April Newsletter

Page 1

April, 2018

Volume 1, Issue 4

Late Night Poets Allpoetry.com Spotlight Poet

Laurent Yvan

Dragon Fly group and called the LNP

Given Name is

radio shows in November

Laurent Gurewitch

2017 He describes the LNP po-

A sampling of

ets as “a positive active

Laurent’s poetry can

group dedicated towards

also be found on Late

poetry.”

Night Poets Blog

His most valuable experi-

He attended North

ence in the LNP group has

Country Community

been meeting other poets

College in Saranac

a year ago.

who are unique individuals.

Lake NY State Uni-

He says his inspiration for

Laurent’s favorite authors

versity College in

starting to write poetry was

are Lee Child and JRR

Geneseo NY.

reading Dylan Thomas

Tolkien,

Laurent is published in the an-

His favorite poets are Dy-

poetry as a teenager

thology Grey Dawn and is cur- lan Thomas, Pablo Neruda and Walt Whitman. rently seeking publication in

and then started

the upcoming LNP anthology.

again approximately

Laurent first joined the LNP

Laurent wrote some

See More...

weary dragonfly rests on the waters surface torn tattered lace beats fitfully unable to fly waiting for the end from below a wide mouthed surging shadow removes the surface prey the dragonfly is liberated ghost of a memory that no one remembers I am that dragonfly

Happy April Hi Everybody, Here’s hoping that spring will soon be upon us . Snowdrops and crocus both in full bloom. Soon the daffodils and tulips will be popping up as

By: Laurent Yvan

waiting for the shadow

well. I think most of us Organ Donor Month, Just that get the snow each to mention a couple . winter will be glad for a April is also bit warmer temps. National Poetry Month . Busy month here we Take a look inside have Autism Awareness and enjoy.. 1 Month along with


Volume 1, Issue 3

March , 2018

A Small Shell

you echo ever fainter

By: Laurent Yvan

traveling with yesterdays light

fine down resting lightly

as companion

arranged in soft fields

all dark matter is but

folded within your flesh

a cloak of sorrow

lying fallow

memory holds sundered treasures in an abattoir of delusion reflecting pain and misery left behind in a daily unraveling of emotion my desire hangs motionless a centered brick surrounded by structures of flesh and mimicry outlets are ever doubtful although explored in detail moving further still slipping eternally away your star-fields light shines flickering faintly a guide to a belted mask worn by the universe

waiting for my kiss remember remember the last days of December

I bend like water

digital history is torture

to a winds surface

I endure with a will

lips caress

until pain is a pinprick

receive caress

and you are a small shell your skin trembles a jewel laying on the beach

alive

I can still find and

shivering at my touch

put into my pocket

the moment is white

for safekeeping

I bite gently firmly

sandy and moist

and as summer warms earth

you dry with time

your neck yields

“I hold a beast, an angel and a madman in me.” ~Dylan Thomas

Electric loosing rains the rose bleeds red for the length of a beat fading to pink

I chase asteroids of future’s past

an open iris

cancelling out loss for a few mo-

Bending Like Water

ments

petals deflowered

By: Laurent Yvan

by my growled

attempting to surge in your wake you vanish too fast for my slow feet rooted in the mundanity of now magpies caw in my ear most mornings perched on shoulders that welcome your voice during the steam and smoke of dawns coffee and fags I listen as

urge Your neck is mine garlanded with love’s whispering pain across its pure slope and curve ton cou parfumé fragrance of honeybee and flower harvested on a dewy morn in the early light of dawn 2

“There shall be corals in your beds, There shall be serpents in your tides, Till all our sea-faiths die.” ? Dylan Thomas, The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas: The Original Edition


Volume 1, Issue 4

April 2018

Check in Late Night Poets Throughout the month and see what else is going on :

All Poetry Annual

April 26th ...Carry A Poem In Your Pocket and Share The Beauty of Poetry With A Friend

NaPoMo Contest …. Just Write A Poem A Day To Win April 20th … Open Mic

You “Must” Call In & Read Your Work If 8 New LNP Poets. . Call In & Read I Will Read A Poem On Air Fillmyeyes 3


Volume Volume 1 1 Issue Issue 32

February March,2018 2018

By: Pam Ray ."Autism which often appears before the age of three is diagnosed in one out of sixty-eight children." "approximately forty percent of children with autism do not speak." "About twenty five to thirty percent of children who have autism have some words at twelve to eighteen months of age and then lose them." "autism currently is growing at a faster rate than any other developmental disorder yet receives the least amount of funds." Chances are you know someone with autism or know someone who loves and cares for a person with autism. I have an eleven year old son on the autism spectrum, he is non verbal and also has pica, which is the compulsive urge to eat non-food items. Every person with autism is a unique individual every caretaker or parent of a person with autism is in a unique situation. they are more than statistics, they are lives comprised of joy, hope, struggles, appreciation of small victories and acceptance of short comings. It's been said that special and strong people are chosen to raise children with autism. I don't believe this, I believe that strength,endurance, patience, these are all developed over time in the process of raising a child with autism. It can be difficult to sum up the experience of being an autism family especially since dispite the need for routine every day brings it's own challenges and adventures. Speaking for no one but myself, I would say this, it's not always easy to ask for help. There are moments I feel I can shoulder every burden placed upon me and there are days I want to crumble and cry. When it comes to autism awareness not only in the month of April but all year long, If you can offer any sort of help to an autism family, if you can offer words of comfort or encouragement, If you can stand up for a person with autism that's being bullied, If you can educate yourself and ask questions with an open mind and an open heart, If there is anything you can do to bring awareness to this growing and tragic epidemic that effects so many and to show someone they don't carry the burden alone, then please do it. http://nationalautismassociation.org/resources/autism-fact-sheet/ 4


Volume Volume 1 1 Issue Issue 42

February March,2018 2018

By: Deborahlee Are you registered to be an organ/cornea/tissue donor? Did you know? ...common transplantations include kidneys, heart, liver, pancreas, intestines, lungs, bones, bone marrow, skin,

“I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.” Dylan Thomas

and corneas. ...some organs and tissues can be donated by living donors, such as a kidney or part of the liver, part of the pancreas, part of the lungs or part of the intestines ...organs not healthy enough for transplant can be a big help with amazing breakthroughs in research ...a single donor can save up to 75 lives ...right this minute, over 100,000 people Are you a rainbow? To be a rainbow...

wait for an organ to save their life ...in the ten minutes, it will take you to read this

click the link

and check out the link below, another name

www.donatelife.net

will be added to that total ...more than 20 people die every single day after waiting on a list and praying for a rainbow

“Love is the last light spoken.” Dylan Thomas

5


Volume 1 Issue 4

April, 2018

Famous Poet By: Laurent Yvan… Dylan Thomas, in full Dylan Marlais Thomas, (born October 27, 1914, Swansea, Glamorgan [now in Swansea], Wales—died November 9, 1953, New York, New York, U.S.), Welsh poet and prose writer whose work is known for its comic exuberance, rhapsodic lilt, and pathos. His personal life, punctuated by reckless bouts of drinking, was notorious. That is what Britannica has to say about Thomas in its opening statement. Dry, to the point, brevity to be expanded on, To me his poetry was an electricity that coursed through my body the first time I read him, in fact these particular words... "The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bent by the same wintry fever." It was a real revelation, opening up vistas and bringing me to serious poetry as a teenager in high school. I became fascinated with the way that Thomas put together words. Thomas describes his technique in a letter: “I make one image—though ‘make’ is not the right word; I let, perhaps, an image be ‘made’ emotionally in me and then apply to it what intellectual & critical forces I possess—let it breed another, let that image contradict the first, make, of the third image bred out of the other two together, a fourth contradictory image, and let them all, within my imposed formal limits, conflict.” Among my favorites is this short piece, a poetic rationale...: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/sponsored/travel/wales-dylan-thomas/10833431/dylan-thomas-craftsullen-art.html There is so much written about Dylan Thomas that I will go no further, there is no need to. I will however, encourage you to read him seriously if you have not. 6


Volume Volume 1 1 Issue Issue 42

February April, 2018 2018

.The

force that through the green fuse drives the flower By: Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

“Though lovers be lost love shall not.” Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night Poem by Dylan Thomas

The force that drives the water through the rocks Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Turns mine to wax. And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins How at the mountain spring the same mouth

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night.

sucks. The hand that whirls the water in the pool Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Hauls my shroud sail. And I am dumb to tell the hanging man How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head; Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Shall calm her sores. And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And you, my father, there on that sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

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Volume Volume 1 1 Issue Issue 42

February April, 2018 2018

Fern Hill Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953 Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, The night above the dingle starry, Time let me hail and climb Golden in the heydays of his eyes, And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves Trail with daisies and barley Down the rivers of the windfall light. And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home, In the sun that is young once only, Time let me play and be Golden in the mercy of his means, And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold, And the sabbath rang slowly In the pebbles of the holy streams. All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air And playing, lovely and watery And fire green as grass. And nightly under the simple stars As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away, All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars Flying with the ricks, and the horses Flashing into the dark. And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all Shining, it was Adam and maiden, The sky gathered again 8

And the sun grew round that very day. So it must have been after the birth of the simple light In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm Out of the whinnying green stable On to the fields of praise. And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long, In the sun born over and over, I ran my heedless ways, My wishes raced through the house high hay And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs Before the children green and golden Follow him out of grace, Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand, In the moon that is always rising, Nor that riding to sleep I should hear him fly with the high fields And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land. Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means, Time held me green and dying Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

“And I rose In rainy autumn And walked abroad in a shower of all my days...� Dylan Thomas Collected Poems


Volume 1 Issue 4

April, 2018

By: AP Taylor Basic white cords, some are even metallic, equipment chargers are everywhere. I am an Apple device devotee. I have a phone and two mobile iPads that manage to eat through power at great rates. I have a distinct preference for writing poetry in Notes on the iPad. I cannot write freehand, and even if I could. nobody would ever be able to interpret it. I then have a forest of chargers in various colours and configurations, styles and shapes I should be able to give you a fair run at the best, or cheapest, or value buy. But that would involve comparison which is difficult to do, if you keep losing them. Which I do. I have left chargers in planes, boats and hotel rooms. I have pulled a charger so hard from a wall that it has decapitated the plug. I have had a charger piece stuck fast. So we have established there are many, many charging cord units out there, remaining misplaced. The outstanding question is where have they all congregated, so they remain unseen by Google earth? Are there chargers racing across the African Serengeti plains, curled around the tails of Wildebeest? Have they moved to sea toward Elton Musks' floating space lander? Will the first evidence of intelligent alien life be found through re-purposed charging cords? Or instead, maybe they migrate like many beasts, and return home in waves. Like wading birds, flying home on Christmas Eve. To the echo of carols... Just imagine, all the chargers giving their cords release? Some say I'm a schemer, but I'm not the only one. I hope one day the cords will rejoin us, and a charge unfurled give as done.

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Volume 1 Issue 4

April, 2018

LATE NIGHT POETS Contact Info:

Fillmyeyes@aol.com Thanks To All That Make This Happen… PamRay Deborahlee AP Taylor Laurent Yvan *hug*z & *love*

Contest Pages All Hosts / Hostesses Luyu WildDove Contests Agressman Contests Deborahlee Contests IffUrAbs Contests Pam Ray Contests Fillmyeyes Contests AP Taylor Contests Greyeyes Smith Contests JHatter Contests Andy, Mindy, Cheryl Contests 10