Category Archives: Featured Poets

Poetry

World Poetry Celebrates Tony Frisby !

Ariadne’s Notes: The World Poetry Café Radio Show , CFRO 100.5 FM  on March 23, 1-2 PM, welcomed  the Irish poet Tony Frisby, calling from England  at 1:40 PST,near the white cliffs of Dover, with the wind providing the background music as he read in Gaelic and English. It was great to hear his beautiful voice and Irish lilt as he read his poetry. Featured studio poet Deborah Kelly also has Irish ancestors and appreciated his  inspiring poetry.

TO HEAR THE SHOW CLICK HERE!

 

Tony Frisby:

Having left school in Waterford at 14, Tony Frisby emigrated to England a few years later where he worked a labourer, general handyman, fruit picker, fitter’s mate, sewage worker, waiter then cook in a London Wimpy Bar until finally gaining a toe hold in the white collar world.

Solvent at last, he eventually ‘returned’ to education in the mid-eighties finally graduating from Brunel with a Masters in Renaissance and Modern Literature before embarking on a PhD in Northern Irish Poetry.

However, by now smitten by the poetic form, he abandoned his academic studies to concentrate on writing poetry rather than commenting on it.

He now lives on the South Coast where he is currently working on the fifth in a ten part series of ‘Letters’ poems written about and from, this, his ‘second’ place.

Awards B Hums, Masters [Renaissance and Modern Literature]
Doctorate in Northern Irish Poetry – Brunel Uni  left.

http://tonyfrisbypoetry.co.uk/   https://www.facebook.com/tonyfrisbypoetry

by   Tony Frisby                Tony Frisby Poetry – An Irish Voice In Verse      Facebook Page

In Gaelic :

Sac Eile móna      

Is fada an bóthar
ón Trá Ar ais ag Trá Mhór

leis na haillte bána ag Black Rock.
Agus is leor in aghaidh na bliana

ós rud é codlata ceann a scannáin ladhar
agus cowboy

ag Ma Crosby ar Coliseum Pictiúrlann
aice Túr Raghnaill.

Ach tá sé aon turas ar chor ar bith
i mo shúil aigne;

sa-am a thógann sé
a mheabhrú Uncail Micky i bPort Lách,

Is féidir liom a bheith ann agus ar ais le sac eile
a móna fearr triomaithe

téamh an ruacain mo chroí.

English translation:

Another sack of turf

It’s a long road from the Back Strand at Tramore/

to the white cliffs at Black Rock.

And it’s many a year /since sleeping head to toe and cowboy films

at Ma Crosby’s Coliseum Cinema near Reginald’s Tower.

But it’s no journey at all in my minds eye;

for in the time it takes to remember Uncle Micky in Portlaw,

I can be there and back with another sack of his best dried turf

warming the cockles of my heart.

By Tony Frisby (C) All rights reserved by the author.

World Poetry Celebrates Deborah Kelly!

Ariadne’s Notes: We had a great show on March 23, 1-2 pm, the World Poetry Café Radio with featured guests  the  multitalented and beautiful Deborah Kelly in the studio at CFRO, 100.5 FM reading her poetry and talking about her next new adventure; short story writing and her upcoming book.   Phone in guest,Tony Frisby, the  Irish poet calling in from England and reading in Gaelic and English with the wind blowing in the background will have his own feature coming up next. Thanks to Deborah for her co-hosting help also. Thanks to the World Poetry Café Team as well. Due to great demand, most shows have two guests, one in the studio and one call in.

 

LISTEN TO THIS GREAT SHOW NOW!

 

Deborah L.  Kelly is an award winning Poet, who Features regularly throughout the Lower Mainland. She is the author of three published books of poetry, and is currently working on her fourth. Her work has been published in India, Uzbekistan and other countries as well.

Deborah’s work takes us into the duality of spirit and mortality; exploring the mysteries of humanity and Divinity. “As a poet, I feel it a part of my purpose to inspire and uplift others around me.”  Among some of her awards; Deborah was awarded the WIN Distinguished Poet Award, 2016;  and received Honorable Mention, Bharat Int’l Short Story Competition, 2017. www.poetrybydeborah.com

 

Beginning; The End

In the continual flow

of life’s spiral,

we see ourselves

reflected in the light

of cosmic ether:

glowing, pure, immortal.

Though our mortal bodies

die, there is no death.

Passing between worlds

with the light speed

of soul ~ ‘tis then we are whole.

Mortal vessel, unable

to transcend, must be

left behind, will never mend.

The beginning, is always

found at the end.

Deborah L. Kelly (C) All rights reserved by the author.

 

 

 

World Poetry Celebrates Mamta  Agarwal from India!

  Ariadne’s Notes:

The World Poetry Café Radio Show, March 16, 1- 2 PM PST, on CFRO 100.5 FM, welcomed the talented and lovely poetess Mamta  Agarwal calling from India with her beautiful poems in a diverse and unique show. After four years, it was a great honour to talk to her and hear her wonderful poetry once again. http://worldpoetry.ca/?p=9088

Also included was the excerpt of a play by our super technician Victor Schwartzman, who left the radio listeners  breathless during a dramatic section of the play “Listen to Me”. It is being published  in the near future at: https://www.redfez.net

Celebrating St. Patrick’s Day was co-host Neall Ryon with a series of limericks by Bryon.

A very special e-poem Eternity. This is a poem inspired by the passing of time and memory (C)   by  Jason Endfield, (www.jasonendfield.com) from the UK was full of sensitivity and grace .  We hope to hear more  from this talented poet in the future.

To hear this special Show CLICK HERE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bougainvillea’s a poem by Mamta Agarwal, India.

After summer solstice,

We earnestly pray for rain

In north Indian plains,

Drained after a long unforgiving summer.

Gulp down lemonade

Or a drink made of khus, almonds and melon seeds

Or juice of roasted raw mangoes, sweetened

And spiced with crushed cumin

Black salt and fresh mint leaves.

 

I glance at the sky

From my balcony

Eyebrows knitted,

And sigh in dismay

As I watch clouds gather

Tease and leave.

I can smell rain in

Some far off hills,

As wind carries

Wet earth’s fragrance.

 

My eyes rest on woody bougainvillea;

Vines scramble over boundary walls

And fence lines of neighbourhood villas

In colours as varied as a child’s first

Box of water paints.

 

As I take a swig from

My bottle of Kinley,

Am filled with wonder,

How they remain so buoyant

All day and by night,

Despite no respite

From drought and heat.

While the Sun furiously beats

Down on earth’s cracked crust?

 

But mother nurtures the roots,

Who knows how she replenishes itself…?

The thorny vine knows not sloth,

And withstands the fiery wrath

And burst forth in blossoms,

Full of spirit

Just enjoying being.

 

Oft I wonder, some flowers

Are fragrant, others a’int.

See what a plethora

Of colour, size and aura!

How amazing, they parlance

In complete silence.

Captivated, I just forgot

I was feeling hot.

Mamta Agarwal (C) All rights reserved.