Monday, July 10, 2017


I think, most of us would agree that poetry is actually the evidence of life, written in words and lines with an inherent desire to communicate with the infinity and the eternity. According to Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Poetry is like a bird, it ignores all frontiers. Yes we also do believe this from within the very fiber of our inner self. This was also our goal from the start of our journey as the monthly web journal named Our Poetry Archive to breakdown all the frontiers and to reach all with the creative excellences of poets around the world through a single platform. We also know, as put down by one of the most popular poetess of recent time Rita Dove, “Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful”.  We at Our Poetry Archive always try to keep this standard with each publication. And to make this a reality we need poets, real poets and poetesses to maintain a high standard. And who is the poet? The poet is the magician, only who can make the invisible visible by exploring his or her inner self; vibrating the tune of his time. This magic is the ultimate manifestation of art and culture, which becomes the tradition and literary heritage one day. Thus poetry is equally important for our social progression as well.  Perhaps keeping it in mind one of the most beloved poet of all time Percy Byshe Shelley, once wrote: “Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world”.  I wonder how prophetic his utterance was! We at Our Poetry Archive always try to give due honor to these unacknowledged legislators of the world through our various projects. So keeping it in mind, this year we have decided to bring out an Anthology of Contemporary Women’s poetry. As we do believe women have the rights to bring out their creative brilliance and to make the world listen to their inner voices as well. So here we are, with these inner voices of women excellence from various part of the world, bringing in numerous literary traditions and heritages into this single collection of poetry.

To our surprise as well as joy we got tremendous responses from all over the world for this Anthology. To keep the literary standard up to the expected mark of our esteemed readers we had to select the best contributions from all the submissions. This doesn’t mean that all the submissions that have not been included in this Anthology are bad, but they were not at par with the rest of the entries that have been selected for the publication. So we would certainly encourage them to try and develop their poetical skill and literary merit every time. As renowned poet Robert Frost once said: “To be a poet is a condition, not a profession,” – we do also believe one has to attain this condition through rigorous practices with utmost devotion.

Actually this is also the time of confusion as well. Who is the real poet? Nowadays people do think poetry is the only medium that can be easily ventured upon. So, almost everyone is writing poetry overnight. Now, one can argue that it is better to try out with poetry than to spend the time doing nothing creative. Yes we hope everyone would agree with this argument. We have nothing against it. Although this is not bad for society as a whole, yet this trend is not good for literature either. Then what to do? This is the ultimate question for the literary fraternity of the world. Should we consider this trend will actually bring mediocrity in literature? Or can we believe that with the passing of time this trend will be phased out eventually. These are the questions of this time. We don’t have any clear-cut answers either. We can only encourage others to uplift their literary taste for the benefit of the literature as a whole. Yes that can be done, and even over the internet. Our Poetry Archive is only trying to do this since its inauguration in web publishing with the introduction of more and more new poets of highest literary caliber around the world. We believe with this continuous process of uninterrupted endeavor to bring out poems of highest literary merit can eventually uplift the overall taste of the readers and upcoming poets as well. And to our relief we have got the encouragement blessings and supports of many renowned poets and poetesses from different parts of the world to make Our Poetry Archive one of the rearguards of the literary frontier of the present time. Even for this Anthology of Contemporary Women’s Poetry we got these supports as well. Poetess Claudia Piccinno of Italy, Poetess Maria Miraglia, poetess Alicia Kuberska of Poland, poetess Deborah Brooks Langford of USA, poetess Anca Mihaela Bruma, poetess Stacia Reynolds  to name a few, have extended their unconditional support to make this massive Anthology possible. We are really grateful to all of them. We are also grateful to all the contributors of this Anthology as well.
From The Editorial Desk

email us to:



careful to the limits and non-limits
up to the end of existence and non-existence
we prefer to step back
just in case
to live usual life not to change anything
we live in illusion of time standing still
but it always brings us nearer to the end
of everything to nothing
and we, for this particle of time
perhaps given to us by a sheer chance
cells jointed together by a strange coincidence
we are afraid to live a life


to Mum

‘cause I know
how to make coffee
how benign is the impact of green
how much washing powder should be used
how to use a dishcloth
and how to clean a bathtub really well
you have taught me
that the Sun wind and grass are priceless
that the family is precious
that upbringing means extreme responsibility
you made me respect each word
and another man
reading bed-time stories
consoling to sleep with lily of the valley scent
walking in the woods
sending me to theatre classes
and the faith that a rainbow comes after every storm
thank You


2 tongues (including one from your own courtyard)
½ pinch of skills
3 quarts of qualifications
2 glasses of education
mix them altogether
leave to cool down
repeat the procedure several times to make it last
4 buckets of willingness
5 spoonfuls of organisation
1/3 cup of responsibility for your own decisions
7 spoons of self-reliance
10 kg of thinking for the future, consequences included in the packet
bake it altogether in a cooker until the colour is perfect
remember the product is often allergic

AGATA LINEK comes from Stalowa Wola. A poet, prose writer, animator of culture, editor of volumes, reviewer of poetry, drama critic, copywriter, Carer of the Poetry at Artefakty Literary Portal. A holder of four degrees at the Jagiellonian University, where she is currently writing her PhD dissertation. A member of the Literary Group „Phoenix”, the Literary Association „Witryna”, the Polish Authors Association and Association of Polish Writers. She has won numerous national and international poetry and prose competitions. She made her debut in 2002. She published in local and nationwide, poetic anthologies and in USA, India, Australia, Slovakia, Ukraine. Her poems were translated into Slovak, English and Russian. They were also presented in the Polish Radio. She published four poetry collections: „Are You an Elf?” (2006, the Award of Rzeszów Association of Polish Writers for Podkarpackie Province Debut), „Laugh of a Night Butterfly” (2010), „Singing of a Dolphin” (2012, nominated to „Gałązka Sosny” Stalowa Wola City Literary Award) and “Whisper of a Puma” (2015, Polish-English version, “Gałązka Sosny” Stalowa Wola City Literary Award, nominated to „Gold Rose” Literary Award and to „Orpheus 2016” K.I. Galczynski’s Poetry Award). She is interested in film and music. She dreams of a trip to Australia. country of origin: Poland mother language: Polish nationality: Polish place of living: Poland




Stuck in the theatre shed
waiting for his death
legs trapped under timber and glass
blood all over the stairs ahead
Director was almost-dead
He feels sorry for his ballerina darling
who will see his body
numb and pallid.
She will shake him once and again:
“Director, my love!”
Director then will be in silent,
morbid pain.
Death is not his concern
but his ballerina darling
abandoned, slim
with nothing left of him.
He wants her to know that
after the argument
on the opening night,
while sleeping outside
under the street lights
only love filled his mind.
Now, death is taking him away
leaving her alone, deserted, stray.
He only hopes
that she can hear
his ghostly words
whispered behind her ears.
My ballerina darling,
don’t waste
all your tears!


Theatre black curtains wide open
Blue lights spot main stage of the Opera House
Orchestra loudly plays first tune of Angel of music
Prima ballerina dances in her dressing room scenario

Audience awaits in suspense silence
Where is the phantom?
The labyrinth underground setting
Calls for him among scary fog and excitement

Beyond the lake song echoes lurid
The phantom grand and mysterious enters the stage
He is stranger than she dreamed
But he is a fool who makes her laugh

On the roof of the Opera House
Phantom and prima ballerina waltz their love
‘Why did you bring me here,’ she wonders
‘You are mine,’ he whispers

FOOTNOTE: ‘Angel of music’ and ‘Beyond the lake’ are famous compositions made for ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ original musical.


Through the bohemian streets of Paris
Where artists paint and sing nothing else but love

Round playful skirt makes waves with the wind
She walks towards the red windmill for love

Red velvet curtains and friendly smiles welcome her in
Dazzling costumes, sequins and feathers announce the dance of love

Jacques Offenbach tunes of the scandalous Cancan begins
Crotch less underpants dancers excite the room with sexual love

She looks around and spots the poet, the one and only
Sitting down looking lonely, searching true love

In a glimpse of contemplation, he smiles at her
The poet and the Cabaret courtesan fall in inciting love

FOOTNOTE: Jacques Offenbach was the French composer of ‘Orpheus in the Underworld’ – the music most associated with the famous Cancan dance.


ALESSANDRA SALISBURY is a Brazilian journalist and creative writer. She also has works in theatre as playwright. She lives in Australia where she is studying Bachelor of Arts/Education majoring Theatre Drama, her third graduation. She won third prize with her poem ‘Hummus and Herbs’ about family and heritage, in the 2016 Fusion Festival Poetry Competition at Southern Cross University. Her works has appeared and are forthcoming in the American literary magazines The Borfski Press, Anti-Heroin Chic, and BlogNostics.




It is a pity that I cannot buy a new soul.
In supermarkets, there are no special offers
- New Soul! On sale!


It is much easier to have a simple vision of the world.
Keep your feet on the ground and don’t have dreams.

Being greedy protects the heart.
Life has a physical dimension. Ideals hurt.

Gain a prominent place in the rat race,
Dispose of sentiments, tears.

My soul is able to forgive.
It cannot learn to trust again.

It says it does not enter the same river twice.
Unreasonable? Perhaps. -

It does not listen to reason.
It pulls away from people


The sun strokes the black furrows
of ploughed fields with warmer and longer rays
The soil bulges with greenness and fecundity
Spring flows from the depths of the lake
and releases it from a dream of winter white
The ice flows shutters, opening to water.
The willows lean over the plate of the lake.
They comb and braid their hair with the wind.
The trees look at the world mirrored in water.
The wild geese come from far away
The long calipers on the sky pave the way
to their nests hidden in the reeds
Buds open up and first flowers bloom.
The waves of the lake hum a song about new life,
The mystery of rebirth begins
Contrary to Nature
The dead, dry dragonfly in a glass case
froze stiff in its last fluttering of wings .
Wind did not break its transparent body ,
colors unfaded by the sun .
Perished young in the bloom of its beauty
it exists against nature
-  destined for immortality
Alicja Kuberska


I would like to know each day,
Its colors and tastes,
As if it were my first day
And the last as well.

I do not want to stay
In the sphere of silence.
I want to change the
Minutes into notes.
The days were composed
Like symphonies.
The nights played the nocturnes


I dwelled high, in the canopy,
Amongst the branches
And watched the decorations change
With the months.

There are strained and gloomy days,
Entwined in stormy clouds.
There are shiny and merry days too,
Like those when spring bursts upon us.

Although the frosty winter
Ruins my home.
I know, that it won’t be long before
l feel the season change.
The spring will come again
And paint my home in green.
It will trim it with interlaced branches
And leaves until the rainy autumn


Barefoot Aurora
Dance with me on the dew.

The night scattered jewels are everywhere.
They glisten on the leaves and grass.
The spiders wove rainbow necklaces for us.      .

Is it the Milky Way
Laying on the ground, or another spell?

The jealous day will hide the drops in the casket of time
And dry the tears of the moon by warm sunshine.

We only have a moment to dance,
When the night has not yet fallen asleep.
The day did not wake up until to the very end


Spring gave me new dresses.
They are made of clouds' dreams,
Warm glances and soft touches.

Accessories are also important-
A necklace made of  tender kisses
And a soft scarf of gentle smiles.
Do I look well?

It seems, that shoes dance.
They have joyful bows
And heels made of bird's trills
Where are we going?

The chill of the indifference
Need only disappear
For mistrust to melt.

Look! First snowdrop!
Do you want it?
I will offer you something valuable…


Air smells of lilac in the May evening .
The bunches of white and blue flowers bloom.
The lilies of the valley rise above the leaves
And overshadow the modest beauty of daisies.
The inconspicuous violets crouched  close to the ground.
Small flowers delight with exquisite fragrance.
Jasmine bushes join this symphony of smells.

The warm wind wafts down the petals of flowering trees.
It paints tiny, white specks on  the green grass.
Nature creates another moving picture
And invites us to observe life awakened.
We sit on the terrace  and look with wonder as
Magnolias toast the health of bees and singing birds.

We again find the joy of existence.
You take my hand and put it on your heart.
I feel its beating - no need to say anything.
I look at you and  my smile says - I know everything


I do not know what color May's wind is.
It carries  a sweet smell and wraps it in warmth.
It showers our hair with apple blossoms
And covers it with a delicate veil of petals.

The colorful meadow blooms on my dress.
I weave a wreath of white daisies
And carry a bouquet with blue rings.

Just for you I'm so beautiful.
Promises are hidden in my eyes
And an engagement of love waits inside them.

I would like to cuddle up in the cloak of your arms
And hide from the rain of tears and bloom again in the spring




                                                                              to hold out a hand
and find something dead
cupped inside.
It is not love that loves
through essential compromise.
It is God we speak to
everytime we verbalize,
and God will mend even the ones
who think they're saved.
It is the cracked jaw,
the splintered bone and expressions
of boredom and greed that
disease a child's innocence.
It is how we deal with the senselessness of being
that makes us either deny or realize
a gift of spiritual wonder.


This sunrise, rushing
from your pores, smooth and
bright as perfection
has trailed out from a loving home,
out from the endurance of a decade tattooed
to your skin.
You, under the spotlight
bearing no fractures
are as close as the bone is to the shell.
And everyone was transported, gliding
through your soliloquy like birds in
a cool spring air.
A coming together, a rejoicing of all
your struggles, the last completing thread,
magic and kindled by your spiritual voice.
Animated like silver dust on still water, you arrived.
You made the world, at last
understand and listen.


Change is crouching
on my back deck,
behind the pillars
and rotted wood.
Change is tossing in my womb
and giving me a bell to ring.
Like someone new to sing to,
it nicks my forehead with its
broken rhythm. Like starlight
weaving under my skin, growing,
wanting my speed,
change is alive, but small as a rice grain
forming its heavenly head.
Welcome little hamlet of wonder,
welcome from the blue breath of God.
Come see us all and turn this home
of three kindred souls into four.


I move and lose my frame
of ultimate freedom. Into
immobile dreams, and growing
fast are the fantastic blossoms of my mind.
As the hard core challenge
gets tucked in my socks
like a saved coin for tougher days,
I get weak with the demands on my shelf,
lazy in my intent though still I am
loved. Loved, but lost again and not at the
potential I am asked to uphold.

The sound rises in my ear. I put more
pillows under my head. I see the TV light
blind the brighter one beneath my bed.

I won’t touch the crown or the things of great seed
until my excuses and ways to crawl under
are called to task and asked by me
to permanently, irrevocably


stand the long drawn spike wedging
year upon year into my belly - can’t
breathe under this burden of debt
and the cold didactic sentiments of the crowd - can’t
live without some relief, some saving grace
to upload this struggle and haul it to the nearest dump - can’t
understand the ruthless actions that forsake
the existence of God and paint a false justice on each toenail
to count and display at convenient random - can’t
get my head around the hate that jettisons
into my arms because of the path
that has been laid before me - can’t
help but try to hold on to the fine threads
of my sanity, to look at love and believe that is all
that matters - can’t
keep this cast-iron anchor cuffed to my bones or take
another step in this downfall direction - can’t
think in terms of linear hopes and
just-making-it calculations

do anything but say that I can’t
then send this confession
into the wind


ALLISON GRAYHURST is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Three of her poems have been nominated for Sundress Publications “Best of the Net” 2015, and she has over 1000 poems published in more than 410 international journals and anthologies. Her book Somewhere Falling was published by Beach Holme Publishers, a Porcepic Book, in Vancouver in 1995. Since then she has published twelve other books of poetry and seven collections with Edge Unlimited Publishing. Prior to the publication of Somewhere Falling she had a poetry book published, Common Dream, and four chapbooks published by The Plowman. Her poetry chapbook The River is Blind was published by Ottawa publisher above/ground press December 2012. In 2014 her chapbook Surrogate Dharma was published by Kind of a Hurricane Press, Barometric Pressures Author Series. In 2015, her book No Raft – No Ocean was published by Scars Publications. More recently, her book Make the Wind was published in 2016 by Scars Publications. As well, her book Trial and Witness – selected poems, was published in 2016 by Creative Talents Unleashed (CTU Publishing Group). She is a vegan. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay;