WORLD POETS SOCIETY (W.P.S.)

A Literary Organization for Contemporary Poets from all around the World                                                        

                                                                                                    

WORLD POET

  The Official Magazine of the World Poets Society (W.P.S.)

Issue 1

(October-December 2007)

 Editor and Director: Dimitris P. Kraniotis

 

Index

1. Rosemary C. Wilkinson

2. Teresinka Pereira

3. Ada Aharoni

4. Maurus Young

5. Dimitris P. Kraniotis

6. A. D. Winans

7. Guy Crequie

8. Anthony Liccione 

9. Bernard Alain

10. Zhang Zhi (Diablo)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Rosemary C. Wilkinson

1. This Is The Moment

This is the moment
when I see the dull sky
sprinkle pure white flakes
bending ponderosa pines fifty feet tall
creating a dripping "in tune"
as the sun shines through.
I smell the clean air, inhaling deep
within me, as I touch covered leaves
of flowers frozen, no longer to breathe
fragrance stifled by cleansing thereof,
imbuing soft stillness, I feel,
bringing peace within.

 

 

 

 

Teresinka Pereira

2. The Moment

The moment is yours.

You may use it like the rose,

or make it to last like the oak tree.

 

The present always will be precious,

deeply sensible and relentless.

 

Others say that

the momentaneous rose

only exists to hide

the thorns of passion.

 

Enjoy the ethereal hope

of the flowers which drowns

in time without even touching

their desire.

 

 

 

  

 

Ada Aharoni

3. Is Teddy Bears For Guns

My man of the year
Is the wonderful, wise one
Who sat himself in the midst
Of the West with a huge box
Of chubby Teddy Bears
On New Year's Day,
Attracting an endless
Queue of cheering kids -
Holding guns

He playfully showed
With a smile and a wink
And a Teddy Bear Hug -
It could be the beginning
Of a honey-laden decade
In a brave new world

By wisely trading
Guns
For Teddy Bears.

 

 

 

 

 

 Maurus Young

4. A Pigeon

From the top
A pigeon
Is raising its neck
Looking downward

It is watching the people
Who are walking with their heads bent down

It is listening to the cars
Which are roaring past so quickly

It is playing with the dust flying in the air
While looking downward

It is smelling the polluted air
From the top

Looking downward
Raising its neck
A pigeon
From the top

 

 

 

 

 

Dimitris P. Kraniotis

5. Illusions

  Noiseless wrinkles
on our forehead
the frontiers of history,
shed oblique glances
at Homer’s verses.
Illusions
full of guilt
redeem
wounded whispers
that became echoes
in lighted caves
of the fools and the innocent.   

 

 

 

 

 

A. D. Winans

6. The System

There are old men and women
Who have worked all their lives
Who have put in three
Four decades for the
Right to a pension

There are old people who have
Worked twenty years or more
Only to be laid off and given
Two weeks severance pay
To seek a living at half the pay
There are old people
Who have worked all their lives
Only to witness the company
Go belly-up
And find there is no pension
Fund left

You can find them on park benches
Or wandering sterile supermarkets
Or sitting at neighborhood bars
Nursing drinks like
A blood transfusion

They come in assorted flavors
Like “Life Savers”
Some thin and balding
Some fat and sweating
Some complaining bitterly
Some too proud to let the pain show
Trapped by a belief in a system
That has abandoned them

For the most part they suffer
In silence, duly unnoticed
To be carted off in meat wagons
To be cut open by coroners
Who see them as morning cereal
Who go about their business
Like a butcher
Thinking of dinner
Thinking of a glass of wine
Thinking of how it used to be
How it might have been
How it should have been

It’s the way of life
It’s the way of politicians
And mice
It’s the system where
Just trying to stay alive becomes
A small victory

 

 

 

 

Guy Crequie

7. Poetry Of The Life

I look at the constellations

To scintillate in the sky

A little before the diurnal period

I contemplated grasses

Meadow

Which while pushing

Intermingle

I am heated interior

By the sun when it irrigates my existence

I live the quietude of my thoughts

along this dirt track

Lit by the moon

Rocked by the chirp

Close brook

It is fields of apple trees

Who accommodate some pear trees and cherry trees

If nature is plural

Why: the human person

Perhaps intolerant, egoistic, even xenophobe

The pink always reappears the summer

Beyond varied grounds

Even attacked

By the impetuous currents of the external phenomena

Sometimes difficult for the hearts and the bodies

I clamp, like philosopher of the people

The poetry of the life.

 

 

 

 

 

Anthony Liccione

8. Success

Success is never

mastered

only practiced,

time plays the part mostly.

It takes a failing will

to try again,

the will to fail

to remain humble.

 

It’s the failure

people are prone to,

when dreams

finally fail them,

and go unwished.

Ceased to be as dust.

 

The infamous statue

that leans in the closet

against the concrete

of darkness,

where a stream of light

resurrects from the key

hole,

hold

still never reaching for

the doorknob

to turn a life alive.

 

 

 

 

 

Bernard Alain

            9. Urban Ink

the silent granite
of an aged monolith
awakens in the steam
of urban ink

vapor of a stallion
erupting in the nostrils
of eager curbs,
streaming AM crescendos
to clipping feet
and polished napes

I drink a sky of stars
in the Paradiso trails
of this cityscape,
for between me
and a finer grind,
promises of enterprise
await

I step to a tango
of hailing cabs
and foxy haste

 

 

 

 

 

Zhang Zhi (Diablo)

10. Rising

You are aloft, evil, elegance and gloomy
Like a snow leopard, like a crescent moon
My witch, my Mona Lisa
In your melancholy and mysterious eyes
I’m willing to be gracefully cut by your knife
I’m willing to turn into a pile of ash
Pillowing the green hills and rivers alone
Listening to your wordless repent
Plum, I’ll stand in the hell or heaven
To see how you draw back the cutting edge of your red lips

No, in the centre of the storm of time
I, a free poet
In the instant of falling, will die without a burial place
If I refuse to rise

 

 

 

 

WORLD POETS SOCIETY (W.P.S.)

The Official Website: http://world-poets.blogspot.com/

E-mail: wps_society@yahoo.gr, worldpoetssociety.wps@gmail.com

 

Founder and President: Dimitris P. Kraniotis

Dr. Dimitris P. Kraniotis, M.D., Litt.D.

Internal Medicine Specialist

2, Panagoulis str.

41222 Larissa

Greece

The Official Website: http://www.dimitriskraniotis.com/

E-mail: dkraniotis@yahoo.gr, dimitriskraniotis@gmail.com

This page last updated December 31, 2007

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