Anthology29erato(final version)

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Contents

Letter from the editor…………………………Page 3

Poems by Dan Snow…………………………..Page 5

Poems by Eric Mwathi………………………..5

Poems by Debbie J. Embrey……………….....Page 47

Contributor’s Profiles………………………….Page 68

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Letter from the Editor

This first issue of Anthology29 will be dedicated to the muse of love

poetry, named Erato, because the theme of love is an important one, both

for poetry and for life. Even though love is what a lot of literature, as well as

gossip columns are directly or indirectly discussing all the time, the

importance of love is still greatly underestimated.

In the book of 1 John, chapter 4, verse eight, the Bible tells us that

God is love.

It is out of our parents’ love becoming flesh, that we were born, and

are mostly capable of only giving love to others, in the same degree that love

has been given to us.

Not only is love important for the existence of mankind, but a lot of

the problems that we have to face in life occur because of a lack of it.

I believe that most of us never receive the amount of love we need,

and that most of the problems, in this world, are linked with precisely this

problem. If we all had received the amount of love, intimacy and

understanding that we had needed as a child, then I believe that physical or

other forms of violence, as well as the long list of addictions that this world

is burdened with, would not be a problem to the extent that it is today.

Violent political conflicts would not be here if it were not for our

neurotic world leaders reacting towards domestic and international conflicts,

in the same dishonest and even hostile way, which they have been taught to

deal with them, in their own dysfunctional and loveless households.

It is for this reason that I feel this issue should be dedicated to show what

contemporary poets have to say about the subject of love.

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Yours Sincerely,

Eric Mwathi

(Editor)

5

.Dan Snow.

6

.Upon the Skylight of Illuma, Bugis.

Beneath the balcony, the twinkling city

gazes back, its thousand-eyed stare

a luscious string of diamonds, yet empty

as the night sky showing light through dark.

Within this facade, what a glimmer! Blacked-out,

this city loses its entire luster, like a cake

with all its candles blown. So I'm aware,

were I to rub the light concealer off your face,

you'd retain the same luscious beauty --

a shade fainter perhaps, but still

you'd glow with radiance of fallen stars.

I cannot extinguish you from my mind,

glued as you're there, brilliant as starlight,

compelling, an empty shoulder beside.

So would you lean upon it, and fill me

with warmth no thousandth star may grant?

8

.Jasmine.

Fire

burns behind your eyes

those irises submerging

me in another world

a little girl’s dreams

of dancing her nights away

and making it to the stage

(which she has)

taking your hand in dance

lesson, a hold on something

tender

I do not know its name

this feeling

your body

settling into my palm in close hold

and we danced a couple ’s

rounds before the dance teachers

called for a change of partners

eons ago, your fire

might have imprinted itself

in the shrine of my chest

your name

an incantation sworn on my lips

now sealed, perhaps,

by fire and ice

same shudder that runs

through my body whenever

my eyes swirl you

in their vortex

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and amid your leaving

through the lift doors last night

I do not know if I should

chase after you the wind

howling in my ears, my chest

or leave your shadow

jading me till the fading

10

.The Eleventh Hour.

Our garden Epiphyllum, open at last.

Some garden gnome hiding them away

like biscuits in green fern, unable

to churn out a single bud for months.

Thirteen petalled glories crowded

around my hand. A flower, shy

of attention, hides beneath a leaf

like a girl. I stretch my palm out,

address the white pearl’s nectar buds

nestled against my nose. She smells

of faint perfume, September bloom

where moon cycles have yielded long

nothing.

Dad captures the flowers in his

phone’s camera. We seek the eleventh

hour’s quiet reunion, just watching

white flowers – dad, mom and I

their shoulders flushed by my palms.

Tomorrow, the blossoms will perform

their finale in closing

their eyes for quiet sleep,

as we have once too often

dreamt for something to happen.

11

.Happy Couples.

There is a companion for everyone

on earth, I'd love to believe,

just as there are as many

female birds to every male. God in

His mercy, provided in world's Providence

an abundance of twigs, brambles, and bushes,

so birds may make their nests

over springs and summers.

He gave us mankind an abundance

of sand and cement and hard materials,

so we may build houses with our spouses.

And whenever a picture of happy couples

capture my rapture, the husband basking

in wife's companionship, I assign

one more sparrow to another, mentally,

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for the one I gave my heart to

was too fickle, perhaps, to build

a house with me based on her heartbeat.

13

.Mistakes.

Allow mistakes to happen. The subtle brush

of your hand against hers, walk

united by the stars. The winds

coax breath into you so much you

have to put out a hand to catch her

waist. It fits snugly in your palm, the

perfect slimness. And closer you walk, and closer;

step to step and toe to toe. You need not look

where her feet are planting themselves,

twinkling in tandem with your eyes, hand,

heart beating beside Marina Bayfront

where two stars collide & burst in shower

at undesignated hour, like a prophecy.

15

.Li Ting.

Routines scheduled comfort:

you hide in them, spinning, spinning

your way to vertigo. I’ve always dreamt

you, a lost child, mother dragging you

by hand to sign up for ballet classes.

Your schedule, hardly an empty day:

the mirror’s shrined image of yourself,

performing Salsa Shines to self. The child-elf

retains her grin on your high cheekbone,

high ponytailed you, exotic looks.

I love how you bundle up tresses

before a dance, coil it in buns

so hitting me or others was

not an option.

I love your tight mini dresses

that elaborate your slender thighs in pirouettes,

spins so carefully learnt

they whip you into another world.

And being a man means

I’d hardly need to sigh

to mirrors.

Being a gentleman means giving

you that false embrace after a dance

then waltz away the same

way I made my subtle

entrance into your life.

Being a woman means

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you can give away the mirror

and hold still your perfect

poise in my eyes’ reflections.

Routines, our shared comfort, now:

so much I write in it, and you

twirl in it, and live each whirl

of day blaming myself

for enshrining you in my eyes.

17

.Beyond the Window.

Close by, the rain’s wafts of pines and needles.

Your skin, smell of fresh jasmine

as if you’d stepped out of shower.

Trees lent you their leaves to

cloak yourself, falling to my

arms – sky’s ancient grey weather,

color of our hair if you

would yield rubies of your heart

into my careful palms

clasped

to receive yours.

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Your dark irises, twin raindrops twined

in perfect prism, worlds frozen,

chlorophylled in two crystal globes

I will not peer into, for fear

of finding Truth there: that I

were just a storm

blown by to satiate

my presumption of your needs.

So read me.

19

.Jasmine.

Life, the giving up of one

thing for another, an off-scale

of opportunities. Your arm

thrown out for balance in Salsa,

catch yourself off-count. How I’d

love to swirl your slender body

into a spin, whirl you past vertigo

and the blur-streak-winds of worlds;

cascade you into my arms. Here,

the perfect shelter should you feel

tired. Expired from dance, you

would want a safe harbor other

than the studio’s soft sofa,

its many glitzy lights and wild noise

waning your interest in boys.

I confess my crush for all things

soft and subtle, you holding poise

swift as light, elegant as Whirlwind Kansas.

Here, my dance membership, drawing an end.

I will leave on the winds of opportunity

earlier mentioned, a job stretching

beyond the evening, an off-scale

balance of time: my heart tripping on its

two left feet without your beat around,

the dance floor of life devoid of meaning.

21

.In All Respects of You (Sonnet).

To feel the night with you, so gently passing.

To take strands of your hair, and weave a braid

into place. To have you so tired, head

lain upon my shoulder, hand canvassing

my dead hand. To have started fires within

your eyes, and mine, and watched a battleship

sunk by the nudge of your small fingertip.

To steal a closed-eyed kiss, and not feel sin

crimsoning up the cold hulls of my cheeks. To travel with you dream-lengths of the ocean

just letting your gaze pulsate my motion –

I’ve held the globe by just exploring creeks

of your curvature; ceased at the dams

of lips. No: it’s not time yet, to steal the gems.

23

.Fetish.

It's a disaster to fall

in love again, the head

over heels of my heartbeat

tripping up before my feet

and hardening of places

too bewildering for faces.

I elicit a side

long glance at you, long

black hair curtaining your

soft gaze, the sunsets of

China rubying your

coy

complexion

and rising out of reverie

amid short gasps of

a fetish,

I may only stare after

your departing back,

and relish

a longing ache

to take

strands of your black hair

and stroke them

like a black cat in

the coffin

bed of my arm.

25

.Eric Mwathi.

26

.An Quarrelling Couple.

I

We angrily had stashed our bags away,

Below the seat. The airplane drifted off,

To lift us from that awful holiday;

Filled with great fights, that made bystanders scoff.

We’d feared our love was not likely to last,

Due to the hostile words that we’d exchanged,

Of wrong things done, within the distant past,

That nearly made us two become estranged,

Before I’d said, things had not been like this,

Before the fights that rose out of the blue.

And those are times that I shall badly miss,

Before the time this mutual tension grew,

Alas, I must try to forget the time,

That both of us had been able to rime.

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II

When I had come, it was to watch the sea,

And to inhale that pungent water-breeze,

That tucked you off to sleep, beside of me,

Below the shade of tall wuthering trees,

Then you said, that you came to climb the hills,

To watch the world, above some tall, slim, peak,

To search the movement. You could not stay still,

For its excitement that you come to seek.

Then we both came up with the compromise,

That we’d both rest, before we’d go to climb.

By striking deals we thought, we had been wise,

But then, we two, had quarrelled half the time,

It just took one thought to provoke a smirk,

Of flying back home where I could do some work.

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III

It’s terrible to know, that each two seconds,

You spend is wasted, slouching by your spouse,

In which you hear that booming voice, that beckons,

To know the time, or to retrieve her blouse.

I’m quite aware my spouse does not mean evil,

But only hopes that I could meet the needs,

You have to, when you both are married people,

Who show affection, through your helpful deeds,

But it would, sometimes, help to have the freedom,

In which to spend time to attend to mine,

And not act, like I’m just part of that fiefdom;

Employed to fetch her coat and pour her wine,

But do what also brings me joy as well,

So, holidays are not a living hell.

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IV

We drove back, as the car was in a jam,

Amongst the countless vehicles on the road,

After some Ford collided with a tram,

That had become a crumpled, heavy, load.

My spouse said, if I’d quickly left that bed,

Then we’d have made it through that road quite soon,

As comments, like those, caused me to see red,

As moody sunsets turn in time of noon,

Crying that I’m tired to shoulder all the blame,

For things that happen, on that dismal trip.

To make her sad, had never been the aim.

So, she could leave the car, or get a grip.

We did not speak again, for that whole ride.

Our lips were frozen shut, with fear and pride.

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V

To stop the fights, I thought to grab this book,

That had been deeply stashed within my bag.

It made me proud of that time, that I took,

The page-turner, in case that spouse might nag.

Then she had moaned that she would rather talk,

And would read if the text didn’t make her blur.

As her gaze looked, as those within a hawk,

That patiently wait for its prey to stir,

When asking what she’d like to speak about,

She said, sometimes I treat her, like she’s air.

Which had been true, and said there was no doubt,

If tension stays more than we two could bare,

We must consider walking separate ways,

If this hatred, between both of us stays.

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VI

She’d newly seen that I had grown a poach,

From all that extra junk food that I ate,

And joked about it with her fitness coach,

Whose health was built in quite the perfect state,

And when I told the spouse on how I felt,

About her gossiping behind my back,

On times I had to buy a bigger belt,

So, strangers won’t comment about my crack,

The spouse had felt, she too, had to admit,

That gossiping about me was quite mean,

But stressed it was quite vital to stay fit,

So that I look good when I shall be seen.

So both of us agreed, it would be best,

To put that brand-new diet to the test.

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VII

And then, at noon, the room had grown quite hot,

And thought it best if I switched on the fan,

Before the spouse suggested that I’d not,

Hoping the indoor heat, gave her a tan.

Not only did I claim, that was not true,

But that she could tan if she stepped outside,

Whereas, there were few places, I’d go to,

Where there’s a breeze, that could refresh my mind,

Then she had claimed it had not been that warm,

And not to dramatize things all the time,

Saying, that I’d call a bit of rain a storm,

And showed me how I’d moan, using her mime,

And on she mimicked, just how I’d complain,

About small things that cause me great disdain.

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VIII

After one major fight we knew it’s time,

To beg the couple’s counsellor to save,

Our broken bond, within all of the slime,

We dragged it through, from how we’d both behave,

When we tried to enjoy a peaceful day,

We compromised on what, we didn’t agree,

As we tried to avoid each other’s way,

When there was tension with the spouse and me,

But those attempts did not yield much result,

Before asking the shrink what we’re to do,

To give this broken love the little jolt,

To yield the joy that’s been long overdue,

Both her and I sought to schedule a date,

To see that shrink, and swore to not be late.

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IX

One ball game was to be aired on TV,

I knew that I simply could not, but watch,

But when the spouse heard what I planned to see,

That brow of hers darted up by one notch,

As she said she would much rather go out,

In some place where she could show off her dress,

She could not help, but always talk about,

Until that garment caused me great distress,

But I said, I could not afford to miss,

To watch a moment as rare as this was,

And granted this small life a lot of bliss,

With all shortcomings, that it had, and flaws.

This time the spouse chose not to start a fight,

As I wanted to watch that game tonight.

45

X

I wrote her to say it’s best we two part,

And asked to not make this bleak time more hard.

To not watch her suffer a broken heart,

It seemed much better to leave her this card.

I’d swore to always love her, but things change.

Long friendships end. Love couples part in hate.

The ones you love the most often turn strange.

Some part in death. I figured, why the wait?

Our love is over. It was never here.

Or else I would not write this hurtful song,

That must confirm my long expected fear,

That ate me up, inside, for much too long.

It’s sad I could not take much better care,

Of this relationship, I could not spare.

47

Debbie J. Embrey.

48

Said One Heart to the Other

It isn't easy to turn away

My heart belongs here,

I can't believe you don't love me

I turn my head

So you can't see my tear.

49

I carry this terrible burden

I guess now for life,

For without you by my side

It pains me

And brings me e'er so much strife.

I know I can't prove to you

How I feel inside,

But my heart aches for you

It is pounding

I feel as if I had died.

If I can't hold you close to me

I'd rather run away,

For I would rather see death

50

Than be alone

On Valentine's Day.

Love Me, Love Me Not.

I think I know what love is

My question is, 'Do you?'

Pains shouldn't stab someone

That's when love is through.

So either you love me right

Or you don't love me at all,

I'm tired of the agonies

While you're out having a ball.

Love me or love me not

It's just simple as that,

Either you love me or you don't

51

Tell me where we stand at.

Write me a letter, okay

If you can't say the words,

But the pain you put me through

Now that's just for the birds.

52

Why Me?

I've shed so many tears over him

Alas, my heart won't take no more,

I'm left with nothing ~ no one

It's nothing like it was before.

The pains I suffered out of love

53

Just how much can a woman take,

You left me facing ~ life~ death

Your expressed love for me was fake.

I can tell the difference between us

The deepest of the heart is true,

I'm the one that really felt it

That kind of love didn't come from you.

Why did you choose me over others

Did you even know about love?

Did you enjoy my suffering

You're the man that I had dreamed of.

Why me?

My heart just flew...

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Why me?

I only loved you.

55

.The Spirit of It All.

I fly towards the highest star

Yet I reach a mountain of love,

My heart soars and I feel free

As my soul wanders above.

I fly toward the fluffiest cloud

And it's your face that I see,

My heart beats so very fast

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You're really special to me.

I fly towards the cheesy moon

And I pass by you in space,

And all the while that I'm there

I'm dreaming as I vision your face.

I fly towards the skies so blue

And my heart fills with delight,

Just knowing you're here with me

Makes everything in life so right.

57

.A Gentle Love.

So gentle and inviting

I look into your eyes

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I'm lost in your world

Yet there's no place I'd rather be.

So serene and welcoming

I gaze deeper inside

There is something there

It brightens my inner soul.

So loving and liberal

I ponder your desires

I'm lost in your world

For there's no place I'd rather be.

59

.White Roses.

The beauty of the white rose

encases me.

I watch its petals gently fall

to the ground.

The sun's light brings out the

beauty of the rose.

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White roses meant for friendship

but I caress with love.

.The Strumming.

I sat in my room for what seems like a century

It's been so long, and yet I still let her get to me,

Jealousy isn't getting me anywhere in my life

I need to get out now and continue to act as a wife.

61

It's time I stood up and stopped acting as a child

Even if that woman has been driving me so wild,

Green eyes riveted in a very close ricochet

It seemed to me she did everything to get in our way.

Then one night when the moon was full up above

I heard a soft rhythm of music filled with so much love,

The light strumming of guitar just out my window below

Gave me the serenity that set my heart all aglow.

62

.12 White Roses.

Over the years I've grown to know

Of the passion you have for the rose,

Remember when I bought a bouquet

Seven to be exact, one for every day.

Every day of the week to show my love

To exclaim you're my angel from above,

One bouquet was yellow, you see

The other blue, as without you I'd be.

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Still a time red roses in a bouquet of 24

One for every hour in a day, yet so much more,

Now I want to take this opportunity

To exclaim once again what you mean to me.

Here I stand with a bouquet that's white

Twelve roses as I look into your eyes tonight,

Please, My Love, shed me not a single tear

There one white rose for each month of the year.

64

.Love is a Four-Letter Word.

Lasting friendships and eternal amour

Open hearts with unlock doors

Vast gush of energy and emotion

Evermore thinking of you; evermore.

65

.I'd Rather Be Alone.

To be awakened by an 'I love you'

that is meant for another woman

To be seen by person that claims

the depth of love cannot fail,

To be noticed once in awhile

when my hair is set differently

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To other islands would be nice

should I ever decide I want to sail.

Whichever is better doesn't really

matter, or does it now

The ones that are good for me never

happen anymore anyway,

I'd rather be alone all my life

while still in this world

I'd prefer scrutiny over destiny

just to get away.

To be acknowledged in a community

as someone once known as a friend

To be understood just once more

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with my pillow remaining dry,

Either would be nice if possible

..yeah, right, like it'll happen

It's like all at once my dreams in life

had gathered together just to die.

Author Notes

68

.Contributor’s Profiles.

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Dan Snow (Also known as Dan Tan)

Dan Snow comes Singapore and had discovered his love for poetry, when writing

them to his crush, who has never seen them to this day. To perfect his writing style

he had joined many writer’s workshops, before, during and after his years, of his

studies at the Tamasek Polytechnic, in Singapore. Dan Snow had later become a

member of the Zeitgeist Movement, and has published his individual poems twice

and has even published an article. In order to see more of his work, you can visit

his website, which is

http://www.pristineblueskies.tumblr.com

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Eric Mwathi

Eric Mwathi’s fiction and poetry has been published under Shot Glass Journal, Tongue

Mag Magworth's Literary Magazine, AllPoetry.com. Bard’s Magazine, Garbaj literary

magazine, and Stactes Greek literary Magazine is shortlisted and considered for the

World City Stories Prize and contributed to Shannon Norman’s Natural Reflections (A

Collection of Poems). Before editing this poetry journal he had also started the

Everyman’s Poetry Journal. See more of his work at his website :

http://ericmwathispoetry.webs.com/.

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Debbie J. Embrey

Debbie J. Embrey is a mother of three children, a stepdaughter and several

grandchildren. She has been writing poetry, since age 19, which had been the very

day that her youngest child was born.

Like so many others she has overcome a lot of problems, which was partly thanks

to her writing poetry.

Especially, during those times, her motto has been that “If we stand strong, against

the salvaging winds and waves, we can overcome.”

Debbie J. Embrey has published poetry widely which has each left her with an

'Editor's Choice Award' certificates and finds it an honour to have published more

than one poem, for the first time in her life, in this poetry anthology, for which she

gives God the glory, for making her a gifted poet.

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John Chamberlain

John Chamberlain is from England, but sees himself as a European Illustrator-

Artist, with a lifestyle of museum trips, bulk-buys of drawing inks, nib pens and

Chinese brushes. After graduating from the Edinburgh College of Art as well as the

Leeds College of Art, he now works as a self-employed Artist and Illustrator, who

usually works on a paid basis, but has kindly offered drawings of his to be placed in

the first issue of this magazine for free. John Chamberlain, not only has had art

exhibitions in the past, but his work can be viewed in the following pages, in which

his contacts are also placed, if you would like to hire him to collaborate with you in

some project.

List of John Chamberlain’s websites:

http://cargocollective.com/johnchamberla...

http://www.johnchamberlainishere.com

http://www.oneandother.com

https://www.facebook.com/officialbeatthe...

https://www.facebook.com/pages/John-Cham

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