July 1-14, 2013: Darryl Davis and Pradeep Kumar

Darryl Davis and Pradeep Kumar

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Darryl Davis
darrylmdavis@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Darryl Davis embraces a life-long passion for writing poetry which eschews the White Tower and leaves the reader feeling included rather than sitting on the sidelines listening to him type. He regularly marries the written word with all-original images which contribute to the overall story. His poems and/or photographs have featured in various on-line and printed journals around the world and his professional essays have also appeared in Benefits and Compensation International. His first collection of illustrated poetry – In Between Places – was published in June 2013 and is available on Amazon. Darryl hails from Upstate New York and holds a MA in History from the University of Connecticut at Storrs. He and his family live in Brussels, Belgium where he is a senior consultant for a professional services firm.

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by Darryl Davis and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


Shlameel, Shlamazel

I could have broken a row of mirrors,
running by with a stick straight out
or wandered behind Chinese restaurants,
crossing black cats’ paths like live wires
and then walked away whistling good fortune,
hands in pockets, safely away from all wood.
Instead, I farted caution into the coming breeze,
stuck a fork into the toaster of life
and went to work.


Five O’Clock in Tokyo

After the world has hung me out
like limp socks in the breeze,
all of my holes plain to see
like sad badges of honor,

I retreat to quietly lick my wounds
in a dark corner beneath the radar,
a shadow’s shadow, eyes turned down,
hands clutching a pint of something.

You needn’t go out of your way,
twisting your excuse for a
face into a frown, the tangerine sun
rising iconically behind your saintly head,

I’m doing nothing which millions of
grey suits aren’t doing right now
in the noble city of Tokyo and countless
other places in distant time zones.


La Vieille

She can talk to squirrels
with the same sense
of ease she addresses
everyone she encounters
in the grocery store
each and every morning,

the young mother she lectured
about how easy she had it,
the stock boy who scoured
shelves tirelessly for everlasting peas
or the gentleman half her age
who simply smiled while she insisted
they had once danced in 1958.

From a worn park bench the dialogue
continues to roll off her tongue,
occasionally curtained by her lips,
thin, quivering but mostly longing
for the time they garnered attention
and would only speak when spoken to.

 

 


Pradeep Kumar
deepsctm@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Mr. Pradeep Kumar is a lecturer with College of Applied Sciences, Sur, Sultanate of Oman.

The following work is Copyright © 2013, and owned by Pradeep Kumar and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


In the name of God

I sold my flesh,
I was thirsty
Pots arrayed to my thirst
I dazzled one pot,
That was of my colour.
 
The pot told the stories of thirst
Shivering and sweating.
I longed and envied
The furious tides ripped my attires
I flew with the winds
 
Thorns smiled below the skies and heavens
I defeated my soul
Pot set off my thirst,
Cherished my honey days
The pot poured and poured
 
On an end the pot fell and broke
Thirst got in thorns
A coloured crucification,
Engraved; in the name of god-
I sold my flesh