Archive for March, 2014

Poem about Asian Tsunami in Acer Malaya

Posted in Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva on March 23, 2014 by kathydasilva

Poem about Asian Tsunami in Acer Malaya.

Poem about Asian Tsunami in Acer Malaya

Posted in Stories and reviews with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2014 by kathydasilva

Ky’s Story(A poem inspired by the Asian Tsunami) by Katherine Da Silva(and Ky)

I threw a stone at the sea
But, it had no feelings.
I watched the ripples of water,
And wondered at the earth that
Moved and rolled the wave toward our shore.
In the little microcosm of my being
I could not change it.

I looked for my mother, my brother, my sister,
But, they were not to be,
And the only family of mine left,
Was going to be me.
I threw a stone at the sea,
But, it had no feelings.

The sea is their sleep,
Mine is my pillow of willow,
The softer side to our waterside abode.
The heavens became my roof,
The stars my counters.
And I sleep, but am restless.

Illness overcame me,
And I have passed through heavenly spheres.
I am ash in the hand of a loved one
I am scattered like the belongings of
A house that’s torn.

I am as many as the pieces of wood
That make up my father’s boat,
Everything like flotsam and,
The remnant of a happy childhood
Left laying in the sand.

Poetry Unplugged

Posted in Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 19, 2014 by kathydasilva

I’ve been to a number of venues in the London area with regard to poetry being read or what is refered to as an ‘unplugged’ event, a poet/singer can perform on the night if they sign up just before the event. Last night I watched a number of fairly regular artists including myself perform or read their poems to varying delight. Niall Sullivan manages to pull off event after event with humour as MC, and contributes with witicisms throughout the evening. Tina Hammond, Anna Khan, Ned Swan, Tim Kiely, and many, many more performed with such variety of style, which perhaps helps. Am not sure if the origins of influence on each poet are obvious. The need to entertain definitely has influence on the loudness of some of the poetry and the expression as if in shocking the audience awake, they just might listen more closely to what is being said..humour does seem to break up tension. However, all the meaningful moments of emtional content, are just as relevant if not necessary, It’s hard to imagine a live event without humour being used. Would have liked more political content to some of what is read. Loved Tim Kiely’s Sestina on the life of an artist/work of an artist. I’m still thinking about this. Tina Hammond wrote autobiographically about relationships. It seems when as a listener, there is only a very small amount of time to actually understand the content of anything read. Poems being in the abstract generally makes all of this listening harder. I find myself wanting to hear some pieces two or three times, or at least be able to read them in order to critique them better. It’s true some poets read the same poem on other nights, Anna Khan is always writing it seems about her flat mate ‘T’, but the poems are beautifully put together, and she reads them so well. My own are often drafted the same day sometimes, and even I need to familiarize myself with the content!…James Joyce always advised that anything written should be ‘memorable’, …after two or three hours I still struggle over some of what I have listened to. Is there an easy way to critique this type of event? Entertaining, stimulating, creative, I love it after an evening in the company of poets whatever the case…Unplugged poetry cafe covent garden.


Posted in Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva with tags , , , , , , , , on March 13, 2014 by kathydasilva

They live a strict regime,

Enchainment without reason,

The metal heavy ore of iron, manacled

Rubbed sore flesh,

The bright, the heat, the blinding,

Scavanging for tabacco,

There’s hope but only the sea.

So dark meridian,

So dark  there’s blood red waves,

And shelled fish

A frantic splashing.

‘I can eat, but only with my eyes!’

‘It’s ten years or so’, like the butterfly,

His fragile wings are insufficient

There is the mundane regularity

And like an army role call,

Yes I’m here, but only for an hour or more.

The insignificance of nothing,

Not able to be.

And who put out my eyes,

And who placed their fingers in the wound?

The doubter to a trilogy-

The Father, spoke of the Son, spoke of the Spirit.

Where does rubble have it’s meaning?

The ruins left unattended.

There will be mortality to count

In a future that is bleak.

We have no binary beads,

We have no calendar of days,

So a chalked line is meaningless.

Where is there a boat?

Where will it carry me?

They’re Poisoning Us Slowly

Posted in Stories and reviews by Kathy Da Silva with tags , , , , , , , , on March 13, 2014 by kathydasilva

They’re poisoning us slowly,
They’re poisoning us,
The particles that make the rain,
Make a very strange rainbow’s end.

The billboards don’t advertise it,
The TV stands are full of fuzz
The world is a fuzzy picture,
Felt on felt, layer by layer,
There is no patching the dark.

So what made this dark cloud,
What made the steeples point.
There’s a weather mast at the top
That remains in confusion
It’s swinging westerly in a spin.

The people are coughing up sputum
Yellow and infected.
We are told TB is back to haunt the masses.
They’re poisoning us slowly,
There is no patching the dark.