April 28, 2022

“Points to Make,” Poetry by John Grey

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“Points to Make,” Poetry by John Grey

POINTS TO MAKE Today began like a heart on fire. In between there was this hot-cold-hot-cold movement to establish the fact of me. It ended like a man with something to bury. I woke to the sight of a burning house, instructing firemen where to point their hoses. Family units are brittle. I’ve known this all along. I fell asleep that night like someone on a long, long highway. There must be something here about love – no, yearning – that’s it. In future excavation, you who yearn to uncover the ancient will find nothing but ancient yearning. Today, everything moved. It tried to leave me behind but I kept seeing me by my side. By night, I’d made it. I vowed to teach the light – teach it something new. I’m who I am…

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April 14, 2022

FC Celebrates National Poetry Month!

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FC Celebrates National Poetry Month!

National Poetry Month 2022 The Academy of American Poets launched National Poetry Month in 1996 to increase awareness and appreciation of poetry. Celebrated every April, it has become one of the largest literary celebrations in the world. To celebrate the twenty-sixth anniversary of National Poetry Month, we are honored to introduce the amazing poets featured here. Please read their works and support their ongoing projects. Some ways you can participate: write a poem, listen to a poetry podcast, or buy some poetry books (from our list of poets or others you discover). Helpful Links:Poets.orgPoetry FoundationPodcast ReviewPoetry Podcasts ** “Games“Yong Takahashi(From Yong’s memoir, Observations Through Yellow Glasses: A Memoir Through Poems) Every card I put on the table,  you take away in plain sight. At the flop, you say I don’t  need any distractions. Too many…

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April 12, 2022

“Night Skies” — Poetry by Gopi Kottoor

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“Night Skies” — Poetry by Gopi Kottoor

Night Skies  And love turned me Into a fish, swimming in your eyes, And I was content, As though your small pools Were more than ocean. And so I swam. How you turned me, just a body, To all of colours, How you blossomed out your heart As a sea flower For its clown fish. And you had me there, Brightening myself for you Over and over, Forgetting the splendour of red sunsets Turning to loss, Eternally in the tossing high seas, Forgetting, That love is but imagination, Put to test for truth In dying night skies.  ** Eyes  Take away from me The nibbles you made on my flesh. All the whispers you made as we sat by the river bank  Making paper boats. And when I came closer, you said,  careful Even the leaves Have eyes. We let the sundown Turn to goldfish And sink down to sea. Back in the car It is me All about you All over you And your words Breathing poetry  Into my face And…

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March 27, 2022

“I Hear Yes,” Poetry by Vera West

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“I Hear Yes,” Poetry by Vera West

i hear “yes” I jokingly have asked my husband: “Do you feel like I’m a gallon of milk you got home only to find out it’s expired?” He knows I’m referring to how I used to be pretty but now feel curdled. He laughs—not a real laugh but a confused nervous one I’ve forced out of him by knowing he loves me and asking him a ridiculous question like that anyway. You might focus on the fact that he did in fact laugh—coerced or not—but what you should really be focusing on is how only a sad insecure person hiding behind pain in humor would make that joke in the first place. It says so much and for the record, he always answers no but I always hear yes. ** affect and effect  No one…

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March 16, 2022

“Catch the Spring Young,” Poetry by Sunil Sharma

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“Catch the Spring Young,” Poetry by Sunil Sharma

Catch the spring young! A brief season that brings vitality to the faded flowers the wilted gardens and fields. The spring! It removes the effects of the winters in the frosty climes or the harsh sun in the moody tropics and ushers in dappled days dipped in fresh hues and light restores smiles on the  tired lips. Also, significantly, the young spring revives a hibernating artist by replenishing Within! ** The Snow the snow is deep outside the door shut inside in Toronto in the winter a whole world opens up Inside! ** Deep Darkness Evening no longer signals the darkness that thickens quickly, these days the tired eyes have seen darkness descend in the daylight also darkness that shines on despite the bright sun In a bleak country, where folks die quickly, fires burn merrily…

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February 23, 2022

“Peter Roget,” Poems by Charles Rammelkamp

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“Peter Roget,” Poems by Charles Rammelkamp

Little Red Man My minister father composed sermons. My uncle praised their “taste and elegance”: a word man long before me. Son of a Geneva clockmaker, mon pere, Jean Roget – “little red man,” from the French rouge – immigrated to London at 24 to become pastor at Le Quarré, the French Protestant church in Soho. Papa preached in the little Huguenot church on Little Dean Street, a few blocks north of St. James’s, the colossus near Piccadilly Circus, Christopher Wren’s  largest church – where I was christened in 1779. Papa’d married Catherine Romilly a year before, in St. Marleybone Church, welcomed into their family without reservation. My uncle, Samuel, rhapsodized about our happiness, “as complete as is ever the portion of human beings,” but only months after my birth, Papa was “seized with an…

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February 8, 2022

A. Rayan El Nadim Presents Performance Poetry

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A. Rayan El Nadim Presents Performance Poetry

Editor’s Note: A. Rayan El Nadim is an Egyptian poet whose work has been translated from Arabic into English here for your enjoyment on The Fictional Café. He categorizes his work as conceptual and performance poetry, specifically, “a deep dive into myths, folklore, and the secrets of inherited improvisational folk songs that deeply express pain, suffering and dream; the history of the Egyptian folk treasures; the songs of Rababa, a rediscovery of the true history buried in the walls of Egyptian houses; and the rituals of joy and sadness that lived for thousands of years on both banks of the Nile.” My name has been crossed out a long time ago on a brick wall  -1- I searched for my name in my body  I found it engraved in aversion, estrangement, and revulsion  I searched…

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January 26, 2022

“A Sad Tale,” Poetry by Vera West

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“A Sad Tale,” Poetry by Vera West

Editor’s Note: This is Vera West’s first full poetry post on The Fictional Café as our new Poet-in-Residence for 2022-2023. Please help us welcome her to the Café and be sure to read her haunting, heartbreaking trilogy of poems at the end, called “A Sad Tale.” loneliness It’s an odd thing to grieve in advance, to let your mind give you a sample taste of the things you fear; the most flavorful being: loneliness. I’m anxious about the day when my loved ones are all gone, and I’m truly alone. between sisters the first time I told her our father had killed our dog, she hadn’t believed me. Perhaps it was the way I’d said it; “he killed our dog,” was all I’d said. the second time I told her she asked our father and…

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January 19, 2022

“Observations Through Yellow Glasses,” Yong’s New Book!

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“Observations Through Yellow Glasses,” Yong’s New Book!

Yong Takahashi moved to The United States with her parents when she was three years old. She grew up in a traditional household where her Korean and American worlds pulled her in opposite directions. Shortlisted for The Sexton Prize for Poetry, Observations Through Yellow Glasses: A Memoir Through Poems invites you to follow her journey as she learns life’s bitter lessons, longs for love, and attempts to heal the wounds she collects along the way. A few words from Yong: “I set out to write a memoir by my fiftieth birthday. Several people asked me not to use their names. I tried to figure out how I could tell my story without pointing fingers so I decided to write about snippets of my life through poetry. Each poem highlights a snapshot of a feeling or…

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January 13, 2022

“The Coldest Hour,” Poetry by Zoey Collea

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“The Coldest Hour,” Poetry by Zoey Collea

The Coldest Hour The mountains, the mountains set adrift on a tundra of pickled grass Springing up like nubby hairs on that of a newborn’s scalp I haven’t taken the time to learn a second language Though the sun burns through the window onto my hair and I can almost smell it burning To know every word inside and out like my favorite song on the café radio at the moment of the day when light slips into its cremation and becomes a dusting around office buildings and parked cars I hold my bag tightly to my side the layers of clothes I have on makes it hard to concentrate, but someone told me that distraction is actually a good thing. When I reach home, I empty the stale coffee I purchased some at the…

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