One Poem accepted by Hanging Moss Journal

Every new submission teaches you something, every now and then. Today, I learned that every editor has their own taste on poetry. The Goodnews is, one short poem, entitled, "A Journey" is accepted by Hanging Moss Journal.

So, the editor I am talking about is: Steve Meador

Steve is popular, National Book Award and Pulitzer- nominated poet his golden words impacts nearly every reader!

I always recommend reading poetry before writing poetry. Therefore, If you are interested, please do read Steve's work in his website and then submit.

Anyways, Thank you Hanging Moss Journal !

"I am your reflection"

"I am your reflection"

Where are you going? Everywhere
you go, you will only find me,
every streets you cross, you
will only worship me, every
time you will have any
thoughts, you will only think
about me. Do you want to know
who am I? You may think that
I am the GOD but I am not.
You may think that I am your follower
but I am not. You may think that
I am someone very close to you
but I am sorry, I am not.
Then, finally when you will not
recognize me, I will reveal
you who I am.
I am your reflection.
© 2010, Santosh Kalwar


Published: Mahmag
12/06/2010
Edited by: Dr. Mahnaz Badihian

About Publisher:
MahMag strives to open the borders between peoples of all cultures and languages through the proliferation of art and literature. We encourage both established and emerging writers and artists by providing a visible platform for international recognition of their creative contributions. MahMag is committed to the freedom of individuals to express their unique voices and perspectives and to be heard by a diverse audience.

Football World cup

World cup has begun.

and millions will run

to watch, love, expect,

praise, bet, predict

…the winning team

Nobody can

predict

            who will be the winner

what if there was

no winner

            what if there was no game

are we controlled by media?

            It seems that someone is

controlling us.

            someone has found secret

to rule the crowd.

           

whatever …

            world’s attention

is focused

            now…

in watching

football/soccer/association football

One Poem accepted by Chiron Review

Well, well well... now it seems that I am going to get qualification for being a real "poet" ....officially. Early this morning, just woke up and checked e-mail, I found an acceptance letter from the Editor of Chiron Review for my work, entitled "In Chitwan", isn't that great news? Anyways, my excitment landed me to see what kind of journal is this... and I found following information, which might be useful for you too:

Chiron Review, a creative writing journal well known in the English academia arena, came to literary life in the Spring of 1982. Chiron Review has even been used as a teaching tool at Princeton and other colleges! Impressive, to say the least!
Michael Hathaway, editor/publisher, has presented readers with the widest possible range of contemporary creative writing—fiction and non-fiction, traditional and off-beat—in an attractive, professional tabloid format, including artwork and photographs of featured writers. About a quarter of each issue was devoted to news, views and reviews of interest to writers and the literary community.

 Past contributors include Charles Bukowski, William Stafford, Marge Piercy, Gavin Dillard, Edward Field, Antler, Robert Peters, Joan Jobe Smith, Fred Voss, Janice Eidus, Felice Picano, Lyn Lifshin, Will Inman, Richard Kostelanetz, Lorri Jackson, Ruth Moon Kempher, Charles Webb and a host of others, well-known and new.
 
Visit the home page if you are interested to read and submit your work !
 

The Guest House by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.



A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.



Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.



The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.



Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.



-- Jelaluddin Rumi, translation by Coleman Barks

The Wiseman

The Wiseman said, “


Expect

The

Unexpected”

The fool questioned, “

“Why?”

Both fights…

two twinkling stars

collide

up above so high



a young Finnish

women was expecting

her husband to be

wise/witty/loving/

caring/delightful/



In a lake

far across the northern

hemisphere

a curious child

was expecting

to get an acceptance

letter

from the university

which he applied



a lonesome man

was travelling

and journeying

across southern sky



Europe/America/Asia/









His dreams

Was to find

Love of his life





A boy looks over

Bright blue sky

The sky in a minute

Turned grey/black/



as if there was something

huge coming towards him.







Thou see with great expectation

arises:

desire/belief/faith/sacrifice/



but maybe



The Wiseman

Was absolutely right!

Happenings

Love reaches everywhere,

so do the words and wisdom.

Yes, there are tragedies,



sorrow, pain, disaster,

and above all,

happenings…



without these

no man can survive;

without conflict

no one lives

on this planet earth



so, eventually

differences can be sorted out;

life can turn upside down



because all we have



is love to seek

and speak about.
 
 
Published: VIRGOGRAY PRESS.
Edited by: MICHAEL AARON CASARES

Santosh Kalwar's Eleventh Book, Entitled "An Aphrodisiac," is Published

n his new book with very interesting title, "An Aphrodisiac," a young Nepalese poet from Chitwan, Nepal has published collection of forty-three erotic, sensual and delicate love poems.

Lappeenranta, Finland, June 08, 2010 --(PR.com)-- Lulu Press, Inc. is proud to present An Aphrodisiac by Santosh Kalwar from Lappeenranta, Finland.

An Aphrodisiac is a collection of forty-three erotic, sensual and delicate love poems. The book describes many aspects of love and art of making love. In the poems, there are several poems which describe events in the relationship, thus presenting readers with seductive feelings. The first poem tells about man’s intention to touch a woman, a feeling of infatuations and affectionate desire for love. Poem 2 is didactic and describes principles by which a man develops an addiction of making love. The third and fourth poem, describing a reproduction cycle of human, and claims that no life can prosper without sex. Similarly, Poems 5 and 6 deals with types of sex and lustful desires for it, while 7 and 8 describe an act of making love. In short, all the poems cover romantic, sexual and spicy words which will stimulate readers and will act as a love drug.

 To arrange a book signing or interview, contact the writer. For further information about the writer, please visit his website at kalwar.com.np

ISBN 978-1-4457-8190-7

To place orders for the book, contact: Lulu Press, Inc.

URL: lulu.com/product/item/an-aphrodisiac/11197687

Two Poems accepted by unFold

Well, well, well... finally, some small press of poetry accepted couple short poems. You can find more informaiton about the press at unFold, which is a PG-rated experimental poetry journal that seeks inspired 140 character (including spaces) Tweets.

So You Want To Be A Writer by Charles Bukowski

So You Want To Be A Writer

if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it. if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don't do it. if you're doing it for money or fame, don't do it. if you're doing it because you want women in your bed, don't do it. if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it. if it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it. if you're trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else. if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you're not ready. don't be like so many writers, don't be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don't be dull and boring and pretentious, don't be consumed with self- love. the libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. don't add to that. don't do it. unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it. when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way. and there never was.

God, God, God by Paramahansa Yogananda

From the depth of slumber,
As I ascend the spiral stairway of wakefulness,
I whisper
God, God, God!

Thou art the food and when I break my fast
Of nightly separation from Thee
I taste thee and mentally say
God, God, God!

No matter where I go, the spotlight of my mind
Ever keeps turning on Thee;
And in the battle dim of activity my silent war cry
Is ever;
God, God, God!

When boisterous storms of trials shriek
And worries howl at me,
I drown their noises, loudly chanting
God, God, God!

When my mind weaves dreams
With treads of memories,
Then on that magic cloth I do emboss;
God, God, God!

Ever night, in time of deepest sleep,
My peace dreams and calls; Joy! Joy! Joy!
And my Joy comes singing evermore;
God, God, God!

In waking, eating, working, dreaming, sleeping,
Serving, meditating, chanting, divinely loving,
My soul constantly hums, unheard by any;
God, God, God!

- Paramahansa Yogananda

A Poem by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence.
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you always open petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

nothing that we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Before Or After the Sunset.

War

Moment of birth begins with

War, war and the                                War

War of sufferings

             From the unknown names to unknown path that we may take

There is war within us each moment.

            There will be war outside us

each and every moment.

War of poverty and pain; war of rich and poor;

war of goodness and evil; war of love and hate;

war of sadness and despair; war of life after death or death after life;

war on religion, culture; war on politics and social issues.

War of this and war of that;

Who is the winner? and

Who remains the looser?

            How do we know if this is an answer?

Both sides, we are victim.

                        Both side, we are hurt.

All the fights for this land

and that land, my land vs. your land

When is this going to stop?

“How much land does a man need?”

Man needs 6feet long, 2 feet wide and 6 feet down land.

            This is never ending story

as it will continue. Before or after me;

history has shown us, it will continue in future.

Only solution is eradication of all living creature by natural calamities.

That soon is going to come. 

It is not very far when all our advancements

will collapse in the matter of day or two.

It is like building a house with the deck of cards.

The knowledge and wisdom,

whatever strength, ideologies

and dogma human has created must come to an end.

The time is coming soon

when no human soul will survive in this planet.

Whoever you are killing

on either side of war, is your own self reflection.

You cannot kill the image of your own self.

That selfish image has caused you greed, proudest

And that will forever continue

before or after the sunset.

"I am longing for nothing."

I am longing for nothing.

I know I am not going to

become, what they want me to become.

As I have lived fully today,

I am ready to quit if death

comes my way.

I don’t care if you accept

me as I am.

and from where I come from

or not.

I do not care since I have never cared

and these humanly selfishness of longing

for something

has caused only problems.

There are awards, rewards

and all these recognitions

are foolish accomplishments.

How can someone judge?

We were all created equal

by nature, we are all taken away equally.

I tell you, my dear friend:

I am longing for nothing.

PublishAmerica Presents I Am Dead Man Alive by Santosh Kalwar

PublishAmerica Presents I Am Dead Man Alive by Santosh Kalwar

Frederick, MD May 25, 2010 -- PublishAmerica is proud to present I Am Dead Man Alive by Santosh Kalwar from Lappeenranta, Finland.

I Am Dead Man Alive is a collection of death poems by the Nepalese poet Santosh Kalwar, first published in 2010 by PublishAmerica. The book is collection of several dark poems written to visualize the past, present and the future of human life. The poem is mainly about the death. These poems reflect how one should consider living on present moment and not fear the death.

I Am Dead Man Alive represents ancient, classical, modern and contemporary human times in very poetic manner. The state of physical, spiritual, and rational sensation is aroused in this book. The book brings new light and questions simple phenomenon of human life and death.

Santosh Kumar Kalwar (born September 7, 1982) is a poet, writer and researcher. He is a self-published Nepalese writer who writes in English. He has authored a number of newspaper columns, articles and books on truth, love and relationships. For more information about author, please visit, http://kalwar.com.np

PublishAmerica is the home of 40,000 talented authors. PublishAmerica is a traditional publishing company whose primary goal is to encourage and promote the works of new, previously undiscovered writers. Like more mainstream publishers, PublishAmerica pays its authors advances and royalties and makes its books available through all bookstores. PublishAmerica offers a distinctly personal, supportive alternative to vanity presses and less accessible publishers.

Before and After

------------------------------------------
Before and After


------------------------------------------
A cycle of life
travels along the time

It makes a journey
with a beginning of sun rise

It travels along the coast of universe
meeting, talking, writing, speaking
thinking, creating, singing and
and
many "ing" suffixes in words...

After being for a while
it wants to take rest

and goes back

goes back to the time

from the time where

once it started

it just wants to take rest...

it leaves the body
and soul departs...

it departs from the cloth which once it was wearing

finally, it goes to "memory-tomb"

and in there, it forgets everything it once did

during those period of time and when it stayed
there

for a while

like 69, 72, 75 ... years

after forgetting,

it takes any other form based on "karma"

in its new form,
it will not remember anything

the cycle repeats
and

repeats

until someday

it reaches to thee;


----------------------------------------------

God bless you all !

“Remember My Name”

“Remember my name”


I have no desire,
I have no pain.

The love which once had,
is lost in vain.

I have no money,
I have no fame.

The world which once I loved,
remains unclear, unknown and selfish.

Thou had to step-in
art rejuvenates this poor heart.

What had I given?
Mother Nature lets me sustain.

What would I do with desire?
Desire hardly reaches to destination.

Thee resurrected in love,
This world had once blamed.

If I would someday rise,
rise and rise
rise high above the mountains

I tell you, my dear friend,
I have no one except your love
as you remember my name.

I laughed

I cried and laughed,

I laughed and cried,

between crying

and laughing ...

I laughed

They told me,

I am mad.

but

again,

I laughed.

Land of hunger

Land of hunger

Hunger, am I.

Hungry, you are.

In this hunger,

Only one gets fulfilled.

The life full

With perplexity, Complexities, pride

And honors

Mine are nothing

Materialistic,

Without, your smile

So, eloquently sober.

                      Dive into me

I know.

Ways to reach,

The way no one will ever preach

Away, far away

 From this boring

And clumsy,

Land of hunger

Remember

Remember me,
When I am long gone into the woods,
Into the darkness of unnamed island,
Where no one humanly blooms,
Remember me without sadness
The way I touched you,
Will never, ever come back!

Remember me, when you will miss, the elegance
Of the man, the way I walked into your house,
In small village, journeying,
Just to get your glimpse, and smell your hair
Or, to share a kiss for a moment
That never lasted so long.

Remember me, when you will be all left alone
And there will be no man near your arms,
Remember me when someone else will
Try to make you laugh, the way I did,
May bring you, such delight, o my life!

I know you will say that:
“You will not remember me”
But, I know, My Rosemary darling,
That love is in, no man’s land.

So, when I will be long gone in that much unknown land,
With no one left behind to wipe your tears
Or, make you smile
And kiss you in your deep blue eyes
Please, remember me

Without grief, in you’re humanly life
As time flows with the sky

Remember me, as I will always remember you
In every moments,
Which I will spend without you!


© 2010 by  Santosh Kalwar