GUEST POST // When You Go by House of Heart

When you go I become
the sea gull begging salt from
from briny air,
My heart a deep blue sea.
I channel you in the nightingale’s
perpetual call that awakens my
unrelenting desire.
Come the buttery dawn your faded coat
hangs from my bed post and I
become so small I could slip
inside the lining of your chest,
sheltered by the warmth of your
skin where I belong.

by HOUSE OF HEART
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’s AND TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Crazed Girl by William Butler Yeats

That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,

Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, “O sea-starved, hungry sea.’

by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS (1865-1939)
Public Domain Poetry

GUEST POST // Reflections: A Walk-Through Life by Tessie

When the last grain of sand finally falls,
through the cracks of the hourglass,
I hope it finds me grateful, content,
having lived a life that’s truly been mine.

With no regrets, I’ll cherish memories:
breaking rules, stealing smiles, and free.
I jumped the gun, fell deeply in love,
and watched sunrise, euphoric and above.

On rooftops, I danced with morning dew,
felt life’s pulse, and let my spirit renew.
My time’s been filled with laughter, tears,
and moments that dispel all fears.

When my hour’s up, I’ll greet death’s gentle keeper,
with cheer, and finally, eternal sleep’s whisper.
I’ll ask to haunt old libraries’ hallowed halls,
play with the clouds, and hear their gentle calls.

Till then, I live. I laugh, cry, smile,
at life’s beauty, and it’s worthwhile.

by TESSIE
© All rights reserved 2024

TATI’s AND TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // I Have No Power by Nizar Qabbani

“I have no power to change you
or explain your ways
Never believe a man can change a woman
Those men are pretenders
who think
that they created woman
from one of their ribs
Woman does not emerge from a man’s ribs, not ever,
it’s he who emerges from her womb
like a fish rising from depths of water
and like streams that branch away from a river
It’s he who circles the sun of her eyes
and imagines he is fixed in place

I have no power to tame you
or domesticate you
or mitigate your first instincts
This task is impossible
I’ve tested my intelligence on you
also my dumbness
Nothing worked with you, neither guidance
nor temptation
Stay primitive as you are

I have no power to break your habits
for thirty years you have been like this
for three hundred years
a storm trapping in a bottle
a body by nature sensing the scent of a man
assaults it by nature
triumphs over it by nature

Never believe what a man says about himself
that he is the one who makes the poems
and makes the children
It is the woman who writes the poems
and the man who signs his name to them
It is the woman who bears the children
and the man who signs at the maternity hospital
that he is the father

I have no power to change your nature
my books are of no use to you
and my convictions do not convince you
nor does my fatherly council do you any good
you are the queen of anarchy, of madness, of belonging
to no one
Stay that way
You are the tree of femininity that grows in the dark
needs no sun or water
you the sea princess who has loved all men
and loved no one
slept with all men… and slept with no one
you are the Bedouin woman who went with all the tribes
and returned a virgin
Stay that way.”

by NIZAR QABBANI (1923-1998)
Public Domain Poetry

GUEST POST // Pull Up My Duvet by Harry Rogers

When nuclear potentiality
Turns into global actuality
There’s no return from our stupidity,
Nor our love affair with cupidity.
Celebrities suddenly discover
How to abuse religiosity,
Embrace prophecies as they recover
From modern fortune driven pomposity.
Priesthoods depicted gods as supermen,
Reversed by uber riche upstart godheads.
World stage creaks with their animosity,
We suffer arrogant hypocrisy.
Gooners gurn in private directors box,
War factory chimneys belch monkey pox,
Pensioners told we must be practical,
Putin threatens nuclear, tactical.
Fuck all their flags and their fucking borders,
Fuck all neo-liberal marauders,
I pull my duvet up over my head,
Today I think, perhaps, I’ll stay in bed.

by HARRY ROGERS
© All rights reserved 2024