
 deep into my memory.

 A vision unchanged
 by the ravages
 of  age
 and time.

 Is this sheer madness?
 Methinks  not.
 I know what I saw
 so many many years ago.
 I saw a man
 a god,
 a true son of the sea.


Gloria Keh, Singapore




Gloria Keh, 70, lives in Singapore. An artist, who began  painting since childhood, Gloria enjoys writing poetry and making bookart.


This Morning on the Terrace


This morning on the terrace at Albidona,

the mourning dove greets me with his repetitive cry.

I look out over the olive trees, planted in neat rows,

leading down to the Ionian Sea, spread out before me like an abstract

painting. It is amazing in its changing colors, turquoise,

green, deep blue, lavender. The Calabrians tell me

the colors change because of the currents and although I have been

to museums all over the world, I have never seen

anything quite like this. It could be a sea of silk like those scarves

artists create. The sweet-smelling air, the gentle breeze that lifts my hair,

the stillness broken only by the cries of birds,

is soothing as a silky robe against my skin.


Maria Mazziotti Gillan, USA




Maria Mazziotti Gillan (USA), whose newest poetry collection is When the Stars Were Still Visible (2021) and more recent publication is What Blooms in Winter, is the 2008 recipient of the American Book Award for All That Lies Between Us. She is the founder and Executive Director of the Poetry Center at Passaic County Community College, Paterson, NJ. and editor of the Paterson Literary Review. She has been appointed a Bartle Professor and Professor Emerita of English and creative writing at Binghamton University-SUNY. 


"At Laguna Beach" CA, by Yoon-Ho Cho, South Korea/USA



A Dream of the Sea


When I dream of seeing the giant ocean,

I was blissful suchlike a flower.


One day, I crossed the mountain

With a spring breeze. And I flew in the sky.


The giant ocean I met was Southern California,

Beautiful Laguna Beach, feasting for many kinds of birds.


The sea was so blue as to mirror the sky

My heart fluttered with it.


Seagulls on the peaceful beach

Came and danced with me.


Yoon-Ho Cho, South Korea/USA




Yoon-Ho Cho: Korean American poet, born in South Korea in 1938. 

He immigrated to the United States in 1971.

He has published seven books of poetry. He has received awards from organizations including the Korean-American Poet Association, Immagine & Poesia, Amici de Guido Gozzano, and Comune de Aglie (Italia).

He is the editor and publisher of the Korean Expatriate Literature and International Modern Poetry.

"The Delawere River" by Bill Wolak, USA

Become a River


If you spend your entire life

dealing with impostors and cheats,

how can you be surprised

when everyone recognizes

you as a swindler?

Anger threatens you most.

Envy paralyzes you.

You’re like dust

darkening a mirror.

You’ve always craved a different path.

So begin now while you still can.

Wander in this world

like welcomed kisses

across astonished flesh.

Those who love embrace

with the impatience of wind and fire.

Those who love become a river

offering to carry everything to the sea.


 Bill Wolak, USA






Bill Wolak (USA) is a poet, collage artist, and photographer who lives in New Jersey and has just published his eighteenth book of poetry entitled All the Wind’s Unfinished Kisses with Ekstasis Editions. 


Acropolis of Athens

In memory of Dylan Thomas poetry


They have extended to the nothingness

The hidden face s and noses, are sculptures without breath

Giant columns, open the memory of blood


The suffering pilgrims

far away from wheat fields, olives, vineyards

step on the gate to the Holy Land


Parthenon, surrounded by eyes

The sky is puzzled and the Mediterranean Sea full of tears floats human bones

refugees,  migrating in dreams


Athena Poseidon begets the lie of power in cool winter

Does the wind wake up the Acropolis or the acropolis cover golden light

The harpsings blue tune for thousands of years

and the humble supplicants  mourn for grace



The first draft was written on the island of Celia Nitika.

In the era of no machinery, the 18 meters high gate of the holly mountain, how those huge columns were transported to the top of the mountaiins: it reminds me of the workers who built the temple, they created the "sweat fine art".









Anna Keiko, Chinese poet and writer, is president and chief editor of Huifeng Literature Society in Shanghai and Chinese director of the Ithaca foundation, promoting international poetry. She has been invited at several international poetry festivals. Her poetry has been translated and published in many languages and was awarded several poetry prizes.


Il tuo nome contiene il mare, Dylan.

L’ebbrezza dell’onda e il suo flusso

la corrente vitale di parole d’acqua

che raggiungono rive lontane.

Tu fosti, un giorno, a Rio Marina 

nel luglio più assolato di sempre.

Ricordi il quaderno a righe di Lapo

su cui scrivesti “In country sleep”?

E la pergola da cui la declamasti 

come una misteriosa preghiera

la serata prima della tua partenza?

Li hanno ascoltati il glicine odoroso,

la terra rossa in cui l’oligisto brilla,

i pescatori e i minatori, Aeronwy  e

Caitlin, il tuo ‘tuorlo splendente’. 

Una profondità celeste, regnava

nella tua voce di mare, tremula

e vibrante come musica antica. 

E la commozione sui visi d’intorno 

si risolveva in lacrime d’argento, 

scrittura di sale in quel momento.

La melodia toccava l’anima

e tu scandivi ogni parola sapientemente. 

Ci fu un lungo silenzio, dopo. Sacro.

E poi Luigi fece un brindisi, a te e alla poesia. 

Il vino ti colorava le gote, il 7 agosto

del millenovecentoquarantasette.

La Torre scandiva le ore, sul molo

e la luna rischiarava cielo e mare. 

L’indomani avreste dovuto salpare.

Prima tappa Firenze, come convenuto. 

Ottone Rosai ti avrebbe fatto un prestito. 

Di Rio Marina amasti tutto, di più l’essenza primitiva. 

Così simile a Swansea, città operaia 

con navi, stradine e porto: così viva!


Massimo Trombi, Italy




Massimo Trombi (Torino, Italia), libraio, cultore di poesia.

Studioso del periodo italiano di Dylan Thomas



"SEDIENTOS DE RÍO" by Alejandra Miranda, Argentina




Dibujamos en el agua,

escribimos en la orilla y

capturamos los reflejos

de este río de tiempo líquido

que nos horada gota a gota

con infinita constancia.


Siempre en movimiento

las imágenes cambian y se disuelven

en un espejo blando y vivo.


Somos el agua de

frágiles ondas y olas rompientes,

de susurros y estruendos.


Somos las nubes que acaricia el viento.

Somos lluvia y diluvio

ahí mismo donde la luna  se duplica

junto a estrellas y luciérnagas.

Y podríamos ser hielo

como el cristal tajante de un espejo.


Este río que nos penetra

está hecho de agua, tiempo y destellos.

Y a veces nos devuelve una cara

que nos observa desde el fondo

de un espacio imposible.


Alejandra Miranda, Argentina




Alejandra Miranda (Argentina)

Artista visual, curadora y escritora. Directora de cultura de La Paz, Entre Ríos, Argentina.

Representante en Argentina del movimiento Imagen y Poesía.

FB Alejandra Miranda Arte. https://www.facebook.com/alejandramiranda.artelatinoamericano




Comforting, how the Mill River slides, unseen and mostly

quiet along the flattened mud banks behind New Haven,

roosting blackberries in summer and a sea of cattails--

home for bitterns, ducks, Canada geese, feral swans,

red-winged blackbirds kittering to tag mourning doves

above. Lives along the streets nearby meanwhile sink

into poverty, wander aimlessly from year to year,

marked by little events or tragedies, and stay mostly unaware

of the small wilderness beyond, mostly unaware that beauty

has a way of reproducing, even amidst adverse circumstance,

dammed and bridged as the river is at either end,

trapped into one and a half miles that mostly flow

under the watch of East Rock repairing to itself,

sliding away from grasp like a damp violin string

from the bow that once made it sing.


In one respect, the river is like me--

reconciled perfectly to no one and to nothing,

not even to itself, but living in its time as best it can,

on terms not always of its making, repairing to itself.



      --Alyssa A. Lappen, USA




Alyssa A. Lappen (U.S.A.) Poet and retired retired invesgitative journalist, authored The Minstrel's Song (Cross-Cultural Communications, April 2015) and The People Bear Witness (Ruah: Journal of Spiriual Poetry, 2000). Her award-winning poems have appeared in several collections, including The Seventh Quarry: Swansea Poetry Magazine and dozens of print and online literary journals.





What is Water 

        (for  pure water, a vanishing element)



What is water

      but a god

         but a woman

             who flows and surrenders

                  bends and endures like a river

                     and gives life and renewal.


 Louisa Calio, USA




Cos’è l’acqua 

    (per l’acqua pura, un elemento che sta svanendo)


Cos’è l’acqua

   se non un dio

     una donna

       che scorre e s’arrende

          si piega e resiste come un fiume

            e dona la vita e la rigenera.


Trans. By Elisabetta Marino


Louisa Calio:Graduated magna cum laude SUNY Albany, BA English (Special Honors), MA Temple. Winner: CT. Commission Award Individual Writers 1978, Finalist Poet Laureate 2013, Nassau County


 1st Prizes Messina, Sicily (2013), Il Parnasso Internationale, Canicatti, Sicily (2015, 2017, 2019)..  Director Poet’s Piazza, Hofstra 12 years, Co- Founder City Spirit Artists, Inc. New Haven,  (1976-1986)  lives in USA and Jamaica. Her latest book, Journey to the Heart Waters, published by Legas Press (2014). See Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louisa_Calio



Elisabetta Marino is tenured Assistant Professor of English literature at the University of Rome "Tor Vergata". She has published extensively on the English Romantic writers, on Italian American literature, Asian American and Asian British literature. She has written about and translated the works of Louisa Calio among other Italian American writers.


Âmes de la mer



Le vent a soufflé sur la grève

Emportant tout sur son chemin,

Les feuilles mortes et les rêves

Et s’endormit au matin.



La lune a éclairé le port

Envoûtant les ombres au loin,

Doux murmures dans ce décor

Retour des chalutiers et marins.



La mouette a joué sa mélodie

Enroulant les sanglots,

Les larmes d’écume, la pluie

En rimes fines sur les flots.


Sandrine Davin, France





Sandrine DAVIN (France) est née le 15/12/1975 à Grenoble où elle réside toujours.

Elle est auteure de poésie contemporaine inspirée des tankas, elle a édité 14 recueils de poésie dont le dernier s’intitule

« Là où le soleil se fane » aux Editions La Kainfristanaise. 





Die Seele baumeln lassen

To let the soul dangle

father would say

as he sat

watching the fountain spurt

water onto

the beach pebbles.


She sits next to the fountain,

eyes glued onto

gray pages of a textbook

she scribbles lists with her fountain-


for tomorrow.



she will

dive into

the mist of a gurgling brook



she may



 Previously published in Radioactive Musings



 Silvia Kofler, USA




Silvia Kofler (USA) is a widely published poet, translator, and educator who has read her work in many places like the Yale Club and Poets House in New York City, and at Schokoladen in Berlin, Germany. Her book Gambol the World:  Eine Weltanschauung, by Spartan Press has been translated into Portuguese by Carlos Ramos, and was published as a bilingual edition by Ghost Editions in Portugal, 2021.

Meditations on the Sea


The sea abandons

shoals of shells

broken and unbroken

along the white wave line


Some sink sandwards,

others drift wave-wards

 a few smile sun-wards on the beach


‘At one time I battled the sea

grabbing shells he dared whisk away


I won fifteen times

He fifteen thousand

Till with warm wave caresses

he lulled my efforts to peace


The wave that licks the shore


will recede and return

 in different combinations

of salt, sand, shell, wind and water


Wave follows wave

moment by moment

Tides take twelve hours to turn


The only way to know the ocean

is to know your smallness

More creatures swim

than drown in its belly


Anyone who’s tried to drown

knows the calmness

 of the sea is



When you try to go in

he washes you out

When you struggle to swim

he suckles you in


Tides turn

Ocean endures

Both are of water


Changing and unchanging.


Meher Pestonji, India




Meher Pestonji (India) is a veteran journalist writing on street-kids, housing rights, communalism while covering theatre, art and interviewing creative people. She has written short stories, novels : Pervez and Sadak Chhaap, and plays. A digital performance of Turning Point is running on zoom. She is active on various international poetry groups. https://www.facebook.com/meher.pestonji




Mentre la sera svigoriva
Dal ponte giù ti vidi,  fiume
Nel tuo letto di massi e sassi
Fra due alte ripe verdi
Scorrere con l'impeto ed i chiassi
Del tuo andare
E sparire poi nell'ansa e nell'ombre
Delle frondi verso la pianura.
Eppur nel silenzio sei nato d'una polla
E con cheta voce ti sei fatto spazio
Hai raggiunto forma e potenza
Hai tracciato il tuo letto e, sazio
Al tuo habitat hai dato consistenza
Calmato  la tua acqua a dar vita o impetuosa
Con te trascinando ogni cosa.

Qualcuno sembra giocare
Coi nostri destini. Sull'acque
Tremule vibrano riflessi d'argento.
Un brivido antico, fantasmi
Passano accanto in questo imbrunire.
Lascio l'animo seguire la sua corsa
E qual fiume m'abbandono
Al suadente scorrere d'ogni cosa.


Aurelio Scaccia, Italy




Aurelio Scaccia, nato in Sicilia, dal 1975 vive e lavora a Torino. Ha svolto sin dalla prima giovinezza attività pittorica. Nel 1980 aderisce al “gruppo di ricerca di poesia visuale” denominato“Antigruppo”. Nel 2010 pubblica la raccolta “Farine: Tentazioni e Suoni”, per la collana Nuove Voci del Gruppo Albatros-Il Filo S.r.l. e distribuito da La Feltrinelli.  L’ ultima collezione di poesie "Riflessi di paglia" è stata pubblicata da GEDI Gruppo Editoriale S.p.A.


Taken by the Praises of Seashores



 In the time of crises, Solitary, before the sea, Ships unload me

Off their eternal silence; So, I look unable

To realize my own homeless meaning, And its apparition.

Solitary, before the sea,

The dove follows me whenever I change

My sitting place;

Neither wind scares her;

Nor does my long anxiety stop the hidden desire In her feathers

Carrying her to my thin shade.

Solitary, before the sea,


 Seashores take me in their praises,

To see the silver of the child I abandoned;

To the farthest point in his eyes;

The absolute azure spins me

Into a poem filled with longing

In the melody of existence;

A melody absorbing the confessions of illusion.

Solitary, before the sea,

Captivated by seagulls;

In whose looks, I soar high,

And walk upon the cloud of memories Legless;

Space takes me to friends

I never deserted their shadows,

When we parted

In the orbits of childhood,



 Solitary, before the embers,

Spurned by coldness of your hands,

When you feel confounded in the presence of the past, Return the flute of my song

To the ode’s field,

And its roses;

In your eyes, there dwell birds

That fly into splendor

When they look at the future.

Solitary, before the verse,

The poem keeps me away from its galaxy;

So I look unable to feel the last pulses of my visions. What my thin voice reached of loss

Flows on the desert of singing!

Solitary, before patience,


 Stability on the verge of my obsessions is missing. Who wrapped words with meaning?

And dissipated from the eyelids of imagination

A metaphorical twilight setting

With glee,

Like a neglected window in our souls?

Solitary, before age;

Wishes look younger than me;

When I see them,

Searching once again for the commandments of the past; Neither the shade of my far-off days touched the secret talks, Nor did the night of mirrors distribute memories

On the apprehension of the cups.

Solitary, before the grave,

The ending set a date for me

To create, from the womb of absence, a white poem, Lighting the candles of my song

On the shoulders of darkness.


 No trees of mine are there

Waiting for me

Except a sky that blew out its lantern To sleep near my pillow.


Ali Al Hazmi, Saudi Arabia





Ali Al Hazmi - Saudi Arabia

Born in Damadd, Saudi Arabia 1970, Ali started publishing his poetry in a varietyof local and Arabic international . He International Poetry Festivals including; Costa Rica (2013), Spain (2014), Uruguay (2015), Cuba, Colombia and Turkey (2016), Italy and Romania (2017) and Spain (2018). His work has been translated into many languages, and his publications include: A Gate fortheBody (1993), Loss (2000), DeerDrinkItsOwnImage (2004), Comfortableonthe Edge (2009), and Now in thePast (2018). His awards include: MedalofPoetry (Uruguay, 2015), The World Grand Prize for Poetry, (Romania 2017), theVerbumlandia Prize (Italy, 2017) and Best International Poet (China, 2018) , Global Icon Award 2020






Como al lanzarse al aire

busca el cóndor el impulso de la brisa

retando con su peso inigualable la gravedad

del monte, soledad que necesita para tejer su vuelo,


así precisan las ballenas caldear su sangre en las simas abismales

de su madre-mar en donde dicen los expertos que elevan

los mamíferos descomunales el azul celeste

de su llanto-canto en decibelios

de verdad y de agonía.


Desde ese averno llegan a ti,

Hijo de la Mar, los bosques que pueblan

tu garganta de otros azules en donde el aire

se precipita como una piedra de sol que anuncia

las honduras del tiempo con que tu canto-llanto hizo

germinar la semilla de tu voz.


Rei Berroa  (USA/ República Dominicana)




Rei Berroa  (USA/ República Dominicana) - (Ph.D., University of Pittsburgh, PA,1983) is a Dominican-American poet, university professor, literary and cultural critic, and civic and cultural activist teaching at George Mason University, in Virginia. He has published more than 50 books of poetry, anthologies, and literary criticism in a dozen countries. He received the “Medaille de Vermeil” from La Société Académique d’Arts Sciences et Lettres de Paris (May 2009), the Trieste Poesia International Prize for lifetime achievement in Poetry (2011), the Mihai Eminescu Prize (2012), and the Dominican VIII International Book Fair in New York (2014) was dedicated to his work.[More at: https://mcl.gmu.edu/people/rberroa]



 holding on



in our sunroom

atop a yellow stool

a yellow bucket

decorated with shore birds

holds a single sea shell

once the home of a limpet

whose singular muscular foot

scoured a pit made to fit

on a stone where it held on

as long as it could

nothing can survive

without the means

to ride out incessant change

its low hat-shaped shell

presented little resistance

as the tide went in and out

until it was time

for a wave to bring it

to the beach

where we took it home




Neal Whitman, USA





Neal Whitman lives in Pacific Grove, California, with his wife, Elaine. Neal writes haiku, tanka, and general form poems that have been published and won awards in many countries, including Italy. Neal and Elaine were asked to co-edit the 2021 Yuki Teikei Haiku Society Members’ Anthology and again in 2022. 



شعر:  بلال المصري 



لما سقط الخاتم

في الماء

ظهرت جنية


قبضت عليه بالأحادث

وجعلت أساور الماء

أغلالا في يديه

كان مستسلما


بينما البجعات

في عناق

اشتهى أجنحتها

فجعلت له

جنية البحيرة


وتركته  هكذا أعرجا

يتعكز على الريح.




Bilal Al-Masri, Liban






Quand la bague est tombée

Dans l’eau

La fée du lac est apparue

Elle l’a attrapé par accident

Et a rendu les bracelets d’eau

Des menottes entre ses mains

Il était résigné

Et consentent

Pendant que les cygnes s’entrelaçaient

Il enviait ses ailes

Elle lui a créé une aile

La fée du lac

Et l’a laissé comme ça boiteux


S’appuyant sur le vent. 


traduction : Melle Bouzid Bochra Wiam



Bilal Al-Masri est un poète et dramaturge libanais, né en 1974. Il a plusieurs publications de poésie et de pièces de théâtre.

 “Marlais, great blue-green Sea" by Juliet Preston, USA

The sound of the sea -
A carefree spirit confined in 
a mortal form.
"...sang in my chains like the sea."
The "son of the sea",
a true gift from the
"great blue-green."
Armed with a poetic licence and sacred rage, 
contempt of death 
you fought…
Yet I mourn the dying
of your light.
The rhythmic sonority of your words still lingers
when I hear 
the sound of the sea.
Knowing you had 
...sang in your chains like the sea.

 - Juliet Preston, USA




Juliet Preston (USA) is

A poet at heart,

An artist by passion,

An engineer by profession.


Mon eau de vie


Le silence croupi

Dans les feuilles d’arbres.

Je m’assois sur le rebord

De ton cœur

Et je plonge mes mains dans

Ses eaux cristallines.

Sur les cils de papyrus

Je détache ton regard humble.


Je puisais ma vie dans tes gestes,

De danse des muscles

Sous ta peau de cuir.

Et comme un jour il fallait fuir,

J’ai rempli ma bourse

Des castagnettes de ta voix.


Viktoria Laurent-Skrabalova, France/ Slovaquie




Viktoria Laurent-Skrabalova (France/ Slovaquie) est une auteure-poétesse-peintre franco-slovaque. Ses livres sont publiés en Slovaquie, en France et en Belgique. Elle participe à plusieurs revues littéraires (Florilège, Ce qui reste, Poésie Première...) et expose régulièrement ses toiles lors des expositions collectives.




Era giratu addabbanna

lu mari


a ‘nnacari forsi

lu scarsu sonnu

di la staciuni sutta.

E sulu accussì ju,

nta un vidi e svidi,

ci potti asciumiari

na pennula di curaddu

pi daritilla a tia.

Ma nun fici ‘n tempu a fujiriminni

chi lu guardianu assummau baccariatu

ferru e focu sputannu e...



Marco Scalabrino, Sicily - Italy






(translation by Gaetano Cipolla)


The sea / was turned the other way / this morning

perhaps to rock / the scarce sleep / of the season below.

And only this way, while / it was not looking,

was I able to steal / a bunch of coral / to give to you.

But I was not fast enough to flee / before the guardian


rose up / spitting iron and fire and... “Sacrilege!”



Marco Scalabrino (Sicily-Italy). Ha pubblicato: PALORI; TEMPU palori aschi e maravigghi; CANZUNA di vita di morti d’amuri; LA CASA VIOLA; La puisia di / The Poetry of Marco Scalabrino. Ha scritto tre commedie: LU CARRUBBU DI TITTA, L’AFFARI BUSILLIS, B. B. & B. PARADISU.

In assenza - una barca di nome speranza


Niente luna stanotte. Il ventre

vorace del mare si nutre di sogni

e di carne. Una barca graziata

si tinge di ombra solcando le acque.

Distante è il destino promesso.

Un volto di donna sospeso 

in assenza. Alle spalle sapore di casa

e terra natale. Spiagge sprezzanti



Lucilla Trapazzo, Switzerland/Italy




In Absence - a Boat named Hope 


No moon tonight. The voracious belly 

of the sea nurses on dreams 

and flesh. A boat forgiven

is tainted by shadows 

while furrowing the waters. 

The promised destiny is distant. 

A woman's face is suspended 

in absence. Yesterday 

the taste of home and native land. 

Disdainful beaches 



dal libro OSSIDIANA, di Lucilla Trapazzo, Switzerland


Lucilla Trapazzo (Switzerland/Italy) is a Swiss-Italian poet, translator, artist and performer. After years spent abroad, for studies and work, in the DDR, Brussels, Washington DC and New York City, she now lives in Zurich, Switzerland. Convinced supporter of human rights and the planet, her social and feminine point of view is reflected in many of her writings. Four books of Poetry



The world knows that without water there is no life

And I drink a lot of it every day

And I am born with these endless beauties

Because the meaning of life is to have clean water

I'm ready to take a bath


The world knows that without water there is no life

A meaningful noun with the time of fasting

When people realize that pollution is water

It means killing new and old species

Who lives in us and beyond


Water is a great sanctuary for me

And I think water conservation is everything today

I don't think water is an object of life

But it is more than important for all of us

For humans plants but also animals


These are coming some dark days for us

And the consideration of everything is that I am not alive

When without water and drought there are large ones

There is less and less space in the country

To continue to find a trace of existence


I think I need water

For everyone, for everything that comes with it

Because water should not be consumed irrationally

And people need to know all the cats

That without water there is no life for me or you!


Maid Corbic, Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina





Maid Corbic ( Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina)  from Tuzla, 22 years old. In his spare time he writes poetry . He is moderator of the World Literature Forum WLFPH (World Literature Forum Peace and Humanity) for humanity and peace in the world in Bhutan. He is also the editor of the First Virtual Art portal led by Dijana Uherek Stevanovic, and the selector of the competition at a page of the same name that aims to bring together all poets around the world. Many works have also been published in anthologies.

El mar nació del mar




A Dylan Thomas



El mar es el rostro franco de la vida

Es el vestido de la muerte


El mar es vida entre la muerte

Vida a la que no le interesa la muerte


El mar es la placenta y el viaje a la placenta



El mar nació del mar

No tiene origen ni destino. Es atemporal. Atípico. Móvil en su estática aparente


Así lo hace saber su ojo de azul profundo


Miro a babor. El mar nace del mar

De los seres prehistóricos que lo habitan

Del primer trilobite en su regazo

De las oscuras e ingrávidas algas

De los calamares gigantes que circundaban los antiguos galeones

De las islas improbables que alucinaron los gavieros en su puesto

De la imaginación desbordada de Julio Verne y su inolvidable “Nautilus”


El mar nació del terror que causaron Drake y Morgan entre los fuertes y mujeres del mundo

De las leyendas de patas de palo, cañones e islotes misteriosos

Del hondo canto de los corsarios y los bucaneros en las tabernas de la muerte

Del olor a ron, de las capitanas

y la furiosa libertad hacia otros rumbos

Del desconcierto de la mar tenebris y el asombro ante el faro de Alejandría


De la primera visita, al alba, de un niño al que le da por ocultar su sombra en la marea


El mar nació del mar

De su propia respiración. La respiración de la ola

De la costilla de agua, que se vuelve agua en las noches de luna llena

y en las noches que a la luna no le da la gana

aparecer en el cielo


Su nombre se pronuncia con muchos nombres:

brújula, barómetro, mástil, astrolabio

Es la suma de las letras que se invocan:


Y se larga el trapo. Y se izan las velas

Se anda a estribor, en la proa, en la cubierta


Y se despierta al cracken y los cachalotes en su magnetofónico llamado del tiempo

Se anhela a las sirenas y al inevitable málestrom. Se desea,

Se extraña la pureza de lo hondo. La dulzura y la suave destrucción


Y se preserva, al mismo tiempo

a la ballena gris entre las aguas, a los huevos de carey entre la arena

al útero de lo vivo mientras el océano exista


Se navega la Historia en réplicas de antiguas carabelas

Se fabrican mapas improbables

Se agradece el reposo de las plazas, los portales, los sueños en tierra:


Se mencionan los sitios:

Ulúa, Veracruz, Acapulco, la Habana, Ámsterdam, Fenicia, Gales y Barcelona

Fonemas del mismo y salado alfabeto


Yo, debajo del pecho

tengo un caracol que reproduce el ritmo áureo del oleaje

Lo he grabado con la longevidad de las tortugas


El mar es el sueño de Váruna

Una mujer recostada, que viste un largo manto de agua

Es el reposo mismo

Y en las noches de tempestad y riesgo de naufragio, es la pesadilla


Nació entre la envidia de otras deidades

Emergió de la indomable fuerza de Neptuno

Es el sutil llamado de Yemanyá, al abismo, de sus hijos pescadores


El mar es la “cangrejidad” indescifrable, la “tiburonez” absoluta

la “coralidad” impresionista, la “pulposidad” versátil

lo crustáceo, lo “ostionado” y la rémora


Yo nací de él. De allí partieron los puertos y muchas ciudades

y venas que nos conforman


El océano es la semilla y la tumba

El origen y la implosión

El alma que se guarda en un tatuaje marinero

Es el apocalipsis y el génesis del misterio inabarcable


Arde. Respira. Sueña. Todo lo inventa el mar

y le es mínimo…


Es el dios que yo profeso cuando navego


Y siempre navego


Miro por la borda. Pasan a mi lado las anclas, las sirenas, las fragatas

los mapas, las cartografías, los siglos


Comprendo entonces que el mar nació del mar.


Ulises Paniagua, México




Ulises Paniagua from México is a Poet and Writer. Director of Poetry and Philosophy International Colloquium. Winner to the Gabriel García Márquez Short Story International Prize (2019). https://www.facebook.com/ulises.paniaguaolivares



"House on the beach" by  Xanthi Hondrou-Hill, Greece


Mediterranean waves…


Three blue poets

fill our life

one singing the blue from the sky

the other the waves of the sea

and the third whispers the wisdom of the wind


No matter to which shores the poem takes us

with which clouds we want to travel

with the wave of a blue scarf

or the white sail of a boat

the wing of a plane

there is always the wisdom of the wind to carry us


To reach the shores of dreams

with flowers, pebbles and sea shells as treasures.

The nights were we talked at blue tables with friends

or on the phone miles away, listening to the tide at full moon

The fun we shared travelling in a rental car without lights

 on an island looking to avoid a monastery

and ending up spending the day there in the arms of a Saint

bringing with us healing oils and sacred water


The paintings we discovered in the small museum, in our faces

and on the street corners looking down to the sea

feeding a foreign hungry artist at the little coffee shop by the seaside

We didn't exchange letters and alphabets like our ancestors

didn't care if the numbers were Arabic or Greek

didn't even try to find common ground

because three blue poets, a painter and a musician

filled our life


with the waves of the Mediterranean… 


 Xanthi Hondrou-Hill, Greece




Xanthi Hondrou-Hill (Greece) is a Greek poetess who gained her education in Germany, studying German Literature and Linguistics, Journalism and Public Relations Management. She has worked as a professor for German, English and Greek, journalist, public relations manager and translator for poetry. https://www.facebook.com/xanthi.hondrouhill

Cockle Gatherers


Where the edge of the grey land fades

into the greyness of the water,

I watch the cockle gatherers


bound in woollen layers against

the adhesive wind; they take the safe

path through salt marsh and tidal creeks


animating the early morning

horizon, breathing life into the

struggling day; with rakes and riddles


at low tide they work the cockle

colonies nurtured in the softened,

wave-swept sand of the estuary.


Life is measured here by ebb ~ and ~

flow ~ ebb ~ and ~ flow.




Jean Salkilld, UK





 Jean Salkilld (UK) was born and raised in Swansea. Poetry has been a lifelong .interest but she rose to the challenge of creative work through courses at Swansea University. Jean is currently the coordinator of the Tuesday Poetry group, which first met in May 2009.


A veces soy agua, a veces soy sed.


Toda gira, aunque hay instantes


 la piel se siente como un fardo

y los ojos se nos cierran de hastío

pese a los días que se repiten como ecos

todo va mudando impasible

y el tiempo nos intercambia

nos vuelve agua

nos vuelve sed.


Mariela CorderoVenezuela




Mariela Cordero (Venezuela) es una poeta, tradutora y artista visual venezolana. Primer Premio de micropoesía en castellano (España). Primer Premio Iberoamericano de Poesía Euler Granda (Ecuador). Segundo Premio de Poesía Tracce Per La Meta (Italia). Representante en Venezuela del movimiento artístico-literario Immagine & Poesia . 

One-word garments



Waves of circumflexes

Storms of adverbs

Windmills of verbs

Shells of signs of ellipsis


On the island of poems

Of soul

Of mind

Of thought


One-word garments

You wear

To endure!



Dimitris P. Kraniotis [Greece]







Dimitris P. Kraniotis (Greece). He lives in Larissa in central Greece and works as a medical doctor (internal medicine specialist). He is the author of 9 poetry books. Award winning poet. His poems are translated and published in many languages. President of World Poets Society (WPS), Director of Mediterranean Poetry Festival (Larissa, Greece), Chairman of the Writers for Peace Committee of PEN Greece, Ambassador of Movement “Poetas del Mundo” and member of World Poetry Movement (WPM).  https://www.dimitriskraniotis.com/


Кто такой поэт?

(Who is a poet?)


Сегодня, всем сказав привет!

В лицо спрошу Вас - Кто такой поэт?

Быть может тот, кто в рифму собирал слова?

Или другой, природу воспевавший за глаза?


А может знаменитость, алкоголик, наркоман?

Или еще один, который гонорары с жадностью совал в карман?

Короче, образ в целом уж не очень,

Вот почему я темой этой заморочен.


И чтобы этой мыслью больше не томить,

Попробую я сам поэта обличить,

Поэт – кто пишет, с ошибками и даже не красиво,

Но пишет правду, веря в то, что справедливо.


Поэт- новатор и защитник слабых,

Он просветитель и источник жизни для усталых,

Тот человек, кто не боится принимать решения,

События предвидит с жалкого видения. 


Поэт борец, ни признанный, ни главный,

Ни хам, ни плут, ни клеветник поганый!

Я вам сказал, кем вижу я поэта,

А соглашаться, спорить – ваша уже суета…


Alexander Kabishev Konstantinovich, Russia




Alexander Kabishev Konstantinovich (K. A. K.)  (Russia) is a poet and writer, a volunteer journalist of the POET magazine, editor-in-chief of the student magazine HUMANITY. Member of the Russian Union of Writers in the city of St. Petersburg). https://www.facebook.com/alexander.kabishev.7

Jurnal de călătorie


Iată sinele

în flux și reflux

spălând nisipul vorbirii

și însemnându-l cu scoicile adâncului.

Dar unde pribegesc dezlegătorii de semne

și ce mesaj vor fi purtând

aceste uriașe grămezi de scoici,

împinse tot mai departe pe mal?


Iată vânturi învolburând

izul sărat și dens al mării,

pe țărmul acesta

cu nisipul aspru și rece,

în care ne proptim cu picioarele,

vânturi învolburându-ne tot mai lacome,

încât abia ne mai ținem

de streașina mâinii.


Și totuși,

ce caut pe țărmul acesta,

 îmi zic,

și în nisipul acesta nesigur

și locuit doar de călători

și de fapt

încotro am de gând să călătoresc?


În față –

valurile hohotitoare

sfâșiind limpezimea ireală a mării

și purtând ecoul

depărtatelor izbiri de margini,


furându-mi nisipul de sub picioare

și dăruindu-mi-l iar

și însemnându-l cu scoicile adâncului

(dar cine să priceapă semnelor


și greutatea?);


în față –

nesfârșirea dezlănțuită

clătinând incendii de lumină,

nesfârșirea sorbind cerurile

și văzduhurile

și depărtările.


Iar aici – eu,

proptindu-mă din toate puterile în mal

și rezemându-mă de streașina mâinii,

aici – nisipul vorbirii

împovărat de scoicile adâncului

și vânturile învolburându-l;


aici – eu,

simțind cu bucurie nisipul în toți porii

și sub pleoape

și mestecându-l

și respirându-l,

ca pe singura posibilitate de a fi


și bucurându-mă de greutatea lui

ca de propria mea greutate

și umplându-mi mâinile cu scoici

și bucurându-mă de greutatea lor

ca de propria mea greutate;


căci ce altceva m-ar putea ține

pe țărmul acesta

locuit doar de călători

și răscolit de vânturi?

Și totuși, îmi zic,

ce caut în aceste nisipuri


și unde vreau, de fapt, să călătoresc?


Elisabeta Bogățan, România





Elisabeta Bogățan (România). Poet, essayist, literary critic, translator, editor, she is a member of the Romanian Writers’ Union, of the French Poets Society from Paris, of the Royal Association of Writers and Artists of Wallonia-Brussels (AREAW), Belgium, of the Professional Journalists Union, as well as other unions, societies and associations of writers. She is an editor-in-chief of: International Literary Confluences; Ethnography, Anthropology and Folklore Magazine. Award winninig writer. Multilingually translated.


Water Resilience


The universe is in the flow,

Free cascading through everyone's life

Watching the bluish love of oceans, rivers, pools

And most importantly adoring the enigma of water.

We, as, humans are yet to learn how to flow,

How to feel the intensity, fluidity of situations

And carry on with the tide of growth!

As timeless as it's even been, as flexible as it is

And as powerful as it possesses in this entire world and beyond,

Water synchronises with every possible thing we want to instill in our memories.

Interrogate yourself if you've had enough resilience

Just like the water does

And if you're way backwards, meaningful approaches are yet to come 

To make you more patient, calm and emotionally resilient 

And once you achieve what actually you're needed to be

Your journey smoothly goes with the indelible watermarks of God's blessings.

Complexity doesn't take place where aquatic fluorescence occur more often

And mind conjugates with the frequency of serene to wash away difficulties.


storytellersuchismita, India






Author Suchismita Ghoshal hails from West Bengal, India. At the age of 24, she has been continuously leaving her footprints in the contemporary literary world. She is an widely published author, internationally reputed bilingual poet, spoken word poet, professional writer, content writer, editor and critic, translator (Bengali, English), performing poet, communicator and literary influencer, an independent thinker, humanitarian and change enthusiast.



I wish on the island of your heart

you allow me to walk the perimeter,

be the lee shore, the shelter

your eyes strain to find through fog.

A test of its boundaries

across a one-mile radius,

our journey might still feel infinite.

I’ll meet your vessel, delicately

gather what treasures I can carry to you,

bring them to the untouched edge of the sea.


Perry S. Nicholas, USA




Perry S. Nicholas (USA) is recently-retired English Professor at SUNY at ERIE in Buffalo, N.Y. He has published one textbook of poetry prompts, three full-length and six chapbooks of original poetry, along with two CDs of poetry. You can see his work at perrynicholas.com.


"Acqua che disseta" by Vittorio Venuti, Italy


Quando mi parli


Quando mi parli

la tua voce mi fa da vestito

e mi spogli e mi copri

con crudele dolcezza

nell’ordito di suoni e silenzi.


Con sguardi e parole

la caverna del cuore mi scavi

e poi la ricolmi

con l’acqua degli occhi.


Io so di un uccello ch’è morto

perché più non riusciva a cantare.


Vittorio Venuti, Italy




Vittorio Venuti (Italia) Psicologo e psicoterapeuta, pittore e scrittore, autore di numerosi libri di narrative e saggistica. Sono numerose le mostre personali dei suoi lavori. Interessato alla mail art, ha organizzato eventi in Sicilia e Piemonte. Sue opera si trovano in collezioni private in Italia e all’estero. https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100015232475923



"The suffering of nature"" by Maristella Angeli, Italy


Like a river


Flow of time

like a raging river

overflows, smoothes, transforms

a bubbling trail

boils the energy

whirls and reels

retraces his steps

turns and sinks

it returns oxygen to the air

it flows tormenting


intoning ingrowing

a stormy dirge


Maristella Angeli Italy





Maristella Angeli (Italy) is a poetess, fantasy writer and painter who has always felt the need to express herself in different artistic forms. 

She has published ten poetic collections, two fantasy novels, and has exhibited her paintings in personal, group and international events.

websites: https://www.maristellaangeli.it/                                                                            http://www.antipodes.it/autori/scheda.asp?id=32

A Little Drop of Water 


A little drop of water 

Evokes the imagine of creatures 

A little drop of water 

Refreshes trees branches 

A little drop of water is

The Elegant Beauty of nature 

A little drop of water is

Splendour bloom of flowers 

A little drop of water 

Expresses the feelings of writers 

A little drop of water, when

Monsoon is the season of love


Ananta Kumar Singh, India




Ananta Kumar Singh (India) is a young poet. He hails from Bargarh in the Indian state of Odisha. He is studying English literature at Ravenshaw University, Cuttack.

Dylan, Óh Dylan 

Traz-me a tua onda 

Invade o meu coração e leva as mágoas 

Leva os risos dos desalmados 

A raiva dos vencidos 

Dylan, Óh Dylan 

Abraça-me como abraçar as ilhas 

Beija-me com beijas as rochas 

Ama-me como amas às areia 

Lágrimas filho de oceano

Acuda este suor de sonho

Ampara esta chuva de loucura

Dylan, Óh Dylan 

Água espremida da alma

Pai desta vida vazia

Sede de viver amor

Afogando na solidão 



Glória Sofia, Cape Verde




Gloria Sofia (Cape Verde), 1985, majored at the University of Azores. Invited to Harvard University, Tufts Univ and B.U. for reading. Nominated for several literature prizes. With many book translated and publications in many magazines. She has represented her country Cape Verde in many festivals.. https://gloriasvmonteiro.wixsite.com/gloriasofia 

H₂O sound poem

(In 20 different languages)
























Vic (2022)

Victor Valqui Vidal 





Victor Valqui Vidal was born in Peru and resides in Denmark. He is an engineer, a mathematician, a cultural sociologist, visual artist, and poet. He is also a performer. He studied in Peru, France, Belgien, and Denmark. He has published poems in several anthologies and published short stories. He is chairman of the art association Astrid Noack Atelier, DK.




Soy un río de montaña, su flujo continuo,

Golpeo las rocas y vuelo.

Levanto vuelo, subo cuando caigo

Aprecio lo que el destino hará para mí.

Pero a veces la gente cambia su destino como el lecho de un río,

Para regar campos, prados, jardines,

Y me alegro por mi destino

La vida no es posible sin el agua.

Yo, así como el agua, fluyo a través de las venas de árboles y plantas.

Estoy en todos los seres vivos que nos rodean.

Me esfuerzo al cielo para evaporarme de nuevo

Flotaré por el cielo como una nube para el mundo entero.


 Abdukakhor Kosim, Tajikistan

Translated from Russian into Spanish by Alexey Krasnyansky




Abdukakhor KOSIM (Kosimov Abdukakhor Sattorovich) (Tursunzade. Tajikistan)


Poet, International Confederation of Journalists of Tajikistan, International Union of Writers, Academy of Russian Literature, International, Cámara Internacional de Escritores & Artistas (CIESART) -Barcelona, Co-Chairman of the Literary Council of the Assembly of Peoples of Eurasia, National Coordinator of "World without Walls" - Colombia, Honorary International Peace Ambassador.

Dew drops on the flower

Baptize the petals.

Tear drops from the soul

Baptize the eyes.

Baptizer, the water,

Guilt cleanser, the water,

Thirst quencher, the water,

Seed sprouter, the water,

Feet soother, the water,

Formless, odourless, tasteless,

Life-sustainer, the water.


 Amita Sanghavi, Oman





Amita Sanghavi (Oman Sultanat) teaches at Sultan Qaboos University. She is a writer, a poet, an editor, a regular blogger and Youtuber who muses and reflects on Life. https://amitasanghavispoetry.blog/

"An Atlantis Dinner" by Helen Bar-Lev, Israel


An Atlantis Dinner


Welcome welcome

do have an aquamarine for an appetizer,

an amber hors d'oeuvres

then some obsidian soup

for the main course we have

roast geode with amethyst artichokes,

pearl potatoes, carnelian carrots, opal onions

Do you all have silverware?


Please pass the bar of gold to spread on the bread

Could you carve up that chunk of rose quartz?

Have some emerald and jade salad with jasper dressing

This ruby wine is divine


For desert there’s a sapphire sponge cake,

pearl pudding or lapis lazuli ice cream

with a sprinkling of opal on top

then a cup of turquoise tea or copper coffee;

we’ll freshen our breaths

with an after-dinner diamond


Good night then,

it’s been a delectable dinner,

an absolute gem of an evening



the sea seems to be rising –

it’s much higher than it’s ever been before

does anyone have a crystal ball?


 Helen Bar-Lev, Israel







Helen Bar-Lev (Israel/USA) was born in New York in 1942.   She has lived in Israel for more than 50 years and has had over 100 exhibitions of her landscape paintings.   Six poetry collections, all illustrated by Helen.  She is the Amy Kitchener senior poet laureate and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2013.  She is the recipient of the Homer European Medal for Poetry and Art.  



"En barcos de papel intentamos sobrevivir" by Isilda Nunes, Portugal 


¿Y nosotros?


En la incuria del difuso amanecer,

Poseidón espuma.

La humanidad se hunde.

De la locura oceánica,

emerge la irracionalidad

en olores etílicos.




Ondas dantescas

oscurecen el supuesto amanecer.

¿Y nosotros?


En barcos de papel intentamos sobrevivir.


Isilda Nunes 





Isilda Nunes (Portugal) es una escritora portuguesa galardonada mundialmente. Sus poemas han sido traducidos a una veintena de idiomas y publicados en antologías, revistas y periódicos de más de 30 países. Además de otros cargos, es presidenta ejecutiva Mundial de la Unión Hispanomundial de Escritores (UHE).

"Il ruscello" by Sandro Orlandi, Italy




The water flows

through my fingers

clear and fresh spring water

it flows unrestrainable

it’s impossible to hold it back

it slips away lightly

as my life.


Sandro Orlandi Italy





Sandro Orlandi (Italy) was born  in Rome. Medical Doctor in hospital, now retired. He has always felt a strong need to write, succeeding in expressing himself with poems, songs, stories and novels.  He has published several books, and some of these were honored in literary contests. He also recorded two cds  with 30  songs.



The sea is my garden at night.

In the darkness

The moonflowers flutter on

The crests of the waves;

Endless field

That shines and dances

Till the morning light.

The fishes are its birds,

The whales their melodies;

Invisible visitors

Whose plumage sometimes

Breaks through the blue foliage.

Behold! There where the Neptunian moon

Draws its silver circle,

Right in the middle

Of the nightly crown,

There rises the most beautiful

Jewel of all:

Life itself.


The sea is my garden at night,

But it needs no watering,

And it takes care of itself.

So I

Just stand by

And watch its constant swaying,

And watch its constant swell,

And with each one

Thousands of new flowers,

So many mirrors,

Reflecting the beauty of this

Lighted darkness.

So I

Just stand by

At the threshold of

My garden,

And watch.


The sea is my garden at night,

And its own gardener.

So that

All on has to do

Is enjoy the beauty of it.

Myriads of passing petals

Carried on the light froth,

Caressing my skin

As I sit on the beach.

I am not sleepy.

I wanna see.

I wanna see it all

While it lasts;

I wanna see

The very last flower


In the morning hour,

When the sun

And the whole sky


And there’s nothing left

Of the wonderous garden.


Only a blue plain,

A naked lawn, plain.


Chester Civelli,  Switzerland




Chester Civelli (Switzerland) is a poet and singer-songwriter from Sierre. He has released two self-published poetry books, “Encre & Nuages” and “Mysticismes” and has had poems featured in various webzines and magazines. He is currently working on the release of a poetry anthology proceeding from an online monthly event he held in 2021.

Facebook: PoetryReadingOnline

Instagram: @poetry_reading_online

Youtube: Poetry Reading Online





Todo nace de un gran silencio,

de la flor que se estrella en tu rostro,

de los cráteres donde sobrevive el agua

y secreta el jade que presagia

las horas que te alimentan,

el tiempo que te persigue,

el arpa que te pronuncia.

Hoy, más que nunca,

soy lo que queda de una palabra inútil.

Por lo tanto me duermo

bajo las mandrágoras la noche inmensa.

Ya no soy más que un grano de polen

en las alas negras de las golondrinas

que vuelan,

y revolotean en las venas azules

en el agua de su secreta armonía.


Maria Do Sameiro Barroso, Portugal






Maria Do Sameiro Barroso (Portugal) es médica, poeta multilingüe, germanista, traductora, ensayista e investigadora de literatura portuguesa y alemana, estudios de traducción e historia médica, galardonada con premios y distinciones literarias. 



I am alone. But with my self.


Prayers have taken me

I want to say nowhere.


But there is the word, "But",

I seek an answer from instead,

mired, no, comfortable in

a depth where anger feels

good, feels exactly where I

should be, no matter how lonely

the body and mind I trust feels.


At the moment I ask

and ask and ask isn't hardship,

a stop I don't need to make at 61.


I imagine the clouds in you

passing in the brown water

unable to reflect the sky's blue.


I wanted some help

for my age and my body

but I was a fool again, I was

forgetting how each time

I felt free of the filthy lucre's

ability to stifle the mirror.



Stop me from hearing what

my reflection has always said,

better than anything I hoped for

after any prayer.  


Me, standing there

in front of

that piece of strange glass

told I must once again enter

the possibilities in making windows

may somehow bring to alleviate,

start up another phase of control

only meant to pay off a few bills.


The speechless puddle out with me

on a walk I wish would take me

out of this life, lead me like a guide

to a river where I can board

a boat shaped like the word, "Why?"



I am alone still... happily alone.


Chad Norman, Canada






Chad Norman (Canada)  lives and writes in Truro, Nova Scotia. In 1992 he was awarded the Gwendolyn MacEwen Memorial Award For Poetry, the judges were Margaret Atwood, Barry Callaghan, and Al Purdy. His poems appear in journals, magazines, anthologies around the world. A new book, A Matter Of Inclusion is due out soon.




The water is a kind of gentle force,

Can let the heavy soul sink to the bottom,

It can also raise the eyes of freedom.


I appreciate its slow flow,

When it doesn’t succumb to pressure.

I appreciate its tolerance and fearlessness,

While holding its curve.


It doesn't matter what concept,

It doesn't matter what the goal will be,

No direction is the biggest direction,

This is the inspiration it gives us.



James Tian, China


James Tian, Tianyu (China), born in 1994 in Shandong Province Tai’an City. Member of Chinese Poetry Society, President of International issue of Chinese Literature Magazine; Editor of the Column Group of Wisdom China CCTV. https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100018793597366

Το νερό


Είναι στοιχείο και στοιχειό

Το νερό που βράζει όταν τη φωτιά ανεβάσεις κάτω από την κατσαρόλα...


Ποτέ γίνεται ανοιχτό θαλασσι, σκούρο μπλε και λευκό όταν όλα τα παράπονά του κουβαλάει και τα ξεβράζει στην ακτή.


Το νερό είναι διάφανο

Όπως η μοναδική αλήθεια.


Και όταν στάζει εκείνη η

Χαλασμένη βρύση

Και πέφτουν οι σταλες στο νεροχύτη...

Καμία δε μοιάζει με την άλλη

Η μία θα είναι ελαφρυα και αδύνατη

Η άλλη θα είναι χοντροκομμένη


Το νερό,

Είναι σημαντικό για να ζήσουν οι άνθρωποι

Τα ζώα, τα φυτά.

Νερό αόρατο


Μα αγαπημένο ..


Νερό γάργαρο,

Γεμάτο δύναμη

Γίνεται καταρράκτης

Όταν εναντιωθεις στη δύναμη του



Μεγαλώνοντας τα δέντρα,

Τα Μπουμπούκια

Τα Φύλλα

Τα Άνθη

Να ωριμάζουν 

Να χορεύουν

Να  γελούν....


Το νερό

Αυτό τόσο σπάνιο 

Που όλοι μας 

Ανάγκη το έχουμε

Στη ζωή

Ένα θησαυρό 

Για να τον μοιραστούμε.


Εύα Πετρόπουλου Λιανου




Eva Petropoulou Lianou  (Greece) is a poet and an awarded author of children books, literary books .

For the past 22 years she has been writing stories and doing workshops in schools and libraries.

Her poems have travelled all over the world and have been translated in English, Chinese, Arabic, Urdu, Bengali, Nepali, Korean, Vietnamese.


Twinflames (Water) 


after Saad Ali 

for saying time doesn't exist


They say realms are made of water –

cyclonic waves twisting out of skies;


we weren't formed from sand but stars – 

our eyes reflect stories of reincarnation. 


They say we travelled timelines 

of centuries long past our futures, 


that we were once the ocean 

where water-myths dwelled;


fairies with tails in deeps beyond 

the eyes' reach. We rebelled our form 


and chose power – magnetic waves 

looping life – like memories that chase


dreams of after-life even before birth – 

they say the hunt for time never ends. 


We have held our bodies in liquid jail, 

and our tails have wandered further 


than where the horizon and ocean meet. 

We are passages morphing with age;


elemental like youth, electric like water, 

ethereal like earth under the ocean.


Sheikha A. (Pakistan and United Arab Emirates)






Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her works appear in a variety of literary venues, both print and online, including several anthologies by different presses. More about her can be found at sheikha82.wordpress.com