Munayem Mayenin

Live the Tiny Brilliance

POET OF MAY: KATHERINE MICHAUD

-------------------------------------------------------------------EDITORIAL------------------------------------------

Well, here we are offering you the third issue of The Poet's Letter! Finally Spring has decided to show its face over British Isles! Beautiful sunshine and bloom!

We need a lot more people sending us a lot more materials and showing a lot more interests. It is not that we are complaining!
Please feel free to invite your your colleagues/friends/relatives to come and visit The Poet's Letter. We highly appreciate your support in promoting poetry!

The Poet's Letter is posted on the following websites and be there for a month and then will move to the archive section for people to read.

http://www.munayemmayenin.co.uk/The_Poet's_Letter.htm

We thank and acknowledge gratefully all the contributions of our friends, who contributed to this issue, particularly Katherine Michaud for her works, Nathalie Handal, Beverly Matherne, Barbara Kelsey, Gaby Bila-Günther, Retta Mackenzie and all others.

Poetry lovers around Prague to ensure you are there to enjoy the poetry festival.

Keep hold of spring in your pocket until at least the summer.

Stay magical, take care and keep well

Munayem Mayenin
Editor
The Poet's Letter

http://www.munayemmayenin.com

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The Sun of Eternity is on Sale across the Globe

The Son of Eternity can be bought:

In the USA

Publish America: the publisher

http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/shopdisplayproducts.asp?catalogid=4640

Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/search-handle-form/103-6813546-7124652

Barns and Noble

http://bn.bfast.com/booklink/click?ISBN=1413725457

Authorsden

https://www.authorsden.com/buybook.asp?bookid=11896

Booksamillion

http://www.booksamillion.com/ncom/books?pid=1413725457&ad=FGLBKS

Amazon (UK)

http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/1413725457/ref=sr_aps_books_1_1/202-6005430-1462240

Price: £9.50

Canada

Amazon (Canada)

http://www.amazon.ca/exec/obidos/ASIN/1413725457/qid%3D1083405192/702-3223022-8114438

Price: USD: £14.95    CDN £19.89

Australia and New Zealand

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/search-handle-form/ref=br_ss_/103-6813546-7124652

Price: $14.95

Our website soon will be able to offer The Son of Eternity on Sale for readers in the UK and Europe. UK and other book sellers and suppliers can order the book direct from the publisher and they would have book sellers bulk discounts. We need some support big sellers of poetry!

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Munayem Mayenin at First Prague International Poetry Festival

Munayem Mayenin is to attend and take part at the First Prague International Poetry Festival this year having been invited to join a huge gathering of poets across the globe including:

Left to right: Cristina Cirstea, Charles Bernstein, Trevor Joyce, Salamun, Drew Milne

Left to right: Gaby Bila-Gunther, Kenyadi, Keston Sutherland, Munayem Mayenin

According to the organisers, who must have been working flat out to organise this huge event, "The Prague International Poetry Festival is a major literary event with an organic Prague-base. The Festival focuses on local and regional poets, as well as poets from as far afield as India, Australia, Singapore, and the United States. The purpose of the festival is both to serve a long-standing need within the Prague literary community as well as to foster cultural exchange between writers, editors, publishers and institutions beyond the mere spectacle of a "literary event." The Festival invites a broad participation by all those concerned with the state of contemporary poetry."

Munayem Mayenin will report back on the next issue having returned from the poetic event of the spring!

For more please do visit the festival website:

http://www.geocities.com/praguepoetryfestival

Photos (except one) courtesy of the Festival website.

 ------------------------------------------THE SON OF ETERNITY ON ASIANS IN MEDIA-------------------------------------------

The Son of Eternity has hit the news with Asians in Media: web news magazine.
Do have a look following this link:

http://www.asiansinmedia.org/news/article.php/publishing/378

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BEVERLY MATHERNE: THE CAJUN POET

Born in Cajun Country along the Mississippi River near New Orleans, I grew up with the rich oral literature and music of the area: Cajun, country western, jazz,
and blues. From writing in Cajun French to performing blues poetry, these influences have shaped my work.
As a bilingual writer, I wish to work with others to assure a continuing French presence in Louisiana and to make meaning of my personal history. To those ends,
I have studied French for over 20 years and have recently spent my sabbatical at Université Sainte-Anne in Churchpoint, Nova Scotia. At this university, I did research on Acadian poetry and enrolled in four French courses, including comparative linguistics.

The linguistics course, which enabled me to trace the origin of my own Cajun French, offered day-by-day proof of kinship between the Acadians (Cajuns) of Louisiana and the Acadians of Nova Scotia. The Acadian French word canique (marble), for example, a word I used as a child, came not from the French of France, I discovered, but from the language of the Micmacs, Native Americans
who befriended the Acadians when they originally settled in Canada.

In summer of 2001, I spent two months in France doing field research, from Bordeaux to Toulouse, on Antoine Laumet de Lamothe-Cadillac, founder of Detroit and first governor or Louisiana. During that time, I wrote 32 prose poems on Cadillac for an anthology of creative writing in honor of the continuing French presence in North America since the founding of Detroit in 1701. This work, too, contributes to an understanding of my personal history: the Brignac branch of my family comes from the Gascon culture to which Cadillac belongs.

Before coming to NMU, I was the drama specialist in the English Department at Kansas State University, where I taught both dramatic literature, including Shakespeare, and introduction to creative writing. From Kansas, I moved to California, where I enrolled in the M.A. program in French at University of California at Berkeley.

Living in San Francisco Bay and Silicon Valley Areas also led to a seven-year stint in technical communications at Information Management Specialists, Tekkon Associates, and INGRES Corporation. As a result, I bring industry experience to the technical writing courses I teach.

Coming to NMU resulted in another career turn, to poetry, now my major professional focus. From the Maple Leaf Bar in New Orleans, to Cody's Books in Berkeley, to the United Nations in New York, to venues abroad, I have done over 120 poetry readings across the United States, Canada, and France. I have also published widely in poetry journals and anthologies.

In the English Department here at NMU, I bring together academic and industry backgrounds, teaching all that I love best: poetry writing, script writing/drama, and technical writing.

In terms of education, I received a Ph.D. in Drama from St. Louis University and B.A. and M.A. degrees in English from University of Louisiana at Lafayette.

http://www-instruct.nmu.edu/english/bmathern/ver1/background.html

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Zheng Danyi's Wing's of Summer and Poetry Visual and Verbal Event

Poetry lovers in Hong Kong must go and take part at this poetry event by Zheng Danyi and Madeleine Marie Slavick and you will not be disappointed.

------------------------------MUNAYEM MAYENIN WON CREATIVE POEMS AWARD---------------------------------------------

Munayem Mayenin's poem Autumn Leaves has won Creative Poems Award and added to the Featured Poems of the week at creative-poems poetry website.
An Eternal Phoenix can be read at:
http://www.creative-poems.com

---------------------------------------------------------SUBMISSIONS INVITATION----------------------------------------------------------

The Poet's Letter is looking for contributions from everyone interested in creative writings (all genres)
poetry, micro stories, novels (would publish excerpts), articles, features, book and web site reviews,
interviews of authors and whatever you feel authors and readers need to read or think about.
Please send in your contributions to
mm@munayemmayenin.com
Please DO NOT send contributions in attachments as these will be deleted.
Send your contributions as part of the main email body.
Payments:
As you could imagine we are not at all able to pay for the publication of your contributions and hence
would expect that you are aware of this on the outset before submitting.
Look forward to receive your contributions.
Take care and keep well
Happy reading
Munayem Mayenin
Editor
The Poet's Letter

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POET OF MAY: KATHERINE MICHAUD

Katherine Michaud is a 22 year old starving artist. She has been writing poetry since the age of 14, granted it was awful, and recently discovered a love for art and design. She graduated cum laude from Salisbury University in Maryland, May 2003 with a bachelors degree in Communication Arts (specializing in Public Relations and Journalism).

She now turns her attention to the University of Baltimore where she is a full-time graduate student studying for her masters degree in Publications Design. Every free elective she takes tends to be writing related. To pay the bills, Katherine is a full-time Assistant Acquisitions Editor at the publishing house, PublishAmerica. Not a glamorous job, it does pay the bills and the emotional satisfaction is high. She hopes to eventually change departments in the company to become either a text editor or cover designer - as these coincide more with her love for the creative.
 

A BUNCH OF I AM ME POEMS OF MAY POET KATHERINE MICHAUD
 

GHAZAL OF A RAINSTORM

Bursting through the quiet twilight: tossing, tearing, turning in passion -
a thunderous storm awakens the night with its passion.

Hidden in the underbrush, squirrels skitter to sanctuary.
A lone acorn left spinning in their dust, a forgotten passion.

Large droplets pound the roof of a rusted blue Chevy.
Young boy moves in on innocent girl, declaring his passion.

Clear suburban road, slick with fresh puddles,
children pounce and giggle with purest passion.

Hair in curlers, terry cloth robe wrapped tight,
a mother calls out to her kittens, an owner’s passion.

Painted in a window, features distorted by the gale,
Katherine looks out and sees it all, dreaming passion.

HOW TO LIVE YOUNG

Upon waking, run around the house
goofily flailing extraneous limbs.
Jump on the beds of those who slumber.

Once calmed, eat lucky charms,
saving the marshmallows for last.
Slurp the milk, lick the bowl dry.

When in public, give in to bouts of tourette’s:
scream “Petrified penis!” in a crowded lobby.
Giggle and hide behind someone bigger than you.

Go to the park with friends,
hang upside down from the monkey bars.
Have swinging contests:

Who can go higher and jump further?
Play on the carousel until you are so dizzy
you might fall down.

Don’t stay out past dark –
run home as soon as the first street light comes on.
Look both ways when crossing the street,

hold someone’s hand.
Be free with affection,
devote your entire being.

And then some.

I AM ME

Of everything, a little stayed.
The world, vast and unexplored by my eyes,
never called my name.
The office, seemingly always open.
The groceries, seemingly always gone.
I am here.

Of everything, a little changed.
Universities, with all their pull,
still call my name.
Salisbury, suburban and friendly.
Baltimore, a strange city, full of strangers.
I always answer.

Of everyone, a few stayed.
Sisters, with all of their goals,
moved far away.
The older, conferencing in Switzerland.
The other, studying in Boston.
I am here.

Of everyone, a few changed.
Mother, with her singsong tone,
still calls my name.
Her calls, seemingly always echo.
Her needs, seemingly always unfulfilled.
I always answer.

Of everything, a little stayed.
A little changed.
Of everyone, a few stayed.
A few changed.
The world keeps turning and
I am still me.

ON CONTEMPLATING MY NEW LEATHER COAT

Darkened night,
like your smooth sleek skin
beckons me.

Come play…

Brightened stars,
like your shimmering interior,
lighten things up.
Stay a while…

Every night ends.
Every star fades.
And what will take its place?
I wonder…

As you take the spot light
from me to you,
I remind myself again -
I know…

Your beauty will fade
Mine goes deeper.

LOSING ALY

“He doesn’t have much time”
Mom cried in my ear.

Nine hours later, running
into MamaJohn’s arms.
A rock of a grandmother.
Crumbling under the pressure.
Losing the love of her life.
All I could do is cling to her and cry.

“We can only see him two at a time.”
She sniffled, still crying through dry eyes.

When it was my turn, I saw that Aly wasn’t there.
The face jaundiced and puffy.
The body sunken and wasting.
The man could no longer close his eyes,
nor was he conscious.
Vaseline covered the lids,
moisturizing what was left.

When it was my turn, I tried not to cry
attempting to keep spirits up,
I joked to this vessel
that he had to live to be 120, like he promised.
I stared blankly at the shell
and MamaJohn told me he lost his virginity at age 8 to an 18 year old.
I scolded the body.

I thought about
sipping root beer floats some afternoons on his patio.
playing balderdash when he’d choose the silliest answers.
finding the perfect Christmas toy to add to his collection.
learning card games from him with names like “oh hell.”
climbing the pine tree and getting stuck till he came to get me down.
listening to him fake laugh, then the real laugh, then a boisterous laugh at that laugh.

And then I let go.

TYPICAL

Typical children bounce
On trampolines.
Little legs, chubby arms,
Flailing with delight.

I never had a trampoline,
So I improvised, I bounced
on a newly dead
squishy, rotting cow.

I was not the only one,
and flies danced about us
with each sickening plop
of our feet in the corpse.

I admit,
I’m not typical.

YOUTH

When I was young, I
was the white unicorn.

Galloping through
a vast forest of students,

I remained untouched.
My snowy coat glimmering

like fairy dust,
a dew after the rain.

I was untouchable,
I was unknowable –

Or was I just untouched?
Just unknown?

With all of my majesty,
I existed apart:

a freak with a horn
right smack-dab

in the middle of my
forehead.

Copyrights @ Katherine Michaud

 

WEBSITES OF THE MONTH

Here we introduce her website, owner of which doesn't need of introduction. Suheir Hammad is increasing becoming associated with the face, mind, body, soul and metaphor of Palestinian people as well as humanity universal in the English speaking and the broader world! Suheir's website looks as colourful, lively and bright as her poetry which is full of blood, soul and music yet does not forget its moral and artistic obligation towards humanity.

The Poet's Letter invites you to explore Suheir's writing through her wonderful website.

http://www.suheirhammad.com

---------------------------------------------ADVERTISEMENTS------------------------------------------------------------------------

Any one interested to promote their products or services or publications can advertise
here on this pzine (ezine for poetry) that mainly will focus on promoting poetry
and generally literature and Philosophy.
We would like to offer reciprocal advertising to Ezine Editors.
Prices of advertisements:
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----------------------------------------------------SPONSORSHIPS-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Individuals or organisations can sponsor any issue of the pzine in advance.
Sponsoring an issue with a Sponsor's Message and a Free advertisement and acknowledgement
in the Editorial is: £120

--------------------------------------------------READERS' LETTERS-------------------------------------------------------------------

Readers' letters are invited on any topics they want to talk about within the remit of our pzine. Moreover,
readers are welcome to review any piece of writing published here, or suggest ideas or send comments.

-------------------------------------------------WEBSITES REVIEWS---------------------------------------------------------------------

Poetry Fans Website

Bill and Ayla's poetry website is a good place on the net for poetry lovers to go and spend some time.

Poetry submissions from everyone is welcome it seems.

http://www.poetryfans.com

-------------------------------------------------PURELY POETRY---------------------------------------------------------------------------

DETAINED
Nathalie Handal

For Mourad and all those unjustly detained
in Palestine and elsewhere, and to Ghassan

Over a cup of Arabic coffee
back in nineteen ninety nine,
on a balcony in Ramallah,
we spoke of the situation,
how we survive, we don’t, you said.

We had more coffee
your hand trembled
your trembling revealing
the years you never saw go by
the wait jailing you
your wife and child…

Three years later

you are detained…
I imagine a cell as tall as you-
five foot eleven inches,
as wide as you—
twenty-one and a half inches,
life reduced to your body
your memory of light,
the whisper of you wife sliding
under the slim opening
of the iron door, to remind you
that you must not forget these hours
who you were, are—
we forget too easily
keep changing back to ourselves…

But brother, don't be jealous
of another's memories,
don't be jealous of your memories,
just remember what they
have done to themselves—
that the darkness they have planted
in our bones will cripple their bones,
that detainment is their life sentence,
that their blood staining our graves
is a stubborn witness.

Copyrights @ Nathalie Handal and photo courtesy of http://www.nathaliehandal.com

THE BLUES CRYIN'
Beverly Matherne

When snow covers the streets,
the meadows,
and the night is still...

I hear the blues cryin'
all the way to spring.
Yeah, hear the blues cryin'
all the way to spring.

When I might just about
dig a hole in the snow
and bury myself alive,
snow pounding over my body,
 

I imagine the blues on my breast
with the brush of your tongue.
Yeah, feel the blues
with the brush of your tongue.

You know it, takes me off the freeway,
the blues does,
shoots me high, past the stars,
to them planets,

circlin' ever so slow, oh yeah!
You know,
I'm that Egyptian goddess, my naked body
stretched across the sky.

And you, you that god, flat on your back,
calling, calling.
But I don't come down yet.
No, I don't come down yet.

And then one day, like clockwork,
our hands touch,
and we burn through that snow. We are
roots, running water, narcissus,
black night, stars, planets, in one.

Our solo builds up, and when it ends,
quiets down.
Um hmm, when it ends it just, quiets down.
Yeah, you know it,
quiets down.
Um hmm, yeah!

The French Version of This Poem Won the Prix CODOFIL en Poésie at the Deep South Writers Conference at University of Louisiana at Lafayette. To read the French
version please visit:
http://www-instruct.nmu.edu/english/bmathern/ver1/newpoem.html

Copyrights @ Beverly Matherne
 

FACE IN THE MOON
Retta (Reindeer) Mckenzie

I saw your face in the moon tonight,
Such a lovely sight,
Your ebony hair studded with stars,
Your eyes shinning so bright…

I saw you tonight,
And my heart was filled with such longing,
Wondering why you left us too soon,
Why it is your face I see in the moon…

I remember the way you danced,
So beautiful to see,
Your arms raised high,
As though pleading to the sky,
To carry you away,
Save you from today…

I remember your singing,
In a voice so clear,
I hear you now,
Feeling you so near…

I saved your tears,
Put them on too white pages,
Though the words were often smeared,
They can be read still,

I saw you in the moon tonight,
Your lovely face framed with silver light,
And I wonder what made you run,
All too soon into that dark night…

I lit the fires tonight,
Sending my love your way,
Singing your songs to all who would listen,
Telling the story of your life,
So you would not be forgotten…

I miss you now,
My heart so empty and sad,
My life without the meaning,
It once had…

But I saw you tonight,
And my heart was glad,
You smiled at me,
And I didn’t feel so bad…

Perhaps I felt the peace,
You always wanted to find,
Perhaps I finally understood,
You ran from a world,
That was never kind…

Everyone says you’re at peace now,
No more fighting or tears,
No more fears,
Just sweet silence and the soft night,
Covering you forever in moonlight…

I look up and see you,
Smiling down at me,
You’re last words,
Lying softly on my heart,

“We will never be apart,
I will be with you forever,
Dear Sister,
I am buried in your heart…”

But still I feel so far apart,
Though I see you in the lovely moon,
You left us all too soon,
And I wish you were here with me,
Then I wouldn’t have to look up to see,
You staring down at me…

Wondering how I am,
Ah me, such a pain in my heart,
Trying so hard to understand,
It was time for you to travel on,
I just wish so badly,
You were still here with me…

But for now,
When my soul is unquiet,
And my heart beats too hard,
I go out and close the door quietly,
And stare up into the night sky,
And whisper good-bye…

THE MUTED COLOURS OF SPRING
Retta (Reindeer) Mckenzie
 

Muted colors of spring,
Blooming softly all around me,
Trying to show me,
Something I can’t see…

You whisper softly,
Please forget what I said,
And I whisper back,
I’m trying to see spring…

I show you the tiny blue flowers,
Growing along the trail,
The doe and her fawn,
Rising to his feet for the first time,

I saw the hawk today
Flying in the sky,
The beauty of her freedom,
Made me want to cry...

I am trapped in memories,
I can’t ease my mind,
But your soft kisses,
Mute the pain,
Make me glad,
I'm still alive...

I want to touch your soul,
Take a peek inside,
Wondering if we can ever,
Be that close again,

And spring blooms wantonly,
Sending fragrances of love,
Wafting in the breeze,
The trees are getting their leaves,
And soon there will be shade...

I look into your face,
Trying to see your eyes,
But the morning fog is thick,
The sun has not burned away the pain,

I am numb,
Freezing in the rain,
Yet,
The flowers,
The flowers-
Are in bloom again...

WAITING
Barbara Kelsey

I will wait on the steps
of the stairs for you
till it is late
till it is late
till the moon
fold herself in the
nest of the clouds.
 

I will wait at the edge
of the world for you
till it is late
till it is late
till the kisses turn dry
and the lips are blessed.

I will wait at my birth
for the birth of you
till it is late
till it is late
till our souls collide
at the eye of the storm

BUTTERFLY
Barbara Kelsey

I loved you more than life:
I gave to you the greatest gift
that God had given me;
My Love.
And now I walk these tremulous shores
with scars of love imbued upon
My soul
and man and moon and earth and stars
no longer share their tragic part
in shaping me:
And he that walked away
whose once possessive hands
had cupped this willing heart
like a butterfly impaled upon
some collector's velvet board,
did not stay to see the
derelict aftermath of fragility
of one no longer destined
to be free;
Where does one go when love has gone,
When sleep's step-sister death lies waiting near
beckons with her tempting hand
a gift so rare that trembles through the wavering heart
banishing all needless fears of wanting something
more than life's first breath,
when love itself
has gone.

THE STOLEN SMILE
Barbara Kelsey

He said I want to steal your smile
take it with me to Barbados and on oceanic days
I can call on it to dance,
Lolita naked on the sea
when the mist softens
above the parting waves.
He said I want to steal your heart
and press it close
so close to mine
that on days of ogre blackness
I can watch it glow a coral red
and learn to paint my dreams again.

1997 copyright KB KELSEY



-------------------------CHILDREN'S LIT------------------------------------------------

Introducing the youngest of poets of all ages! Saahia Mayenin, 3!

SAAHIA'S SONG

I am Saahie I am Saahie
I am a beautiful princess
I am a beautiful princess

I am Saahie I am Saahie
I am a beautiful daughter
I am a beautiful daughter

I am Saahie I am Saahie
I like twinkling stars
I like twinkling stars

I am Saahie I am Saahie
I have a rainbow heart
I have rainbow heart

I am Saahie I am Saahie
I have a rainbow hat
I have a rainbow hat


SUMMER
Rima Noor

On a sunny warm day
Where the trees rise out
The blossomed trees and flower leaves
Have opened up to their colours

Tulips awaken from the dead
Sunflowers bright like the sun
The blue sky warm as ever
The long green grass green like the meadows
The sun bright as ever

But don't forget the hatching chicks
Hatching out from its shell
Crying out loud for food

The birds flying away to catch some breakfast
The bees buzzing around for its pollen
The butterfly flying swiftly away
See how the children play in the hot summer breeze
Cold blue water cold as can be

--------------------------------------------------------------MICROSTORIES-----------------------------------------------------------------

A Thrown Knife

Munayem Mayenin

The mid April seemed absolutely dry, full of sun and scent of budding flowers and flying seagulls. The day was spring like, felt Ahsan having come out of Pizza Corner where he worked. It's his lunch break and he intended to walk all the way down to the beach and back again. The fresh air encouraged him to take the long walk. He never felt this good in ages.

The beach was a mile walk down the steep hill. He stood looking down the road that seemed like a fast rolling black skateboard.

Ahsan took a deep breath, lit a cigarette and began walking downhill. Having puffed at the cigarette he thought to himself that one of these days he had to quit this habit.

Walking downhill was the easy part! He went straight to the pier and walked all the way to the end.

The wind began to get really chilly so he decided to get back to shore. He got an espresso and wondered around for a while. There were not many people around. Seagulls seemed to have gone quiet and not many flying about. Instead a lot of them were sitting on the seafront railings in silent contemplation!

Ahsan looked at his watch. Lunch break was nearing to an end. He had to hurry back up the hill to the Pizza Corner, put on the apron, take orders and serve the customers and feel miserable!

"Well, it is better to have a job than not." He told himself in way as though he was consoling himself for better days!

As he began to climb up the hill he noticed a lady in her mid nineties pushing a huge shopping trolley. It was full of shopping. Ahsan looked at the lady again.

She looked out of breath and tired. She was sweating profusely. Her forehead seemed like page out of the A-Z map. Her cheeks were hanging down as though they had already given up on life! The road was deeply steep. Ahsan being a young man in his twenties was finding it difficult just to walk up on his own.

The lady was determined to push up but she had to give in. She had to stop for breath and to gather some strength. Ahsan felt for the lady. He thought to himself if his mother were alive she would be her age now.

He walked to the lady and said, "Let me help you." The lady gave him a look as though she had tumbled onto some dog pooh!

Her face went dark and she turned her face away, yet she let him take the shopping trolley.

She did not say a word. She kept walking but slowed down rather dramatically as if Ahsan was a nasty smell and she would rather stay out of its way!

Ahsan could not help but feel affected by the situation and the treatment of the lady. He felt like letting the trolley go and see it ran faster and faster and hit at the bottom of the road!

He could not do that. Something held him back. He looked around to see if anyone else was coming. He was thinking in that case he could just leave it to her so that a white helper might be better suited to help her!

But Ahsan did not do that at all. He could not. He felt a distasteful bitter secretion in his tongue, yet he told himself that the lady needed help and he was there to provide that for her.

Having reached the top he waited for the lady to come to him. She was still sweating and looking disgusted.

In getting the trolley up the hill Ahsan got delayed. He will have to digest the Pizza Corner blues, as he named the telling off done by the manager.
"Well" he accepted that in his mind.

The lady came up and with a sudden pull snatched the trolley from Ahsan which startled him. She snatched it was though untouchable germs had touched the trolley!

The lady now turned left. The road was now straight and plane. He felt relieved that now the lady could push her trolley and did not have to put up with a paki pushing it, albeit out of the goodness of his heart. She did not say a word when she left.

Ahsan stood there for a few seconds and looked at the lady! She suddenly turned back to have a last look at him. Her eyes threw a nasty look to Ahsan which seemed liked coming to him as a thrown knife.

--------------------------------------------------------PHILOSOPHY--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Articles are invited for publications. Please send in submissions, following submissions guidelines

-----------------------------------------POETRY COMPETITIONS NEWS-----------------------------------------------------------------

Please do send in any news of any poetry competitions across the world for publication in The Poet's Letter.
Send news compitions to
Poet's Letter do not endorse any of these competitions and hence interested parties are requested to do
their own home work.

----------------------------------SURVIVORS POETRY SUBMISSION CALL------------------------------------------------------------

Forwarded by request from "Survivors Poetry"
survivorspoetry@hotmail.com
I'd like to post a call for submissions - I'm editing an anthology
for survivors poetry. (It's of poetry by contemporary survivors of
mental distress.)

Best,
James Ferguson
Survivors' Poetry
Diorama Arts Centre
34 Osnaburgh Street
London NW1 3ND

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